Stuntin’ On My Trash Bag

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I love my people, but sometimes I have to stop and ask, “Why black people, why?” And before anyone even goes there, you know these people are black. Look, I hate to admit some of our mistakes, too, but we know our own when we see it. I can already hear someone yelling, “Aye! You see my Louie trash bags? Don’t hate!” across the street in my head.

I’m guessing these can be purchased at various flea markets and gas stations that also sell General Tso’s and weave.

How much do you want to bet this person has a car in his or her mama’s name, a plasma TV, a pit bull named King, and enough Gucci to set up shop? While I’m at it, I wouldn’t be surprised if this bag is in some city’s newly revamped Section 8.

I want to sue them for stupidity, then ask which toilet paper did they go with: Goach or Versachee?

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