Now that July has officially started, people are already filling up my inboxes with questions about what I want for my birthday. Listen guys, I am will be 36 years old this year and therefore I don’t need you to buy me anything. If I want something, I’ll just order it off of Amazon and pay for it myself.

BUT…I do have one teeny tiny request: somebody please free Stevie Wonder.

Y’all have seen Stevie running around here with his hairline all the way back behind his ears. In tuuurrrrible hand me down shirts. On stage doing ridiculous tributes to the Purple One on stage next to a caterwauling Madonna.And he doesn’t know anything about any of it.

His people will book Stevie on damn near anything. They don’t even tell him about it. They just drive him over to the local Piggly Wiggly, stand him up on stage, and say “Go on and sing, Stevie.” Stevie Wonder has fifteen hundred kids and only knows about two of them. Whoever he has around him has been stealing his money and his sperm.

Stevie Wonder is a goddamned cultural icon. He’s a musical genius. He has 22 Grammys. He is one of five people to ever win a Grammy for Album of the Year more than once. He is at least half the reason that we don’t have to go to work on Martin Luther King’s birthday. Stevie Wonder used to look like this:

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And now he looks like this:

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Y’all save Stevie. Please.

Somebody go get Stevie and take him over to Smokey Robinson’s house. (They can’t live far from each other. Why would they?) Then go get Lionel Richie and ask him what to do. He seems to know stuff. He had that video where he was stalking the blind girl making a sculpture of his face. He knows about blind people. Call him.

And Diana Ross. Call Diana Ross. Ask Diana Ross to get her hair together and drive over to Smokey Robinson’s house and help us figure out what to do with Stevie Wonder. And if she acts like she doesn’t want to do it, tell her that it was probably Stevie that told her to go solo and leave the Supremes do-whopping on their own. She owes Stevie.

You know what??? Somebody call Tina Turner.

I know her number is unlisted and she will act like she doesn’t know who Stevie Wonder is–because she seems like just the type of chick to pretend she doesn’t remember people–but call her anyway. She went from Nutbush to Hollywood to getting her ass kicked by Ike Turner to the Thunderdome to Switzerland. And she had the nerve to get herself a little accent in the process. But Tina Turner knows how to get shit done. She knows what a good makeover can do for someone. She’ll cut them struggle locs right off of Stevie and get him a spiky wig or something.

So that’s it. Somebody go get Stevie and take him over to Smokey’s house. Get Diana and Lionel to come over to keep him company until y’all can book him on a flight to Switzerland. Tina Tuner will pick him up from the airport and take it from there.

That’s all I want for my birthday, guys. You have like three weeks. Get on it.

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Princess Jones

Princess Jones is a fantasy author with an obsession with the stories we tell ourselves over and over. For more talk about books, connect with her on Goodreads.

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