fat albert wouldn't roofie me, would he?

one time this successful smooth talkin' black dude took an interest in me, and my talent as a smooth talkin' white girl.  he said he would love to help me hone my skills and would even put me in touch with some movers and shakers type folks to kickstart my career.

i thought fuckin' a.

he said that i should come to his house to talk about some ins and outs and best practices of the business.

i say fuckin' a outloud.

when i arrived he offered me a jello pudding pop, normally i would say no but it was summertime and it was butterscotch flavored.  i ate half of it and then woke up in the backseat of a cab wearing only a man's xxl i spy t-shirt and panties and my clothes in a grocery bag at my side.

i said hey hey hey, what happened?

the aforementioned is fictional, fortunately for me but for approximately dozens of women it is/was a fucked up scary reality.

i loved fat albert and mushmouth,  still do.  i watched the huxtables and listened to the patriarchal rapist spout morality tales.  bill cosby is a misogynist piece of chocolate pudding, who will get his just desserts.