I googled the phrase "Chris Brown + Life Coach". My results after the jump.
Of course, the obligatory "Chris looks like he's asking dumb questions" and "Rihanna's pissing him off 'cuz they arguing" pic.
The classic "Beaver Brown must build a dam" expression.
And my favorite, this beautiful nightmare'swig.
Trust me, she came with the results. I think of it as a constellation prize.Not consolation. Constellation. Something in my stars just hasn't been aligning for the past several weeks. But I digress.
Readership, something's been heavy on my heart. Heavy. Heavier than Effie White in the pic above's scale reading. I keed, I keed. I joke with you. First off let me blame Beyonce for good measure and then I'll blame Twitter because 'tis where I discovered this heaviness. Now I may not be a scholar, a Rowland, or Lauren Lake, but I know when someone needs a little help in their life.
I've been monitoring Chris Brown for a while now. His tweets. His music. The material. His blood pressure. The miles per hour his fist are capable of punching. Y'know, the usual. He is very down and out. Now usually I kick things when they're down for the count. Ciara for instance.
Ciara couldn't buy a hit with a stripper's tips.
Ciara couldn't sell salt to a slug exterminator.
Ciara couldn't sell pussy to McLovin.
Ciara couldn't turn her wig around in a Beyonce-helmed musical feature film.
See! This comes easy to me and it should concern you. I, like Joel McHale, have no heart. This Chris Brown sadness though... got me like the Grinch in the closing act of that Dr Seuss picture. It's slowly growing and I'm sick of it. So I'm here to help Pretty Chrissy [you know I had to call him that. Did you forget what site you were on!?] out in this time of all times.
When you're on Larry King's Death Watch on CNN wearing your good school CLOTHES confessing your love for The Bajan, it's one thing. Lowkey tweeting about missing her, here and there. Sure why not? But when you tweet a fanmade Youtube video of a song featuring you and her to signify how much you miss her, AROUND MIDNIGHT CENTRAL TIME!?
I just stare.
So as Head Creole In Charge, I've appointed thyself as Chris Brown's Life Coach. A new feature on the blog, which I can hopefully post daily, will involve me helping him out of his little heartfelt depression. His love hangover. His pussy whoopification. I mean, be real. Rihanna was his first piece of pussy. I won't believe anything else. I can see why he is so hooked on her. Island reproductive organs will have you doing crazy SHIT.
First things first, we have to put together a visual board. So Chris, take this big ass green poster board and do this. I clipped some words out of these magazines subscribed to Kizzy. She won't miss them, as to she doesn't live here anymore and I "forgot" to forward her mail. Take these random words and glue stick them to the green board. I know it looks like a big ass ransom note, but really it's a board of inspiration.
Get to it.