On certain pious occasions, such as the memorial for a fallen, unarmed, teenage, 25-year-old Yomish Yute with a knife, people ask me how the priests of Dindustan conduct their rites, what sacrificial lambs, sacred to the God of Things, are heaped upon His ever-devouring altar?
7. Baby formula
6. Scrimps
5. Backfin crabmeat
4. Snickas bars
3. Buttafinga bars
2. Dove bar soap, twin-packs
1. Tide pellets
However, that is what is sacred on the lower end of Dindustan. What about the ultimate dindu wranglers, the thin bow-tied line of hostage negotiators forever busy with maintaining the freedom of the low IQ human stew? What do they pray for?
According to a New York barrister I spoke to this week:
“Each one of us has two secretaries. I keep 140 cases going at one time. Once, my secretary complained about how stupid some of these people are who generate our cases.
“I told her, ‘If it wasn’t for people like them there would be no need for people like us. Go home and say a prayer that more of them will be born tomorrow—twins!’
“That is not to say legal work is easy. It’s like a big pile of shit and somewhere in that pile of shit is a diamond.”
How the Ghetto Got My Soul
