Here you go.
I just found the greatest thing online.
The ultrasound of the Kim and Kanye baby where someone photoshopped a "666" on its little baby butt?
Wait, this kid's half Kardashian. Its big baby butt.
Wow, that baby's already famous for doing nothing... Just like its mom.
No, what I found is a site where we can apply for a small business grant.
There's a couple of categories: women-owned business...
No thanks. I've been to jail. I was already owned by a woman.
There's also a minority-owned category.
You don't know who your father is, and you do have an exotic look.
Any chance he could be native american?
Yes, in fact, I think his name was Chief Running Away.
Wait. Maybe we don't even need your father.
We are white, which according to the last presidential election, is the new minority.
So now all we need is a letter of recommendation from someone who owns another start-up business.
I was thinking of a recommendation from Candy Andy's Sweets and Treats.
I've already written it, so he just has to sign it.
Will you ask Andy? I can't, he's my ex.
And I'm saving up my favor for a booty call on a cold night.
I hate asking men for things.
Favors, last names, to stop.
Excuse me, could I get some more sweet'n low?
Why don't you look in your purse? It's where I saw you put them.
I'm so embarrassed.
Don't be. I wasn't when I stole them last night.
What did Andy say?
He's gone. For lunch? Forever. The man is gone.