From bad to worse in a negro second

Imagine you’re in court for a traffic ticket – just your run-of-the-mill negro day, nothing fancy. And then, by some divine interference (you know, because God is also racist – how else can you explain such incidents, right? Racial profiling much?) an innocent item falls out of your pocket. Only it’s not the home-made clip of you and your baby momma Tangilique, but the bag ‘o cocaine you blew your child support money on and were planning on snorting off her cellulite-ridden ass later.

Not cool, bro. Not cool.


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