The Plight of the “White”

I donÂ’t play “sports.” I play golf, but I mean the physical sports like football, baseball, rodeoÂ…those types of things. The reason for this is that I was born with a not-so-rare physical deformity known as being white. Yes, itÂ’s true. IÂ’m white and because of that, I may never play in the NBA. IÂ’m hoping that, one day, science will find a cure, but IÂ’m not holding my breath. 
This is my personal memoir on living with “white.” Mind you, I said I’m not dying from white, I’m living with white, because I’m not going to let my disease slow me down, at least in everything but sports.

I’m just like everyone else – I don’t want anyone to give me special treatment just because I’m white, even though cops do and it reminds me every time they let me off with a warning that I am indeed going to die from white. I’m going to die from this disease and there is nothing anyone can do about it.

Just a few facts so you can get educated on being white. White cannot be transferred by touch or the mouth. White is a sexually transmitted disease. I was born with white because apparently, my mother had intercourse with another man with white and I was the product, another white baby doomed from the womb. That’s a little saying we with white have: “doomed from the womb.” I’m thinking of making it into a tee shirt, if I don’t die.

Symptoms are a complete lack of athletic ability, rhythm, and a severe shrinking of the genitalia almost to the point of nothingnessÂ…genitalia so small that you would envy the genitalia of the common mosquitoÂ…genitalia so minute and pathetic that you would pray for the sweet embrace of death. At least thatÂ’s the case for my buddy, Drew McCardle. Hang in there, Drew. YouÂ’re living with puny genitalia, not dying from it.

Do not cry for me, Baton Rouge. Mardi Gras was good to me, and if I play my cards right and take care of myself, IÂ’ve probably got a good sixty years before I fall victim to this tragic ailment. Pray for me. DonÂ’t shut me out.