1. Ah shoot, I had planned to write and publish some observations on how audiences are too sensitive and comedians can't push boundaries but now their's hot fudge all over me, scalding my inner thighs and crotch.
  2. I had good smart points about how 'playing with race' doesn't make you racist but must now take off my tight corduroy shorts and scrub the fudge, which was meant to be a sweet treat, off of my tiny penis before it hardens (the hot fudge, that is)
  3. It is my understanding many comedians don't want to play colleges, which is bad.
  4. The hot fudge was a gift from my daddy, who was so proud of me writing this brave and thoughtful piece on 'what should be off limits' that he told me that I could pick out any treat I want. Naturally, I picked hot fudge. Daddy agreed to get me the fudge as long as I ate it with a spoon and not my fingers so I wouldn't spill any on my lap and shorts
  5. (This has happened with Butterscotch before)
  6. Now the pain of having burned my inner thighs and tiny penis is made worse by having to scrub the mess off of my tight corduroy shorts before Daddy sees.
  7. Perhaps those calling for "sensitivity" in comedy are now the conservative ones? (This point would have landed harder had my essay not been interrupted by this fudge fiasco)
  8. Listen, I'm just going to throw away my corduroy shorts and tell Daddy a neighborhood dog ate them. If he asks you that's what happened. He can't find out the truth or he'll never buy me hot fudge or any drippy hot sweet treats ever again.
  9. In conclusion I guess I just don't see what the big deal is with blackface.