By James Witherspoon
Yo, check this out. I was riding around when I got a call from one of my boys and he said that Will Smith and his son died in a wreck. Really? Really? Nice try fella. I knew this had to be one of those hoaxes put on by one of those soy boy, cellar-dwelling, EBT-toting geeks. YA HEARD!
My god, imagine if Will’s family saw those headlines. They’d be devastated. My god, imagine if his fan club members heard that. They’d be killing themselves via auto-erotic asphyxiation. Now, I caught up with my boy, Will Smith, and he had the following to say:
“Firstly, James, you are the best writer to ever live. I love how you put these assclowns on blast when they throw a guy like me under the bus. Now, for this soy boy that had the balls to try to make me the not so fresh prince of the grave. I am alive and well and so is my son, you fat geek. I bet you’re fat like that tub of lard, Kevin James, that I worked with in HITCH. Today, I declare my independence day from the LOSERS out there. I know I might be a bad boy, but you’ve not seen nothing yet. Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do. Whatcha gonna do when I corn hole you?!”
Thank you Will for clearing this up.
(Comments may not be those of Will Smith.)
