You may or may not know Jessica Stover.
But more important than who she is, her book or even the trailer for her book is the fact that she has got to be the whitest, most vanilla, most jazz-less, soul-less caucasian female on the face of the Earth.
Which means, without question, that I am blacker than Jessica Stover.
Before any of you get all up in arms over this post and tell me I’m a racist or something, or break down each of my upcoming points and throw them into the “stereotype column” let’s just remember that this isn’t about you. This is about me. And how I’m blacker than Jessica Stover. About how, if Jessica and I were both standing in the front row of a Black Eyed Peas concert and Fergie started singing the song ‘Where Is The Love” — I would be singing the lyrics word for word while Stover would be wondering aloud, “But doesn’t Justin Timberlake sing this song?”