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Damn It Habeeb

I was on the train and hung my head low in embarassment. Across from me was an Indian brotha who looks like he can be remotely related to me. And how does he represent me and all I’ve done to make it cool to be Indian-looking? He spits in my face by wearing slippers on the train.

Oh but not any kind of slippers. The kind that you take off on the train and makes you cross your legs on top of them so that everyone gets to see both naked feet in their ashy glory.

Brethren, a word of advice. When you do something gross people tend to look at the first thing they can to insult you with. And as an evolved species man tends to look at the color of your skin as a handicap. Habeeb, Ghandi, filthy Hindu…any of these ring a bell? I got called them all the time until I fought back with ultimate swagger and raped their women.

I kid I kid. I was too scrawny to rape. Chics back in school could easily turn me raping them into them muggin me for my lunch money.

But yea, I keep all body parts in my clothes until the ride is over Habeeb. You do the same.


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