remembering when the biggest question people had about me was, "is he black enough." i always thought the best way to answer the question was to have hillary and i both hail a cab from the same new york block. but here i am, sleepless on a 25-hour flight from indonesia back to shit-storm central and i'm thinking, sheee-it... i created a movement. a fucking move-ment coalesced around my very blackness. it may not be the movement i envisioned, but it has legs nonetheless. you tell me, if not for my blackness, would there be teabaggers? (the new me is gonna keep calling them teabaggers 'til they call us the democratic party.) i gave those thankless fuckers the biggest tax cut of their lives, gave a couple million of them jobs and ruined my political career covering their fat asses with health insurance. they still despise me, so, yeah, i think i'm fucking black enough. as if my bowling didn't give me away...
landing in a few hours. it's hard to sleep when i keep having the same nightmare: i'm in a pink tutu, running away from michael moore and his camera crew, while a bunch of eyeless white people line the streets, on their knees, chanting and waving glow-in-the-dark virgin mary's.
