Fifteen

– All our stars, all our stars, man.

R. Kelly *pissed* on his victim.

I know it was rough, but I mean, again, I can’t even judge R. Kelly. First of all, we don’t know if these allegations are true or not. Even if they *are* true, if you want to know how I feel about it, honestly... if a man cannot *pee* on his fans... I DON'T WANNA BE in show business anymore. Because, well, that’s why I got in *the game,* baby. I got dreams, too.

You guys are *confusing* the issue.

While you guys are busy worrying about if R. Kelly even peed on this girl or not, you’re not asking yourself the *real* question that America needs to decide ONCE and FOR ALL. And that question is, –

“How old is 15, 'really'?”

– No, that’s a good question! That’s a GOOD question. I’m not saying that a person is as smart as they’re going to be at 15. That’s not what I’m saying, man.

But I AM saying... 'fifteen' to me is old enough to decide whether or not you want to be pissed on.

I mean, that’s me.

If you can’t make a decision like that by the time you’re 15, then just give up, motherfucker, because *life* is WAAAAAAAY harder than THAT. I make tougher decisions all the time. If you don’t want to get pissed on, just get THE FUCK out of the way; It’s not even a decision!

If I start peeing on the front row they won’t have to calculate and think –

“How do I feel about this? Am I okay with it?”

– They just MOVE. You can DO that at 15. I could have.

I’ve been 15. When I was 15, I was doing stand-up in nightclubs. I smoked reefer from time to time. My friends were selling crack. I was trying to finger-fuck people. I *knew* what was happening around me to some degree. Getting pissed on was the LEAST of my worries at 15; TRUST me. But it keeps coming up.