I love black men. I love black men with a capital, underlined, bold faced “L.” I love to look at them; I love to talk to them; I love to be mad at them; I love to talk about them to black women; I love to…everything them. There’s something special about black men; something so special that I would need to have a negative encounter with every chocolate, caramel and creamy colored brother in the world before I could ever jump ship. Sure, y’all get on my nerves. Yeah, y’all do some incredibly dumb things. Of course, I’ve sworn you off a couple of times. But I wouldn’t trade the love, companionship or intellect of a black man for all the peanut M&Ms in the world. And I really like peanut M&Ms.
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