Thoughts From A Random Black Guy: That Time I Adopted An Asian Kid
[Editor's note: Odd Future member Lionel Boyce writes a weekly column for West Coast Sound. His archives are available here.]
For a brief period I had a kid. A daughter. I didn't really tell anyone. For some reason people never asked who she was; I guess they assumed she was my sister or something.
How I managed to obtain a daughter was very normal, just about the same as anyone who had a kid they didn't give birth to. One day I was reminiscing about my life in elementary school and how much of an influence career day had on me. I decided that I wanted to return the joy that career day brought me to the elementary students of today. It's like a combination of motivational speaking and flex tweeting on a bunch of little kids. But in order for me to be able to unload all that wisdom, I first needed a child to enroll into the school.
I knew that for people to believe it was actually my kid, I had to get an Asian child, because I undeniably look Asian. I tried searching the black market to see if they had any babies on deck, but I guess people aren't buying kids too often or something, because they didn't have any. While I was sitting at home Tupac's video "Brenda's Got a Baby" came on television and that's when it hit me: I could most definitely buy a kid from a crackhead. So I went out searching for crackheads and I came across a lady willing to trade me her daughter for $70 and a copy of Al B. Sure's In Effect Mode album.
Once I got Stacy -- that's what I decided to name my new daughter -- I had a shitload of fun with her. We did everything, from playing with her Easy-Bake Oven and dolls to racing dirt bikes and milking cows. Everything was running smooth in the beginning, but as time went on Stacy's true colors began to show. She wasn't as nice as I had thought she was. Apparently she had been doing credit card fraud and stealing people's money. When I confronted her, she attempted to stab me.