Black Boy/White Privilege

At the ripe, young age of twenty-one, I decided to marry and impregnate a White woman, to ensure the death of all my hopes and dreams, and that went well.

But now that I have a half-White child, fifty percent of the time we spend together is great. We give each other secret handshakes, spit watermelon seeds, and slather cocoa butter on each other’s arms, just as our forefathers had done before us. But the other fifty percent of the time, he’s a passive-aggressive prick.

Like, if he makes a mess of my house and I clean it up, all I get is my own house back. But if he picks up his own mess, I’m expected to pay him $20 a week in allowance. Now, that’s some White privilege shit, right there. So, every once in a while, I like to teach him an important lesson. What I do is sneak up behind in a ski mask, and jack that nigga’s allowance.

It’s an important life lesson, because if you exercise too much White privilege, sooner or later, an angry Black man might rob you.

(listen at http://soundcloud.com/yourfaultforlistening/ettrick)

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Thank the Driver

Few things baffle me like people being rude to bus drivers. I mean, do you understand the situation you’re placing yourself in? More importantly, do you understand the situation you’re placing me in?

Buses are essentially seventeen ton roulette wheels. What sort of fucked up gamble are you taking with my existence?!

You wouldn’t talk shit to someone wielding a knife, would you? And Mr. Knife-Wielder Man might drop that shit and, even if he gets in a few good cuts and stabs, you might outrun him. You can’t drop a bus, and I don’t even know how fast that shit can go. So, I play it safe, and just assume every driver is one unnecessary complaint away from flipping that shit over a bridge.

What I’m saying is, when I thank a bus driver, what I’m really saying is, “Thanks for not massacring us on that last turn.”

(Listen at http://www.soundcloud.com/yourfaultforlistening/heath)

Caveman Measures

It amazes me how far we’ve gotten while using caveman measurements, like feet and cups and horsepower. Horsepower? Really? What breed of horse are we discussing? When’s the last time you watered it? How old is it? What’s its diet like? How’s it been sleeping? These are all relevant questions when discussing “horsepower.”

And here in the U.S., conservatives will never let us switch to the metric system, because Mao and Stalin used metric. So, if we switch to a commie system of precise measures, it’s only a matter of time before we measure everything in satans and aborted babies.

In fact, I suggest we switch to an even more American system of measurement, ’cause I reckon I weigh ’bout 165 Bibles and stand yay ’bout eleven handguns high. Praise Jesus! God is one and never divisible by ten.

(listen at https://soundcloud.com/yourfaultforlistening/cash)

No Black Men

After my divorce, I tried online dating, which seems like a good idea while creating your profile, but it pretty much falls apart after that, because of all the crazy things that get said; things like “I enjoy discussing politics and religion.” And obviously, I have no problem discussing those topics, but I do have a problem having heated debates on a first date. It just seems to me that, if we really hit it off, we have all the time in the world to learn to hate each other. So, there’s no need to rush into that part of a relationship.

But I think the strangest thing I ever saw was an ad posted by the female partner of a polyamorous couple, stating that her husband liked to watch other men fuck her or, as she put it, “… choke me, pull my hair, and fuck me like the filthy whore I am. No black men.”

Now, before you go judging her, keep in mind it’s important for a woman to have self-respect. So, she has to draw the line somewhere and, if not at negroes, then where? Right?

(listen at https://soundcloud.com/yourfaultforlistening/ledwith)

Park Blocks

I don’t know if women can relate to this, but one of the primary fears of any adult male is doing anything at all that might make it look like we might be pedophiles. Does that make sense?

Like, I have a kid, and I’m not going to tell you my kid’s name, because as a responsible parent, I’m convinced all of you are pedophiles. Plus, I have one of those adorable half-breeds, so I know you want to fuck my kid. And when he was younger and I’d take him to parks and playgrounds and such, I never wanted to be a helicopter parent, but I always felt the need to follow him around waving his birth certificate, social security card, and a paternity test in the air, just so no one thought I was cruising the park blocks.

(listen at http://www.soundcloud.com/yourfaultforlistening/jenkins)