The Lord hath apparently stricken me with Plague, and cursed me with a voice that blends the melodious tones of James Earl Jones with Bobcat Goldwaithe, which, to combine the gratutious insults of two dear friends, would be sexy if you were into elderly black men and harbored secret prison fantasies.
The upside is that I am now able to sing Swing Low Sweet Chariot as never before.
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