Every table should have a little black boy in a zebra vest who will get down on the floor so you can put your feet on him. What is an octaroon? Is that like a liger? Could we get one of them and put it in a little theater and have it do wrestling? I would like a huge black one and just have him lift up ladies who want to be lifted. Do we need special insurance for that? Like a man in shirtsleeves with a pistol in case things go buck wild? I'll search on that one on Bing.
Bobby, just, before I forget, you have to stop calling babies the n-word. I get the joke about babies being so sleepy, but some folks don't have a good sense of humor. They're just, jokes, I know. But until the wedding is over, better stop.
I'd like to get some cholos to smoke cigarettes in the valet parking area and some little Mexican boys to throw poppers on the steps.
Bobby, do y'all have any idea where we could get some retardeds? Do they keep 'em up in a zoo when they're not on TV? I'd like it if people could take one home and keep it.
Do the Japs got cyborgs yet? Because I'd like to scare us up a cyborg and have it twist the head off some Yankees. We'll dress them up in blue coats and that mean old cyborg will take their heads right off. Maybe some Chicago and Boston types. Just twist their heads right off and put 'em in the chocolate water-full.
Could we get some tall white boys to do technical basketball on some blacks? I need us some bad basketball blacks and some white boys who will pass around them and dribble properly and shoot two-pointers. Is there a reverse Harlem Globetrotters? I tell you what, if we can't find that you just go on and put blackface on the retardeds.
I want gays boys to operate some hovercrafts. Do y'all think you can get me some twinks?
If we have that it will just be so beautiful, I don't know. About the only other thing is if we could Jurassic Park some dinosaurs back to life, but I guess we'll just have to settle for the eskimos at the juice bar.
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
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