That vanilla-white bastard SUCKS

 

Do you know whom I hate? Vanilla Ice. If you don’t know him you’re probably too young, or were in a coma during the eighties. In case the second applies, I wish I were you. Everything I am now, all this ample ROCKING and generous amount of AWESOMENESS, is an outcome of this binary juxtaposition.

 

 

Think about it. I rock, because my surroundings suck. The same way light needs darkness to be perceived as indeed light, likewise I need… well you see where I’m going. And no I’m not the light, I’m darkness. Yes sirree. The black, the mysterious, the evil one. Ok, you got me. I’m Satan. Whassup hommes?... Just kidding, I don’t care.

 

But I’m derailing from how much I hate Vanilla Ice, which is A LOT.
There I was, a young fella of twelve years (and only one year of masturbation), minding my own business and suddenly I had to rap-dance. WHAT!? I have to dance? Everybody’s doing it? Put a bullet in the chamber? Do I want to die? What’s going on dudes? All my “friends” were jumping around like rapists and freestyling their shitty moves and I had to follow but I couldn’t and they were making fun of me and they were finger-pointing me and ha! ha! and He’s such a loser and Why did you invite him to your party? and He’s touching himself and Oh my god that’s my cat and Ewww, Daddyyyy Fluffy’s fur is sticky.

All this because of that condescending son of a crack whore, Vanilla Ice.
Now that’s a cool name. Oh man, why didn’t I think of attaching “Ice” to my name? Because that’s what ice does, it makes names cool (and nipples hard).
And what of Vanilla. The coolest ice-cream “flava”, if you happen to be white yo. So apart from “cool”, Vanilla Ice was also accepting the labeling of the black “rappers”, calling “whities”, Vanilla. Because they were Chocolate you see… For fuck’s sake, doesn’t anybody listen to themselves?

Ok!, they would say, he’s one of us now, he accepted our at-first-derogatory-but now-OK label… As IF they gave a damn. He’s vanilla yo. No he’s NOT. He’s just a rapist. Get over it and shoot him between his… ARGGRRRR…now I remembered his oh-so-larger-than-life-I-was-in-lots-of-fights-in-the-hoodz-roughin-it-up-wiv-my-hommies-that’s-why-my-eyebrow-looks-like-it’s-shaved-but-it’s-not-because-it-is-supposed-to-be-a-mean-looking-scar-from-the-fights SHAVED EYEBROW. Penalty? Death.

 

And hey, by the way, I don’t claim to know anything about real rap music. I do not value “black rap” over “white rap”. That’s bullshit talk and anybody who appreciates art and music understands this. This is not Black vs White, you smug, always-so-sensitive-and-alert-to-shout-“Racism” asshole. This is just STUPID vs STUPID. Because who can forget Mr. MC “Can’t Touch This (And I wouldn’t If You’d Paid Me, You Sideways tapping Dildo)” Hammer? Now there’s a child his mother must be proud of. A supreme manifestation of his family's heritage. M-C Hammer… Hammer-time MY ASS.

 

Where was I…?
Yes.
All these assholes hyped dancing so I would feel nauseous and loathsome of my rhythmless self, because they hate me and they want me to get cancer and pull my boobs off (purple nirple styling) and eat herpes from their grandmother’s moles… maybe. But now, everything’s changed. Now I have alcohol you vomitous bastards. HA! and in fact I have taken more than I can handle and soon!... soon I tell you, I'll vomit you out, and you’ll be nothing more than a sad, yellow puddle on my carpet. HA!...

*thud*
*splosh*

 

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