Soulja Boy and the Root of All Ignorance
“I’m far from ignorant… I made my first million dollars when I was 16 years old. It’s the success that I’ve accomplished in my 18 years of being here, I’m pretty sure my critics are twice my age and got half the money I got.”
–Soulja Boy Tell ‘Em, XXL Magazine video blog
As general rule, when you’ve gotta explain to people that you aren’t something, chances are you’re exactly what you deny. Ya might as well save that watermelon breath. People are defined by their actions, not explanations. Besides, ignorant niggas always find astonishing new ways to fuck up their own cases.
…Because they’re ignorant, that is. You still with me?
The more R. Kelly tries to explain that he isn’t a pee-dophile, the more he looks like one. The minute someone utters the kiss of post-racial death that is, “Well, some of my best friends–,” you know for sure they’re a fucking racist piece of shit. When Soulja Boy asserts that he couldn’t possibly be ignorant because he’s rich–for now–he merely notarizes his own jackass papers.
The nigga is a coon. If you agree with the philosophy that says money absolves you of ignorance, you’re a coon too. Please berrd walk/chicken dance the fuck back behind the yellow line before some these hea’ nice people board the bus, now.
Give it some thought. The money argument is nonsensical, as most coons are rewarded handsomely for their shuckery. The easiest route to riches is paved with ignorance. Every coon I can think of is paid like a motherfucker. Esso’s new mixtape cover perfectly embodies what I’m talking about. Flavor Flav is eating all the KFC he can get between his funky gold teeth right about now. He’s also the universal symbol of everything that’s wrong with black America, which by no coincidence is exactly why the program is popular enough to pay him the ungodly salary necessary to buy each of his children a single pack of chicken franks.
He didn’t get enough to throw a bag of buns or a bottle of French’s [pron: “fren-cheez”] with it, but niggas been knowin how to make due and shit.
Despite being as old an industry as prostitution, the exploitation of ignorance is an exponentially growing market. It’s the reason Ron Mexico appears to you through textual nightmares on the interwebs. I’m alarmed by how disillusioned we’ve become whereas we believe money justifies all. It is easier for a credit card to pass through the buttcheeks of a stripper than it is for a new money negro to sleep at night. Whether or not they were smuggled into this country by Kimora’s new piece of African ass, Soulja Boy’s diamonds got blood on them.
Idolators! The lot of you! I must not be doing my job well enough these days. It’s okay. I’m reloaded. Not like we didn’t cock back the hammer before on these fucking coons and slutmonkeys, but I guess it’s really time to get back on my war machine shit. I tried being a more cordial and civil Ronaldinho for the Harris audience, but if niggas still think some green fucking paper makes it okay to thank the slave masters for relative good fortune, apparently I’ve still got some ethnic cleansing to do.
Have a coontastic weekend. Me haffi claat down di bloodclat rifle. Easy nah, starr. Me soon back.
Questions? Comments? Requests? Here’s my Sunday best. Proton cannon. email@example.com