“I can’t depend on these crazy ass niggas to rear my son in the right direction if I was to pass away an untimely death. How could I possibly allow that when some grown ass men like to sleep in front of stores for days for shoes but won’t wait in line for 5 minutes to buy a book and take shirtless pictures in front of a crusty, toothbrush water coated bathroom mirror? It ain’t safe out here, bruh.
They don’t make niggas like Heathcliff Huxtable, Philip Banks and James Evans no more. Who’s gonna throw a dining room chair at my son if he misplace the PlayStation 3 controller? Who gonna teach him how to take a change his mom’s tire if she have a flat or make a grilled cheese sandwich with an iron? Who gonna teach him how to play Throw-up Tackle, Open Chest and Letter B?
I sat and pondered all the worst case scenarios if the mother of my child tried to teach him to be a man and I wasn’t happy with what I saw. All I really could see was my child riding a bike with a helmet & kneepads like a young sissy before I awoke in a cold sweat.
I’m sure the lucky lady I impregnate will succeed at raising a young, trill ninja-tycoon in a proper fashion but it’s just some things that can’t be taught by a woman. So I had a brilliant idea. I should probably make a time capsule for the young nigga. All the albums equipped for raising a real nigga in the 21st century.