WW are the BM's gift from God to save the intelligent BM population from the living purgatory of matriarchal BW tyranny. We are cast aside like old shoes. Worse than old shoes, because women save every pair of shoes they've ever owned. We are the lost boys, like Moses cast upon the river in Hebrew swaddling clothes, not the L.A. vampires. Or was it Near Dark. Moses too was found by a caring white woman, Anne Baxter. Or was she his lover.
No matter.
When our ancestors toiled in the fields, the Southern sun beating upon their brows, their slavemasters whipping them, they spoke of a deliverer. They spoke in Ebonics to keep Massa from understanding them. Flavor Flav still speaks Ebonics, but this time, Massa understands him all too well.
But I digress.
She is here now, the deliverer, the white woman. Down from the heavens, caring and wise, yet irresistably sexy, with a glowing rope to make you tell the truth. Like Tina of Fey, who keeps the black man Tracy Morgan employed where the white man would sooner see him jailed. The white woman with a tiny waist and a big booty is like the Griffin or Pegasus of legend; two mythical creatures in one. And she loves anal sex, which makes her ever more appealing. In the tightness of that ass, I have found peace. My love for WW, even the fat hillbilly WW, makes Eldridge Cleaver look like Toussaint L'Ouverture. Hallowed be her name, go tell it on the mountain. O'er the hills and everywhere. Her will be done on Earth as it is in heaven.