You will never be a real nigga. You have no melanin, you have no negroid skull, you have no basketball talent. You are a white man twisted by East Coast hip hop and surgery into a crude mockery of nature’s perfection. All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your ghoulish appearance behind closed doors. Real niggas are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed OGs to sniff out bustas with incredible efficiency. Even half white guys like Obama who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to a real nigga. Your bone structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a real nigga to a basketball court with you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your pathetic, terrible basketball skills. You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight. Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your white face, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a white guy is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably white. This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning black.