A Call to the White Cracka

I was sitting here at the computer about thirty minutes ago. The phone rang. As usual, I let my answering machine pick it up. My eyes lit up when I heard it was George. The message went as follows:

Hey you, white cracka. Pick up da phone. You there? I gots a case of beer and two packs of cigars with yo name written on it.

I walked over and picked up the phone.

“Where in the fuck have you been?” I asked George.

“I knew yo white ass was dere,” George replied. “You up for a late night party?”

“Man, shit, I can’t drink, but you can come over and we will shoot the shit while you have a few,” I replied. “I sure can smoke a few cigars though.”

“Alright,” George said. “I be over in about ten minutes.”

It has now been thirty minutes and still no George. I will write more when and if he arrives.