Emma Heart is as cute as cute can be. Especially when her adorable face blows up to the size of a volleyball whenever she consumes interracial whistling stick. Emma says she learned this trick from her grandmom- that by stretching the mouth and other orifices to capacity and beyond- the jaw will remain firm , the cheeks will stay flush and the love box will gush forth with sweet soul music. If Granny is right, only remains to be seen. But Emma wonders how, if the old bat is passing along this advice, what mom’s mom did for sport back in her day. Jazz musicians? Negro league ballplayers? Janitors named Lightnin’? Emma suspects maybe there’s more to talk about than beauty tips.

Oh that face. Oh, that body. Oh, that ass. We’re all in agreement. Kirra Lynne is a livin’ doll, but it’s just too bad you’re a white man. Because, under her guidelines, Kirra don’t even know you’re alive. Sure, you could probably torch a banquet hall with one of your exquisitely rendered farts. And that probably got the ugliest cheerleader on the high squad to go out with you. But not Kirra. And you could probably dance- but no dice if your name ain’t James Brown. Check that ass out, again. You could be having that right now- Kirra spreading those playful cheeks on your lap. But you ain’t a brother. And because of that, we would kill ourselves right now if we were you.

Jayden Rose used to be attracted to obese Mideastern restauranteurs with curly hair, olive oil and a smile. Now it’s black men with their telescope dicks, working in pairs. Just the thought of such a nasty duo brings a blast of hot blood swelling Jayden’s lips and throat, and she begins her ballet of pursuit. It usually begins with a bump & grind come on plus the genial words, “Hey, sailor.” And they don’t even have to be in the navy. Jayden’s fuck-me-black-man looks generally help, too. Her philosophy? In a coal bin all cocks look alike. Words of wisdom we can all live by.

Before Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in sports, black men couldn’t even stay in the same hotels/motels as white women. [Okay, so it wasn't much better years later during the Kennedy administration, but that's beside the point.] There’d be no socializing, ergo no fornicating. From what we’re told, white chicks were missing out on a good thing. The good thing being what we’ve all now come to learn was the huge endowment granted members of the ebony race. And we’re not talking about Track & Field scholarships, either. Having studied Sociology in many institutions of higher learning, Noname Jame wanted to discover first hand what women of a bygone era, what with their ankle-length skirts, were missing. The answers were pretty obvious. Chicks needed to wear shorter skirts and needed to raise said skirts even higher to show some ass. As we all know, the brothers love white woman ass. They also like to work in pairs while humping the white woman. That was something Noname Jane never learned in school.

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