Brutha, you know how hard-headed a black man gets when somebody come up in his home?
Shit, most bruthas will even fight the poleese up in their crib rather then be seen looking like a bitch going down easy in front of their baby's mamma and the little shits she's had with otha niggas—so he will fight.
White folks, on the other hand, generally freeze when the poleese and other such—unless he one of those suicidal types who will fight, who just shot his wife—aggressors come up in they house. Now, though I don't much care for what this Old-Ass Coon has to say about black folks, I did consult Urban Scholar, T. Spoone Slickens as to why Whitey is typically so paralyzed when people kick in his front door, and this is what that self-hating cооn had to say:
"Understand, that as we evolved to be loud and rambonoxious out on the savannas with lions and other bigass rampaging shit trying to stomp us back up into the trees from which we fell, so did white folks evolve, but under less favorable conditions. Now white folks evolved from Neanderthaws, and their fear from way back in these caveman days is vested in the story of The Three Little Nigs and the Big Bad Landlord, which is right on topic here, so it's a shame really, that it has not been made into a movie. So here it goes.
"You got three little broke-ass nigs—and this is how white folks do, throw their fairytale anxiety upon lesser races—who owed they rent to this big bad landlord who done looked like Battista [
] leaping right off the WWE TV set into their broke-ass shit. The three little nigs know he's coming to collect the rent, for which reason he had left the doors off of the apartments he rented them, so he wouldn't have to break his own shit down when rent came due.
"Now the first broke-ass nig was a heroin junky, who tried masking-taping newspapers to his front door, and don't you know the landlord just walked right through that trifling attempt at tenant contempt!
"Next door down, that crack-head nig, he up and duct-taped cardboard, and even reinforced that mess with baling wire and milk crates—but the big-ass buff landlord was not having that shit and come crashing in roaring, 'Where's my rent!'
"But the tweaker nig down the hall, that ever-busy asphalt jungle bunny done ripped all of the bricks out of the loft wall that faced the street, bricked the apartment doorway up, and while that big Battista-looking somebody tried to bust his way through the bricked up doorway, climbed out the ruined street wall and actually stole the landlords car!
"Okay, I know that is a lot to absolve, but what it basically comes down to, is that us colored folks are loud and fast to deal with lions, and white folks are quiet and conniving—you see, the tweaker in the story represented the white man—from living in caves that might fall in if they got loud and might be invaded by some big-ass brown bear. So, when some African American home invader comes through the door, that Neanderthaw 'Oh, shit, I'm bear food, play dead so he'll eat my wife while I crawl away back into the deep part" gene kicks in, and if he has not had time to upgrade his cave entrance, he's pretty much left with playing possum until that shit blows over. This cave bear thing, might I remind you, also explains white racism—cause we big and brown and they still scared-ass cavemen inside."
Thank you, Mister Slickens for cооning us in on that.
So, bruthas and sisters, on the last day of the Scared Week of Uprising, two bruthas saw this bitch-ass white nigga crossing the parking lot of the El Rich motel, out in White Marsh, where he had been tapping some of that lovely latina pussy, and attempted to run his ass down, figuring he would not have the legs to get away—but don't you know that scared-ass white-boy must a been on crack becaue he outran their asses and made it into his motel room.
And in they came, shoulder first, demonstrating that Reparations Recovery Agents shall not be stopped in their righteous quest for redistribution. The bitch was hiding in the bathroom, so they left her be but did take her cell phone along with his and all of his ill-gotten white gain.
This is Justin W. R. Justice, announcing that I'm going on the road, exporting recovery efforts wherever they need importing.
Keep it real, and don't forget, you are Reparating, for from Whitey, it is impossible to steal.
