Y’all n*ggas hatin’ on what, now?

Fried Kool-aid balls?


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On the day of my birth, when Jesus first breathed life into my portly, baby brown body, the sky became a rumble, and a voice spoke unto me. “My son,” echoed the voice, “I present to you these four gifts. One, a creative mind, in which to bestow upon the Earth the joy of good prose. Two, a strong heritage. With this, you shall forever be proud and fear no obstacle that lay before you…also, when necessary, you can use it to exploit white guilt. Gifts three and four, you shall let no man tear asunder…and these gifts are, Tootie…and Rudy.”

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