I was sitting in a broken down truck on the edge of a local university listening to Goose Creek Symphony sing about living on the edge of reality when my friend Super J came walking up to me. His afro had been teased out to give him the extra two feet he needed to ride a roller coaster and he was attempting to perfect his strut. "What's going on?"
Not much J. You?
"Not much," he said with a smile and a cock of his head, "just trying to look fly for all these fine honies."
I looked about the parking lot and counted the women within sight without using any of my fingers or toes. J, I said, I think teasing that fro out has fried your brains.
There's not a woman within two miles of this place.
"Shows what you know."
Seriously though, I said after a moment, why the fro?
He looked about us like he was about to divulge some governmental secret and whispered, "It makes the ladies think you've got a big cock."
I stared back at him as he smiled at me. "Seriously, Charlie. The ladies look over at a fine young man, such as myself, and see a great big fro like this and they just know I'm packing heat."
Give me your phone.
I'm going to call your mother and let her know you've been smoking weed and your brains are fucked.
"Man," he said as he fought for his phone. "Shows what you know! Stereotypes exist for a reason, Charlie! White boys can't dance; you can't dance. Indians are great at math; all the math professors are from India. Black people have big cocks," he said was a smile and trailed off.
It's a damned shame that you've committed to this.
Because you're going to disappoint a lot of women.