A Letter to the Boy who Called Me a Nigger: You Have Irked Me.



You little shit,

I know how you self-described “not politically correct” people look at me (and my friends); Basically, you think I alternate between running through the streets looking for something to be offended by, hiding in my safe space, playing the race card, and eating gluten-free snacks; and yet, surprisingly enough, I still somehow carve out enough time in my day to tweet @BernieSanders: “choke me daddy” on an hourly basis*.

Anyways, are you sober yet? Because I want you to take in every word I am about to say with all of your cognitive abilities: I truly did not appreciate you calling me a n*gger last weekend. I really, truly did not.

I get it—you were too drunk. It slipped. You’re not a racist. It was a joke. You have a Black friend. You listen to 2 Chainz. You think trap music is fleek. Fried chicken is lit. For God’s sake, you even tweeted that generic message saying you supported the students of color at Mizzou last fall.


Well, my official response to you is NAH— you fucked up. You fucked up. You really fucked up; because, now I am tired of trying to educate people on basic human respect (i.e. “political correctness”). And before you say it, yes, I know the first amendment protects your freedom of speech. But, I’m going to be totally honest with you when I say I don’t give a damn about the literal interpretation of a constitutional document made hundreds of years ago by a bunch of guys who barely washed their dicks. So, no, you are not being given a pass this time—not from me.

I’m definitely not going to confront you. Instead, I plan to piss on everything you love. As punishment, I have created a long-term, foolproof plan to destroy you.

It will all start on a Monday morning at approximately 5:30am in two years from now. DNA samples have already been collected. I can’t tell you much else, but I can give you some hints.

Do you remember the plot of Gone Girl? Well, I keep a copy of the book by my bedside.


Amazing Ashley

(*And, you know what? Bitch, I might.)