How To Stay Out Of Jail:

...And while we're on the subject of the NAACP:

While most everything this tribe does is against the best interests of my people (not that it catches me off guard. The name says it all, folks.), there is a bit of advice they give to the American negro that I encourage wholeheartedly, even if I do find it amusing. The "legal resource", titled The 4-11 on the Five-O is a step-by-step primer on how to deal with law enforcement personnel when confronted in different situations. My favorite instruction to the intended reader is number 7 in the last segment: "Don't run."

Well, no sh**, Tyrone.

While the NAACP does finally have it's collective heart in the right place, I do have some suggestions to help them better serve the demographic they're attempting to reach (which I've been kind enough to send to the national headquarters via email).

First: From what I've gathered during my short tenure on God's earth, blacks don't respond well to being told not to do something. Instead, reword the article so that it gives gentle commands, almost suggestions. If put in a positive context by black "leadership", black Americans will surely be more inclined to choke it down.

Second: Looking at standardized test scores leads me to believe that black America has the attention span of a hummingbird with A.D.D. The entire article should be shortened so that more of the target audience can retain it's wisdom. I suggest, in keeping with the former critique: "Obey the law, please." There. That about sums up the whole release.

Third: My guess is that the very black people the legal staff at the NAACP are trying to coerce into becoming law abiding Americans aren't exactly what would be considered bastions of intellectual thought. I'd go so far as to say that this set probably isn't even half literate. My position is that a different medium be used to convey the message. One idea is to have a group of scantily clad women drenched in malt liquor shaking their rear ends to an unbearably loud beat. In the foreground, a crack dealer with bullet riddled body armor, high powered assault rifles and diamond-studded goblets filled with Kool-Aid almost incoherently mumbles the the message, broken, of course, only by occasional shouts from a second "gangsta" between attempts of keeping his pants from falling to his ankles. Throw in a shiny car and they'll cling to it like stink on a monkey. "Obey da law, homie" "What?!" "obey da law, nigga!" "What!?"

Then again, you can let the savages keep giving the police good reason to lock them away. What the hell do I care? Death and taxes, right?