Atlanta Decides Not to Impeach Mayor on Misdemeanor Macaroni Charges

After proudly becoming one of the largest metropolitan cities in the U.S. to be led by a black woman, Atlanta was rocked by scandal on Christmas Day when residents of the city recoiled in shock after learning that a black woman named Keisha made a pan of macaroni and cheese that looked like someone melted a few slices of Kraft Singles over a box of Cap’n Crunch.

According to reports from inside the recently-appointed Special Taskforce of Pasta Prosecutors (STOPP) office, officials were alerted to a disaster area when the beloved Mayor Bottoms posted what was either a cry for help or a peanut brittle casserole on Instagram.

Followers initially thought the mayor was trying to inspire the residents of Atlanta to eat healthy by showing what one’s bodily waste would look like if they subsisted on a diet of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and pineapple Fanta. Or maybe it was an overhead shot of the thousands of Goldfish crackers that perished in the Fukushima nuclear disaster.

Then someone read the caption: “Mac and cheese ...”

Keisha, what?

Delete this. Give me your phone. Say you were hacked. Beg your city and your savior for forgiveness. Noah didn’t lead the children of Israel out of Egypt and die on the Titanic for this.

Merriam Webster defines the pronoun “it” as:

It: that one —used as subject or direct object or indirect object of a verb or object of a preposition usually in reference to a lifeless thing.

But in spite of what the lexicologists at that prestigious publication may say, trust me, mayor, that macaroni ain’t, nor will it ever be, “it.”

First of all, why does it look so dry? Did she pre-boil the noodles at all? It looks like she just squeezed out some Cheez-Whiz over a box of noodles and put it in the oven on “dark-skinned.” Were there eggs, milk or any moistening agent involved in the process at all?

Harriet Tubman would have shot that macaroni. That macaroni looks like it has a landscaping business and works the late shift at Waffle House. This macaroni is why we can’t have nice things. This macaroni smokes Black & Milds in the bathroom at church. This macaroni pledged Omega Psi Phi in the late ’80s and still steps whenever it hears “Atomic Dog.”

Sure, this macaroni did a little time upstate for a botched convenience store robbery, but you can see it is trying to turn its life around. This macaroni is on the deacon’s board and volunteers as a little league football coach. This macaroni only wears Timberlands and carries a washcloth for sweat in the summer. This macaroni only fucks doggy-style.

If this macaroni tried to holla at my girl, I wouldn’t do shit but say, “Pardon me, can I buy you a drink?” because I know this macaroni carries a gun, but this macaroni refers to the gun as a “Roscoe” or a “ratchet” and is not afraid to use that shit, which is why I hope my girl understands why I don’t fuck with this macaroni like that.

And of course, Twitter had jokes:

This is worse than colluding with Russia or obstructing justice. I hope she gets some cooking lessons because if I was running against Keisha Bottoms in the next election, I would show up at the debate with a pan of uncooked mac & cheese, and whenever she tried to talk, I would just stir it with a slotted spoon and let the sounds of the moistness drown her out, proving I am more than qualified to be mayor.

The staff at The Root also offer our thoughts and prayers to whoever had to eat that shit.