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I’m worried about D’Angelo Russell. I was worried about him back when he was the then-Los Angeles Lakers guard and recorded then-teammate Nick Young talking about cheating on then-girlfriend Iggy Azalea and the video somehow got leaked. Russell was then iced out by all his teammates who found the offense akin to snitching and he was shipped off to basketball’s Iceland, the Brooklyn Nets.

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For years no one heard from Russell. Well, I guess Nets fans heard from him but no one who actually likes watching basketball with players they’ve heard of before knew what was going on. Then one day, I clicked on the TV and noticed that the Nets had signed a guard from the Boo-Yaa Tribe and I was shocked to see that the guard with the long do-do braids was, in fact, D’Angelo Russell. The Nets made the playoffs this year and got clobbered 4-1 by the Philadelphia 76ers.

It seemed like Russell was moving back into existence and then, with his offseason starting later than he expected, Russell was detained at New York’s LaGuardia Airport on Wednesday night after a baggie check found less than 50 grams of weed inside a fake Arizona Iced Tea can that was in Russell’s possession, USA Today reports.

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This last move, this Inspector Gadget Arizona Iced Tea can with the fake compartment stuffed with weed, might be the third wheel in the tricycle of terror. Where are D’Angelo Russell’s hangers-on? Where are his fake street niggas that will take that charge for him? Where is his weed handler?

Where is the man around to tell him “Nah, player these dookie braids ain’t where it’s at.” Where’s his mentor that says, “Look you really shouldn’t be smoking weed but if you’re going to do it, then meet Jerome. This is your personal weed handler who will bring it with him on trips for you. Say ‘Hi,’ Jerome.”

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The larger point is Russell has made several negro man-code violations that leave me puzzled. Look, the hair is one thing. Let the first nigga who didn’t wear a high-top fade or have cuts in his eyebrow cast the first stone. So, while I don’t like it, it ain’t my head. The whole Iggy thing was a double-edged sword as The Root staff writer Jay Connor pointed out, while Russell didn’t do himself any favors, he single-handedly helped to bring down Iggy’s career and we can all be thankful for that.

But there are soooooo many violations on this weed-at-the-airport-in-a-hollowed-out-Arizona-Iced-Tea-can incident that leaves me puzzled. (In my HaHa Davis voice): “This is unusual. I’m flabbergasted.”

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First, is the weed that bad in Louisville, Ky., that Russell had to smuggle some shit on the plane? Where was he going that doesn’t have weed? Narnia? Westeros? It couldn’t have been Africa because Wakanda vibranium chronic is some of the best in the world! If you put a stopwatch on me I bet I could find weed in any city on the planet faster than you can find an Arizona Iced Tea.

Secondly, where is Jerome? When two or more black men are gathered together, they will warn each other of the things that might cause white people’s alarms to go off. If Russell had a black friend, the last thing Jerome would have said before dropping D’Angelo off at the airport was: “You ain’t got no weed in your bag, do you? You know them white folks don’t play that.”

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Thirdly, is he smoking that much “OG Bobby Johnson Kush Blood Eye” that you couldn’t leave that shit at home?

Fourthly, a hollowed out Arizona, my G? And it was reportedly found in D’Angelo’s checked bag, which is not suspicious at all. Most people make sure they pack a refreshing, room-temperature beverage that can spill everywhere when the plane is pressurized? Plus, niggas only drink Arizonas when there is nothing else at the store but Mr. Pippi Longstocking has one packed in his suitcase like it’s a gift for his grandmother.

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Fifthly, liquids are not allowed on the plane. So his stash spot was to put the weed in a container that can’t fly? Nice.

I mean the questions are endless but the answer is obvious, despite working his name out of the snitch mud and finding success in Basketball-Kazakhstan, Russell still doesn’t understand how to finesse these situations like a professional. But the good thing for him is, I’m teaching a class called “Why you need a Crash Test Dummy on your team: How to prevent major league players from making minor league mistakes.”

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It’s a series of one-hour internet sessions in which I teach professional athletes how to hide their jewelry during one-night stands, the benefits of having your own driver, hair care tips and how to hand you weed off to your man so you don’t take the charge. There will be field trips to nightclubs to know how to avoid fights and the final exam will consist of short-answer questions about sliding in the DMs of Instagram models.

If you’re reading D’Angelo, the first class is free.

Bring Jerome.