Where Is Barack?
“Where is Washington? Where is Barack?!”
Barack is probably somewhere fucking up a health care proposal—I mean, chasing down Mexican pork. I mean—working diligently on making our country better. Please forgive the man if he doesn’t have time to overturn C-Murder’s second murder conviction.
Isn’t Percy Miller supposed to be a 5-star general or something? I’ve seen him drive a tank on a basketball court with 7-foot rims. Maybe he’s got some pull in Washington.
I know Germaine Miller is in a difficult place right now, but this situation is not what negro Presidents are used for. They’re for the mass absolution of racism-associated guilt, not to give niggas O.J. passes.
Believe me. I checked the mailbox repeatedly for my O.J. pass. Nothing.
This reminds me of a little girl I saw on the Maury show. You may know this program by its working title, In the Case of 7-Month-Old Dontarius, Tayvon, You ARE The Father. This particular episode was one of them trouble teen jawns where Maury gets the bodyguard from Jerry Springer or that ‘roid rage Scott Storch-lookin’ dude to throw teenage girls in the clink for fucking too much.
As the junior hoodrats are introduced, this one country high-yeller middle schooler boasts an imaginary skripper pole and has the nerve to say that she could commit whatever crime she wanted because Obama would give her a pass. Germaine seems to share some of this girl’s delusion.
Granted, Germaine Miller is just that—a Miller. Who knows how long she’s been delusional? It seems to run in the family. I’m sure being rich as fuck doesn’t help, yurrrrd me? Master P still thinks people want to hear his music and wear his Wal-Mart clothes. C-Murder believed he could roll his Brabus on Broadway and open fire in a nightclub entrance the broad way in broad day.
[Blogger’s Note: That’s a totally unrelated case, but it establishes character. You can catch that shit on YouTube.]
Sometimes people are unfairly pre-judged based on their rap aliases and lyrics. This is totally unfair. I just found out OJ Da Juiceman neither played professional football nor murdered a white wife. Needless to say, I’m terribly disappointed. In C-Murder’s case, we already kinda know how he gets down, music aside.
Even if C-Murder were innocent *snicker*, this shit has absolutely nothing to do with Obama. I mean, does she think the nigga is sitting in the White House or on Air Force One biting his nails over the outcome of Corey Miller’s murder retrial?
Barack Obama: [to Michelle] Honey, what’s taking you so long? Bring that donkey ass of yours over here with my unflavored Dutch Master. That C-Murder verdict is about to come down. I know I’m gonna have to clear my mind behind this shit.
Michelle Obama: [to Barack] You know I can’t roll so good with these new nails, nigga. Just pause the damn TiVo.
Barack: I know I’m finna be sick behind this. You know that’s that old bullshit, right? I mean, how they do dat dere?
Michelle: *sighing* You know these crackers don’t care about a black man. They already had a 10-2 ruling. This shit should be a mistrial. *sitting next to Barack* Alright. Unpause it, honey.
Germaine Miller: [on television] ROWWRRR! HISS WOMP ROWWR HISS ROWRRRR CHEA WOMP TOMBOUT ROWRRRRR HISS GRRRRR BLACK MAN ROWRRR GRRRRRR WHERE IS BARACK?!?!?!
Michelle: Remember your campaign promises, honey. You promised you wouldn’t let any more black people be convicted of crimes. They’re making you look like a fool. Fox News is gonna have a field day with this!
Barack: *long pause* Goddammit! Turn this motherfuckin plane around. We’re going to Louis Armstrong airport. They ‘bout got me fucked up ’round here, little daddy.
Sho’ ya right.
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