DA HATER

Dear Messy Jesse,

Do you remember me? We met and shook hands at Church in Geneva Switzerland in 2002. I was about the only person who wasn’t that geeked on having you there. We took the  obligatory smile and shake picture.  Still don’t remember me? No biggie. However, can I just say you have THE weakest handshake for a man.  I mean, when you’re at a meet and greet, one should assert themselves positively, argh!

Any-who, I’ve noticed that you just have a knack for saying some of the MOST innately stupid things at all the supposed wrong times.  I don’t buy it. Are you sure you’re not on the McCain payroll? 

Whatever happened to the 1985 Jesse Jackson and his movement to uplifting the African American race by any means? You can’t possibly be the same man. No way.                                                      

If you were, then you would understand that this is a new day, a new dawning - of a new way of political maneuvering.  The political figures of yesteryear can no longer expect to be the ONLY representatives for an entire multi-faceted/multi-dimensional race. Those days have gone and long been buried. 

It seems to me that all this Obama bashing is being fueled by your hurt and deflated ego; as well as your generational gap and your unwillingness to embrace the younger political figures. I know, it’s not only you who has this disdain towards the change in political climate and the rotation of representatives; there’s always your geriatric cronies in the NAACP who also seem to have this disease. It’s such a tragedy when you think of about it because there’s such knowledge that could be passed down but instead you choose to be stuck in the ways of yesteryear. 

It’s ironic to think that you want to cut off Barack’s testicles for supposedly talking down to black people, yet you downright disgraced us with your own wayward testicles which couldn’t be kept in your pants. Messy Jesse, indeed. For a man who doesn’t want to distract us from Barack and this impending race, you sure do know how to make a segue-way my N***a!

Yours Truly,

Disgruntled T.