The Smart Move is to RACE to the Police Department If You Were Involved in the Death of Kenneka Jenkins

The last thing in the world you wanna do is get dragged in.

Particularly, if the shit you did wasn’t as grievous as some of the other shit that went down.

And even if you’re the main villain, the “murderer” if said person does indeed exist, it’d be best to admit to your own crimes than to hear all the atrocities that’ll be attributed to you once you’re captured and everybody else has had a chance to tell their story first.

Some people just have a light and as radiant as a light can be, it can also be blinding to those that prefer the dark.

This young woman – at 19, gotta give her her womanhood – named Kenneka Jenkins that police out in Rosemont, Illinois would like us to believe drunkenly staggered into a hotel’s walk-in freezer and died is also currently at the center of a bunch of online conspiracy theories which suggest that all kinds of “other” things might have actually happened.

The most prominent of those rumors has it that Ms. Jenkins was set up by a “friend” to be raped by three men for $200.

And hazy “footage” of the assault is said to be available here:

Now, this would be, of course, ghastly, but tragically not surprising.

And of course, if it isn’t true, it’s slanderous and potentially ruinous lies and innuendo.

But the reason we have to imagine that it may be true is because if we’re old enough to read, by now we know hate.

And hate can make you do viscous things.

And Black self-hate is perhaps one of the oddest phenomenon in existence because it also always seems to come with a side order of implied societal impotence.

If examined, the Black self-hater would probably understand that he or she only hates him or herself because of the awful psychic reinforcement this country provides for those African descent, but instead of feeling empowered to lash out against the society itself, we always seem to “settle” – operative word there – for lashing out against each other.

Like I’ve said before, even in our Hip Hop, our fantasy music, too many of our goals don’t center around wealth or sex or even social uplift, but “killing niggas”.


And we just saw this.

We just saw that lovely girl in the Bronx, Ebony Merritt, get scalded in the face with hot water by a “friend” as a “gag”.


Now, we have to read about a knock-out of a 19 year-old, some girl who could have been anything, next First Lady, future President, that’s dead because, what?

And who knows, maybe she died exactly the way the cops said she did.

If I were in my conspiracy bag, I’d say the cops were in on it.

Lord knows, American Law Enforcement hates to waste an opportunity to give a nigga jail time for anything, even witnessing a suicide.

That’s why I said from the beginning that if you know what really happened to this young lady or, more importantly, you were there, if you ain’t already out of the country, your best bet would be to head down to your local precinct and spill your guts.

Trust, by the time those other rats that were involved get around to telling their side(s) of the story, they’ll have pinned the entire blame on you.

This way, you’ll at least have gotten the presumptive “drop” on them and, more importantly, start along that long arduous journey towards healing your karma and fixing your soul.


About the Author

Dickie Bhee is a self-styled lunatic, a Renaissance showman, a Class A, Grade A buffoon, a nigga that believes in the greatness of Niggerhood a social gadfly and a genuine Man About Town. Also:

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