“Let me paint a picture of what’s waiting for you on the shore. You arrive in America, land of opportunity, milk and honey and guess what? You all get to be slaves. Split up, sold off and worked to death. The lucky ones get sunday off to sleep and fuck and make more slaves, and all for what? For cotton? Indigo? For a fucking purple shirt? The only good news is the tabacco your grandkids are gonna farm for free is gonna give a shitload of these white motherfuckers cancer. And I ain’t even started yet.”
Angry is good. Angry gets shit done. You shed tears for Compe Anansi and here he is, telling you you are staring down the barrel of 300 years of subjugation, racist bullshit, and heart disease. He is telling
you there isn’t one goddamned reason you shouldn’t go up there right now and slit the throats of every last one of these Dutch motherfuckers and set fire to this ship.