I'm the one who found your lost cell phone on the street. My first instinct was to find out whom it belonged to and return it, to do my Good Samaritan deed. It wasn't password protected, so I looked around on it to find some identifying information. That's when I found all your Election Day text messages between you and your other racist buddies. "Did you hear that Hallmark has a new Obama presidential Christmas ornament? Now everyone can hang that nigger from a tree!" and "The White House is now tearing out its Rose Garden and replacing it with a watermelon patch." There were ones worse than that.
Bless you, you white-supremacist fuck! Two days after the election, I couldn't have found a better celebratory gift! I texted everyone in your contacts with this message: "I admit it, my racism is a sham! The truth is I love black cock—in my mouth or up my ass, it doesn't matter, it all makes me blow my load!" I figure a racist like you is probably also homophobic, so I'm sure you have some explaining to do to your chums. Out of decency, I didn't text your mom. Even she doesn't deserve to know what a racist piece of shit her son is. You might want to password-protect your next phone. I took a lot of pleasure in beating this one to death with a hammer. (Obama probably wouldn't approve because he's a decent, upstanding guy. Me, not so much.)