To: The FBI guy who stole my marijuana brownies

By Christopher R Rice

To the FBI guy that broke into my house and stole my orange juice and marijuana brownies... You can open all of my mail. You can wait 'till I leave and break into my home. Steal my orange juice and my weed brownies and rifle through my dirty drawers. 

You can call your friends at the NSA and go through my emails and drafts. Going through everything with a fine tooth comb.

And when he's done call your lil homies at LE and use your Stingray to read my dirty text and snoop through my home made pornos.

And if I ever grow any balls and dare to take my complaints to the streets, ya' know that crap about 'redress of grievances' ya'll keep promisin'? Ya'll will send an army of pigs to come terrorize us, huh?

But lets get one thing straight, it's not my fault. I didn't go to your hood. Hell, any time I try, even just to look for a job, here comes the black and whites. Pull me over, spread 'em, rifle through my belongings, run my ID.

"What are you doin' over here, boy?" Ah shit, here we go again.

So, I'd never think of coming to your hood.

Your wife came down here, to my hood. Cryin' 'bout how you mistreat her. Beat her. Neglect her. Took her for granted and never take her out.

Being polite, I just offered to take her out. She immediately said "no, someone might see us, then he'd kill us both". She asked if she could come in and one thing led to another, ya' know. I mean, she ain't that bad lookin'.

But, damn dog, every time she comes over, she's got a black eye and she's cryin'. She says she fell into a door knob. I don't know how someone could do that once, let alone week after week. But every time we end up in the sack. She loves that big black cock-a-doodle-do. Even gives me your money. She loves shootin' pornos, take a look on my phone, she's hot.

So, really, it's not my fault that she won't put out for you and you've got to stroke it or rape hookers to get laid, it's how you treat her bro. You can continue to take out your sexual frustrations on me but it's not my fault that you've got a little dick. Deal with it.

Oh, and your daughter, she came down here on her own too. Lookin' for a little of the no no and hush hush. So, it's not my fault pig man. Peace out.

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