You find yourself on all fours...wiping down the chrome rims on Phil Heath's flashy car of the week. The homies have dropped by and they laugh at you and joke as your transluscent pale skin burns in the sun. The crew gather around a grill and throw on some steaks and light their blunts...you realize they have taken over the office jobs, the sales jobs, the lawyer jobs...their man is in the White House...and here you are dressing Phil Heath's tires...afraid to look up, you glance sideways at Phil's tree trunk thighs, and embrace your station in life. Next, the white chicks arrive and start laughing and joking with the brothas, and you wonder if you should ask Phil if you should fetch him a beer...