last week was a tough week for yours truly.

no girls came over to the place.

not canada girl.

or blonde girl.

or even paris.

filled out a few more applications.

still no calls.

not even from pimps R us.

the sidekick got ambushed at the best buy by a gang of subwoofer thugs. hes in the hospital, but he'll be ok.

those fuckers are gonna get it real soon.

and while i may have had a tough week indeed, i joke that hey, at least my name's not michael.

yeah, that would have made it a tougher week i think.

maybe if i was black

and middle aged too.

cuz it seems like the worst person you could be last week was a middle aged black man named michael.

with something messed up looking on your face

whether it be a trendy tribal tattoo meant for backs and shoulders.

or your third nose.

i couldnt imagine that sitting on a stool in the corner of the squared circle is much different than sitting in a nice chair in the middle of a courtroom.

waiting.

wondering.

hoping.

praying.

that this isnt the last time you get to see daylight.

that the public will still love and adore you for what youve done in the past and not hate and detest you for what youve become and what youve done lately.

and its always against the white man isnt it?

whether is a six foot six inch irishman

or someone sober

like a judge.

it kinda sucks that other black men elsewheres with traditionaly white first names didnt have such a tough time last week.

like timothy and anthony and bruce.

and richard and benjamin too.

everything will be fine though.

the mikes are finally free.

the king of pop and the baddest man on the planet can now go back to their lives of seclusion and mediocrity without being bothered to get in front of a camera or a microphone till the next trial or fight.

good luck to the both of them.

and dont worry, there will be plenty of women over at the crib next week.

belieeeeeeeeeve dat.

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