It’s time we had a talk, Reggie, man to body man. I’ve learned a lot from you, about Jay-Z, basketball, and what “sizurp” is, and I’d like to think that you’ve grown a lot in the months you’ve been my personal assistant. I mean, when I hired you, you were just another Division I athlete whose pro football career was over before it began, and now The New York Times is writing cover stories about you and when you go back home to Charlotte people start chanting your name. Feels pretty awesome, right?
Well, to paraphrase my Uncle Ben (not the guy on the rice box, racists, my white uncle), “With great publicity must come negative stories about every bad thing you’ve ever done.” When you’re famous, there are certain types of photos you can't afford to have lying around: you in front of a mosque or with Louis Farrakhan, or in a swimsuit if you don’t have a perfect body. Oh and passed out at a frat party with some guy’s balls in your face. That's kind of a big one.
I know you can’t change the past. You were just a dumb college kid who played a few too many rounds of beer pong at the local frat house and ended up passing out on the sofa. But you can learn from your mistakes. Like back in my college days, when my nickname was “Barry White” (and not because I had a deep, pleasing baritone) I got burned a few times on business transactions, but I learned how to taste when the motherfuckers were cutting the shit with flour.
So what can you learn from this experience? Number one, frat guys are gay, but that’s obvious. Number two, and this is the important one Reggie, don’t ever get drunk around white people.
Seriously. I never have more than one beer when we’re in one of the bitter hick states like Indiana or West Virgina, and I never, ever take an open drink from an open beverage given to me by a white person. Especially if they’ve got a mustache. Sure, Hilary can walk into a redneck bar and have a shot of whiskey, but do you see me doing that? Hell no. If I did, there’s a chance I would wake up tied to the bottom of a pickup truck, or surrounded by white hoods. And that’s a whole hell of a lot worse than getting some balls shoved in your face.
So concludes the lesson for today. Time to get back to work Reggie. It’s one-thirty, and I don’t have a cappuccino in my hand. Could you fix this problem?