Kyle Pagan’s Portfolio
Kyle Pagan’s Reel
I Would Outsell This 98 Year Old Girl Scout So Fast It Would Make Her Go Into Cardiac Arrest
Source – At 98 years young, a Berks County woman continues a mission she started when she was just 10 years old. Ronnie Backenstoe is still selling Girl Scout Cookies. She’s even part of a troop. “I became a Girl Scout in 1932!” Ronnie told WMFZ-TV. “I said ‘when can I be a Girl Scout?’ My mom said ‘when you’re 10.’ So when I was 10, I was ready to go!”
Her fellow scouts joined her for a cookie sale at Phoebe Berks, a retirement community in Wernersville. Troop Leader Barbara Allen Perelli says Ronnie’s energy is non-stop, and her young fellow scouts say she makes them laugh. Ronnie says the Girl Scouts have taught her so much. “I think that it was just part of living. That’s really what girl scouting is, it teaches you how to live,” Ronnie said. Ronnie said when she first sold cookies in the 1930s there were only three different kinds and they only cost 15 cents.
Her favorite Girl Scout Cookie is peanut butter.
Listen I’m happy Ronnie Backenstoe has been able to live out her dream for 88 years, but some of us aren’t here to rest on our laurels. When we achieve our dreams at the age of 10 most of us are looking to see what more we can achieve. We’re here to chew bubble gum and sell Thin Mints. And I’m all out of Thin Mints because I just guilted some poor guy to buy 10 boxes because my parents are getting a “divorce”. There are no rules in the cookie game. Ronnie might’ve made it through the Great Depression eating Caramel Delites and Do-si-dos, but that’s nothing compared to the depression kids feel from social media. You think Ronnie here ever has experienced getting 100 likes on a photo when it was easily worth 200? These little girls are running circles around her developing social media marketing plans and crushing SEO so their link is the first one that comes up on Google.
“She just makes me laugh when I’m with her,” said Senior Girl Scout Amber Holl.
Hey Ronnie, you know why Amber is laughing at you? Because she doesn’t see you as a threat. She knows you’re useless outside of the nursing home. You can’t go in front of the Wal-Mart and use your charm on the soccer moms like she can. You can’t work a Snapchat “Cat” filter letting people know you’ll be at the local VFW from 4-7 with a #Troop412 Forever” tag. You’re still trying to learn the new cookie flavors since they’ve quadrupled from when you’ve started.
And her favorite Girl Scout cookie is Peanut Butter? Way to go out on a limb Ronnie and really shed that old bag moniker your competition already placed on you. Who are Ronnie’s PR people? They couldn’t have told her “say Samoas” before she got on camera and looked like she was 100 instead of 98.
Ronnie is like Roy Hibbert. She came into the league with a ton of skills and was carving out a legacy towards the Hall of Fame. Then the game innovated and those who didn’t adapt or didn’t translate to the new style of play. were forced into retirement and a constant state of “What if?”
Girl Scout Cookie Rankings:
- Thin Mints
- S’mores
- Samoas
- Thanks-A-Lot
- Caramel Chocolate Chip
- Tagalongs/Do-si-dos
- Shortbread
- Lemonades/Lemon Ups
- Toffee-tastic
All 13 Year Old Boys In The Delaware Valley Have Now Been Put On Notice
Finally the Broad Street Bullies are back.
Can we get something out of the way? Let’s all gather in the trust tree. Ok, we all here? Good.
This kid definitely deserved it. You ever met a 13 year old boy? Were you ever a 13 year old boy? 13 year old boys are assholes. They are the worst of the worst. They don’t care about anyone. They stink. They think they’re the coolest people in the world because they’re in 8th grade and run the playground Monday to Friday and they believe that’s real life. Not to mention their hormones are flying all around and that just adds an extra layer to it. Look at this kid. If anyone deserved a flying superman punch to the back it’s this kid.
How about the account of the events from the Inquirer’s Chris Heatrick:
In Greenwell’s telling, Brandon playfully patted the mascot on the head after the photo was taken. As Brandon walked away, Gritty got out of his chair, “took a running start,” and “punched my son as hard as he could,” Greenwell said Wednesday.
Officials at Comcast Spectacor, the company that owns the Flyers, told Greenwell there is no video footage of the incident because the “cameras in that area of the center are focused on other locations,” according to emails between Greenwell and officials. The company claimed it conducted an investigation that included interviews with Gritty, and “Gritty’s handler,” but couldn’t verify Greenwell’s account.
I am cackling imagining this furry 8 foot Jake Voracek lookalike launching himself at a 13 year old for giving him a love tap on his head.
And look at this kid’s dad just fucking demanding his kid become best friends with Claude Giroux like he’s Hans Gruber taking hostages in Nakatomi Plaza:
After the alleged punch, Greenwell emailed officials at Comcast Spectacor, first complaining of the “lousy picture” with the mascot who didn’t look at the camera. Then he raised the “more serious and disappointing” concern.
“I know it was not correct for my son to harmlessly tap him on his head but for a Flyers employee to get (sic) throw a full punch at someone with his back turned and hurt a 13 year old boy is assault, unprofessional and unacceptable for your organization,” he wrote.
Comcast Spectacor officials said there was no proof that Gritty hit the boy, but offered special perks to make up for the “bad experience.” Greenwell suggested the Flyers show his son on the giant scoreboard or let him into the locker room to meet players and get autographs. The company offered to sit Brandon on the players’ bench during warm-ups before a future game.
Now I know where your piss ant of a kid gets it. You think you can just waltz in here and make a list of demands like you’re Dr. Evil threatening to blow up the world?
Also, what the hell is this from the Inquirer:
Efforts to reach Gritty were unsuccessful as of Wednesday afternoon.
I mean he’s not fucking real you idiots. You think Gritty’s just sitting in the bowels of the Wells Fargo Center next to a rotary phone waiting for a call from the Inquirer. No! He’s out policing 13 year olds around the Delaware Valley to make sure they don’t get out of line.
Are we sure Gritty isn’t to blame for the 2017 NBA Draft not panning out for the Sixers? Markelle Fultz’s injury is sounding eerily the same as Brandons.
Greenwell said he took his son to see a chiropractor about a week after the incident. The chiropractor noted that Brandon suffered from mild pain, and diagnosed him with a back bruise, or a “contusion to lower thoracic spine with subluxation,” according to documents from the chiropractor, provided by Greenwell.
I need Gritty going down I-76 in a White Bronco by sundown.
I’m exonerating Gritty on principle and principle alone. You think this lovable character would hit a 13 year old?
A Company Is Releasing A Male Sex Robot With A Bionic Penis And Now Men Are Useless
SOURCE – They’re traditionally portrayed as females, but it seems sex robots could soon also be available in male form. Matt McMullen, CEO of Realbotix, has revealed his ambitious plans to release a male sex bot this year. Realbotix has previously released a doll called Harmony, which includes an artificial intelligence app and robotic head that can talk, and perform sexual acts on users. Until now, the head, which costs a staggering £11,000 ($15,000), was only available in a female form. But Mr McMullen has revealed that he is soon aiming to release a male version.
He suggested that users could simply ‘plug the robot in’, before using it for ‘as long as you want.’ In terms of penis size, Mr McMullen said the ‘sky is the limit’ for the male robots. While you might think that sex robots would only appeal to a very niche group, Mr McMullen believes that introducing a male version could widen the market.
Well it was good while it lasted fellas. Because now that Male sex robots with bionic penises are a thing we have all been rendered useless. I’m usually good for some above average sex once every ten times, but when we have sex robots with endless penises and stamina of a jaguar what the hell can I offer a woman? A sick sense of humor? That would go great for a couple months, but after I run out of jokes and keep playing the hits, it can get old quick. She’d trade me in for the Brad-Bot before you could say “detachable rocket propelled penis”. No chance my love and affection are going to keep her around long enough. That takes an effort and drive that is just as exhausting as sex. Yea, I could keep her on her toes for a little to keep that excitement in our relationship, play some mind games (women love mind games). “Does he like me? Does he love me? Is this the one? Is he going to break up with me?” Only to disappoint her six months down the line because I couldn’t commit when she asks the age old question of, “What are we?” to which I respond “I know what we aren’t.” and it derails whatever fairy tale ending she let her imagination escape too. At least with the Brad-Bot she knows this metal sex machine is incapable of love and affection and she’ll never have to have that awkward conversation ever again.
How about the CEO of the company when asked about the robot dick size? He fucking pulled up like he was Steph Curry from half-court and dropped a “sky is the limit”. Just salivating waiting for someone to ask that question. Dude knew that was his competitive advantage from the start. Thanks bro. It’s wonderful that chicks can now choose their penises from Irish Catholic all the way to 1st round NFL Linebacker. There aren’t many excerpts in history books that mention Irish Catholic dudes who are hung like Smarty Jones. In my opinion, no bias, it takes away from the magic for the girl when you first decide to fuck someone. Is she going to get a Ken Doll or is she going to get a grocery store cucumber, those non-organic GMO vegetable ones pumped with a bunch of chemicals? As a mid-twenties male, who’s had sex (sup?), with tons of knowledge of the opposite sex I would know a thing or two about the intricacies of women’s thought process.
The only saving grace with this is it costs like $15k for the Brad-Bot. Not many chicks my age are going to be first in line for the sex robot. Student loans are a real bitch huh? This definitely has a consumer market for lonely, older women that were career driven and had no time for dudes when they were making Partner by 32. Also, you know there is going to be a story on Wendy Williams or The View about a woman who’s sex robot went off the rails. The thing about Artificial Intelligence is it’s always learning. This isn’t any different. You know some chick is going to start confiding in her Brad-Bot because they can’t help it. Women are incapable of separating sex and feelings. She’s going to start trying to unlock this part of his brain like it’s a vault completely forgetting there are wires and software underneath, not flesh and blood. This will go on for months, before the robot teaches himself how to perform basic human functions. It learns to walk, it learns to talk with humans all leading up to one day when it learns how to call an Uber and book a plane ticket and jets the fuck out of there never to be seen again nor have to hear anymore stories from work or about her friends she can’t stand. And that’s when she’ll realize she should’ve turned lesbian when she had that chance in college.
Tauruses Are Murdering At An Alarming Rate + People To Avoid Who Wear Certain Types Of Pants
I spent a lazy hungover Sunday scrolling through Twitter, Instagram, back to Twitter, in between XFL plays like a mindless robot who stays alive off of smut and cynicism. It was a regular lazy Sunday as I look for things I can make fun of, when a NY Post Headline stopped me in my tracks.
I immediately polled the Branded writers to see who was a Taurus so I knew who to avoid at the future company Christmas parties. My first thought was Eddie was definitely a Taurus. A guy who bets on a volatile league like the NBA as much as he does is a psychopath. But I wouldn’t be surprised if someone out of left field like Jessie turned out to be the Broomall version of a Zodiac Killer. For a guy that has a wife and 1 year old at home, he is way too energetic and positive and he has tendencies like Patrick Bateman. One time we all Skyped each other to talk about ideas and the future of Branded, and that guy must’ve moved to 6 different rooms in his house within an hour, while laying down in compromising poses, making sure we all saw his bicep like he was trying to Alpha us. I don’t believe there is anything Jessie loves more than a nice ‘Arm Day’ pump at the 24 Hour Fitness. It turns out though that the only psycho we have is the Yankees, Cowboys, Notre Dame fan. His insane fandom mixed with an insane addiction to flesh and murder does correlate so it wasn’t to shocking.
Back to the NY Post article. After, I did my due diligence, I noticed the jeans the knife wielding man in the stock photo was wearing. They’re probably some classic Wranglers bought off the rack at his local Wal-Mart after he saw one of those homo-erotic Brett Favre commercials on a football Sunday, feeling a sensation in his lower groin he had never felt before in his Dickies. But these jeans were different. The pockets were on his thighs, and there was no zipper for him to pull his serial killer dick out of. Which means, this dude had his pants on backwards. Fuck if this guy was a Leo or Sagittarius, that is pre-crime for a serial killer. This guy probably pees like the weird kid who still pulled his pants down to his ankles at the urinal in 4th grade. Like hey, it was ok in Kindergarten and 1st grade. Second grade it got a little weird, but you’re about to be double digits in age, clean it the fuck up. There is no chance I’m friends with anyone who dropped trow in 4th grade. Because those kids sit in Graterford prison doing time for drug possession or murder.
Pants have had an illustrious history through the years. You had Levi’s, Bell Bottoms, skinny jeans, and JNCOs. Chicks had the bedazzled butt with “Juicy” or “Pink” across it, that gave you a reason to check out their ass. All of these at one point became the popular design for a certain subset of culture. Which got me thinking – just wearing your pants backwards like it’s a normal thing around everyday people is bad enough. So I wanted to help you out, the loyal reader, with what other “Pre-Crime Pants” you should avoid if you come into contact with these beasts. Because if you die, that’s one less reader we’ll have, and that’s one less piece of merch we sell, one less engagement on Twitter, and I can’t afford that on my conscience (pocket).
Zip-off pants
When I was 7 and saw my first pair of zip-off pants, I thought they were the coolest thing ever. If it’s mid-April and the weather doesn’t break until noon they were the perfect catalyst. Just think you could dress for the 45 degree morning and by the time it was 75 at 1pm, and you were dying, you could let the legs breathe and zip them off. Maybe get a light jog at lunch or play the guys in pickup after work when you didn’t have time to change. Travel soccer dad’s absolutely crushed these. These were basically the polar opposite to the guy who never wore pants, even if it was 20 degrees out. He wanted all the parents to know who the Alpha dog was in the parent group. The guy always had the nicest calfs to, probably why he refused to wear pants.
What did people do with the zip off part? Put it in their pockets for later like it was loose change?
Cammo Cargo Shorts
This guy carries a switch blade or Swiss Army Knife everywhere he goes because “you never know”. And by “you never know” he just hasn’t decided on the proper time to kill you yet or you just have never been in a remote part of the country with him alone. These guys come in handy maybe once every couple of years. From my time with switchblade enthusiasts, there isn’t much middle ground. The line goes from outdoors enthusiast to guy who likes to widdle or carve his initials into stuff to skinning small animals and showing you pictures. I can’t take the chances that the latter will ever happen, so I remove Army Cargo pants guy from my life.
Sidenote: These guys are also apart of the great calves club too.
JNCOs
Listen if you’re not at a Juggalo concert and you hang out with someone who wears these run as far away as you can. If it’s a neighbor – move. Because maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday you are going to end up in their freezer and their going to dice you up into little Kyle bits of sushi. If your friend is mixing their vodka with Faygo then remain calm. Your friend just loves Violent J and Shaggy 2 Dope and might paint their face to look like a clown on weekends when they’re “running errands all day”.
Breakaway pants(not in high school or at a basketball game)
Listen, I’m in the camp that breakaway pants should make a comeback. Breakaway pants are the greatest thing ever. You spend 10 minutes making sure the buttoning them, just to rip them off like you’re Michael Jordan about to drop 50 on the Utah Jazz. But if someone is wearing breakaway pants willingly and there is no basketball court within a 10 mile radius, leave that area immediately. Because shit is going down if it already hasn’t. Breakaway pants should be worn on the hardwood and blacktop, no where else.
I’d be lying to you if I didn’t say that picture above of the guy ripping off his breakaway jeans didn’t get me thinking that my opinion on these are wrong. There aren’t many things worse than having to change out of jeans when you want to go to bed. It’s such a process. Imagine coming home from the bar hammered and all you have to do is rip those bad boys off and get under the covers with a first class ticket to Dream City. That’s a million dollar idea.
*quickly tries to find the trademark on tearaway jeans*
Starter Shorts
Nothing tells you how poor you were growing up like a pair of Starter shorts. While all the other kids were balling out in Nike and Adidas shorts you had basically the Iverson Answer 4’s attached to your hips. Remember the answer 4’s? Those shoes were like 15 oz each. It was like wearing two cinderblocks on your feet. Mix that with 5 lbs of Starter short material and my already unathletic body could barely jump over loose leaf paper.
The fact that Iverson dropped 30 a game wearing these isn’t talked about enough. That might be the greatest single season in NBA history.
Greta Thumbum Wins One Award And Now Declares “She Needs A Rest”
SOURCE: Time magazine’s 2019 Person of the Year, Greta Thunberg, revealed that she will be taking a break over the holidays to rest from her global climate activism.
Look at Thumbum over here begging for a rest from trying to change the world. Softest TIME’s Person of the Year ever. As a former Person of the Year award winner I find this a slap in the face to all of us former winners. You think climate change is stopping because a 16 year old wants to take a couple of naps and enjoy the holidays? Nope sister. The climate works 24/7 365 churning out climate no matter what time of the day it is. Ice caps aren’t thinking, “Oh, Thumbum wants to eat some strudel and open some presents. I’ll stop melting until she’s ready to come back.” Nope, the ice caps are melting at an alarming rate. They don’t sleep. The dying polar bears are melting. They would love to sleep.
I’m on vacation right now Thumbum. I’m in California wine country five glasses of Cab Sauv deep. Just got done a wine tasting, thanks for asking. Don’t you think I’d love to take a rest from the blogging game? Rest my fingers for a couple hours? Tell my brain to take a night off? It’d be ideal. But the blog, similar to climate, doesn’t sleep. So I’m out here grinding, churning out 3,000 words, and you’re probably sitting by the fire singing Swedish House Mafia carols in your villain voice. Maybe you need a rest Thumbum, but rest is for the weak.
Kobe Bryant. And Invincibility.
When we’re young, we rarely ever comprehend that this life can be taken away at any moment, that is, until someone is taken too soon and reality comes around to slap us in the face. It’s easy to feel like we have so much life ahead of us, so much so that sometimes, we take it for granted instead of sitting back, breathing, and realizing how important the time we have been given is. I wish more people my age would realize how precious their lives really are instead of comparing themselves to their friends’ lives and a clouded representation of what life seems to be like as told by Instagram. I’m guilty of it too.
If you had to pick one athlete who embodies living life to its fullest, it would be Kobe Bryant. During his playing career, he would find himself in countless situations during big games – a losing streak, or shooting free throws with a torn Achilles – where the feeling of helplessness creeps in. He always found a way to overcome the obstacles in front of him. A couple that come to mind immediately:
The 2008 Western Conference Finals Game 1 against the Spurs.
The 2000 NBA Finals – Game 4 after Shaq fouls out. Many forget at that point in his career everyone wouldn’t stop talking about how Kobe shrunk in the playoff spotlight. That conversation did a complete 180 on that day and set the tone for the rest of his career.
“Kobe Bryant’s Muse” a doc created during his rehab from his Achilles Injury about mastering your craft.
Kobe was never my favorite player and never made me exhibit the same emotions the way an Allen Iverson crossover step-back jumper or LeBron James highlight dunk made me feel. Then why did I feel like I had to immediately call my friends when the news broke? I realized, it was because even though he wasn’t my favorite player there were so many memories I associated good and bad with him that I can immediately pin-point where I was at that exact time. My first memory of Kobe was different. I remember sitting in the stands when Lower Merion played North Penn a couple years back after Kobe graduated and was drafted into the NBA. North Penn beat up on Lower Merion that night and I remember North Penn’s student section chanting, “You need Kobe! You need Kobe!” At the time I was about six and my knowledge of basketball history was zero. But I can hear that chant like it was yesterday. “Kobe”. The name just stuck with you. I didn’t know two years later he would rip my heart out in the 2001 NBA Finals against AI and the Sixers. I hated Kobe after that and when I found out he went to high school 20 minutes down the road I couldn’t fathom why someone who grew up in the area would beat his hometown team in the fashion they did.
That hate grew into respect which I know was a feeling a lot of people grew to possess when thinking about Kobe, especially when we were getting to the tail end of his career.
I had my first brush with death and the thought of what invincibility meant a year ago. I don’t talk about it a lot for whatever reason. I’d been lucky the first 26 years of my life, I hadn’t had more than one brush with death up to that point. I lost my dad this time last year. One of the first memories that came back to me was that Lower Merion game when I was six sitting in those stands with him. Growing up we’d go a ton of high school basketball games. Classic games like Chester vs Hatboro Horsham when Pat & Matt Carroll would go up against Jameer Nelson. Those were my all time favorites because the crowd was always enormous and the loudest I’ve ever heard to this day. When the cheerleaders do the ‘Chester Train’ you are in for the ride of your life!
I’m weird about condolences, probably because I’m Irish and we don’t typically do well with feelings. That’s why when a public figure passes away I never post an RIP Instagram story or tweet on social because, though the sentiment is nice, the condolences feel empty and lumped together with thousands or even this case millions of condolences already spoken. It’s like posting a happy birthday to your grandmother on IG knowing she’ll never see it because she couldn’t decipher Instagram from a typewriter and the likes are just too good to pass up. Morbid, I know. But I prefer to sit around and talk about the memories you have with the person, watch old highlights or video from when they were alive, and laugh about the times you had with them. I’m lucky that I have those memories with my dad that Kobe was inadvertently apart of. The Lower Merion game, watching Game 1 of the 2001 NBA Finals when the Sixers won and we thought they actually had a chance against this juggernaut Lakers team, or going to Michael Jordan’s last game ever. MJ felt like this ghost Kobe was always chasing to defeat that kept driving him to be the best he could be. My dad might be gone, but I’m lucky that their is video I can still pull up to hear his voice when I want to or see his friends and reminisce on the memories they have of him or unlock the countless memories I have that consistently orbit around basketball. My dad is invincible because his memory will never be overcome or defeated and lives through myself and my sister.
This was the worst day in NBA history. But Kobe will forever remain invincible.
Invincibility is the quality of being too powerful to be defeated or overcome. No matter what happened yesterday, Kobe Bryant is invincible. He will forever be invincible, Gigi as well. Because as long as you carry on someone’s legacy and memory in any way, shape, or form, that individual is too powerful to be defeated or overcome. You cannot tell the story of the NBA without telling the career Kobe had. How he was apart of the last NBA Championship 3-peat. How he overcame Shaq’s shadow to win back-to-back championships. And how he reinvented his game a la MJ late in his career to prolong it. Kobe and Gigi’s memory, as well as the other 7 souls on board yesterday, will forever be shared long after the shock of this tragedy subsides and we continue on with life. As long as one person continues to share memories and stories of them, they will never be overcome or defeated. They will forever be invincible.
Live your life so that when it’s your time people can look back and share memories of you, so you too, remain invincible.
R.I.P Mamba
I Love These Mummers Fighting Racism With Racism
I know we already touched on this last night in a blog, but I just wanted to say I love this guy fighting racism with racism. Listen, in today’s world “Don’t Do Blackface” is right next to murder and taking your shoes off on a plane. If you’re white and you want to be Michael Jackson for Halloween then you better go as the “Bad” version of MJ. If you want to be Sammy Sosa on October 31st, unfortunately you can’t be the 1999 Goliath homerun mashing mammoth. Nope, you have to go as vampire Sammy Sosa after one too many skin bleaches.
Obviously, the Mummers have had a long history of performing with Blackface back in the day. Previous popular Mummers have included Jimmy Kimmel and Jimmy Fallon.
I hope one day Kevin Kinkel has his frilly Mummers jersey lifted to the rafters in the Froggy Carr Club especially after he dropped the “Getting Gritty With It” line that would make a young Will Smith blush. The reporter needs to be better and drop a ‘na, na, na, na, na’ after that.
I feel like the Froggy Carr Club needs a better PR team in 2020. When you’re being accused of blackface and the evidence is 100% against you, on camera, on the news in one of the biggest markets in the nation while using your full name, here’s how not to answer a reporters question.
“Why the blackface?”
“Cause I like it! Why does it matter?”
Listen, Mike here has probably grown up in Queens Village all his life and as a little boy when his grandfather would sit him on his lap every New Years as they watched the Mummers pass by and make some off-colored jokes; Mike couldn’t wait for the chance to be out there with them. At 16 he graduated from sitting in the back of the rented U-Haul or 1995 Chevy Tahoe his brigade used. His boys at St. John Neumann High were in the Froggy Carr Club with him and he even met his wife who was dressed up as a young Rudy Huxtable as a tribute to the Cosby show which was taking the nation by storm on ABC. Blackface is in his blood. You can’t control the blackface, you can only hope to contain it. You think David Banner likes not having control of when he turns into the Hulk? When it’s New Years Eve you think Mike here wants to break out the shoe polish he’s been dying to put on for 365 days? No. But he promised his grandfather on his deathbed he would always keep his legacy alive.
Also, Kevin and Mike here are just a product of their environment. If I also cashed my paycheck at the Pennsport Pub every Friday after getting off the dock I’d probably not have the rosiest outlook on the evolving world of social nuances.
Oh and Kevin Kinkel from the clouds after a 100 PBRs deep just double downed on his original comments. Congrats on defeating racism Froggy Carr. MLK, Malcolm X, Kevin Kinkel. Racism warriors. Kevin Kinkel’s talked to black people (found a homeless guy in between interviews), he did his research, and now he’s ready to deliver an intelligent take on the situation.NBC10 Philadelphia✔@NBCPhiladelphia
‘I Talk to Black People’: Mummer in Blackface Defends Himself After Mayor Kenney Boots Brigade From New Year’s Day Parade http://on.nbc10.com/Axg512L
350Twitter Ads info and privacy374 people are talking about this
P.S. How about the Kinkman bringing his dead friend into this. Kinkman’s friend is sitting up in heaven (probably in blackface) like “What the fuck, don’t bring me into this.” The Kinker trying to pull the ultimate sympathy card, gotta respect it. Not his first racist rodeo.
Follow My Blog
Get new content delivered directly to your inbox.
kylepagan.music.blog 