Tragedy can often  lead to laughter.

In the process of hunting for a picture of Michael Jackson to accompany a news break post I came across flicks from Jesse Jackson’s trip to the village of Krindjabo in the southeast of the Ivory Coast. And my world came to a screeching halt.

Fresh: Those the best breasts I have seen all year.

Justin: I know right. Homegirl looks like each night before she goes to bed she slathers them in Palmer’s.

Fresh: What’s going on with dude in the back though? That’s what happens when you don’t check your email the day of the event. They totally nixed the whole tribal paint thing and he had no idea.

Justin: Maybe when she shed the extra skin from her breasts he fell into the shavings?

Fresh: I see Mr. Jackson was presented with Kizzy Rowland’s yaki feather duster. And who said the wig crypt doesn’t care? But why are they looking in the wrong direction? The focus should be on her chocolate mounds, hello!

Justin: Maybe they were starring at Dorian’s dick?

Fresh: This is what Nelson Mandela’s last bachelor party looked like. Money, hoes, and clothes all a nigga knows.

Fresh: That bitch jealous. Sucking her tongue like she got precum on it, looking like a Great Value Aretha. Just starring at them titties like “Yeah, that was me back at Hattie McDaniel’s second wedding.

Justin:If Aretha was there, she would have challenged homegirl. While the African chick is using Vaseline, she would have been using natural oils that seep from her neck that was cultivated from years of eating lard, Kentucky Fried Chicken, hammocks, and collard greens.

Fresh: While Catfish Wilkerson refereed the entire time.

Justin: “At the sound of my whistle….”