Here’s Looking At Me

Okay, this is my first foray into blogging, so bear with me and be kind.  By way of introduction, I used to be fairly famous in another life (well, it seems like another life) but now I’m pretty much perpetually pissed.  Like many staunch HRC supporters, most of my wrath these days is directed squarely at the DNC and their Barackenstienian candidate.  While it is universally accepted that some ninety plus percent of African Americans embrace this politically created embodiment of an erroneous interpretation of a long ago dream, I am proudly, and firmly entrenched in the other plus or minus upper 10 percent of the black population.

Why any self-respecting black American would support this man is beyond my meager abilities to comprehend.  He’s a snob, who at every opportunity gleefully puts “y’all” (his favorite word for black people) down.  “Y’all” know what I’m talking about” he’ll drawl in his fake, pseudo-ghettoese, usually right after slamming “y’all” for embarrassing him around white people.  “Y’all” are lousy parents, “y’all” are lazy, and “y’all” are too stupid to help your equally stupid kids with their homework.  “Y’all” feed your kids leftover Popeye’s chicken and soda for breakfast and “y’all” don’t even know how to act in a parent-teacher conference, even if “y’all” can tear your trifling self away from Sport Center and get your lazy butt up off the couch long enough to pretend to care enough to go.

According to this new “Man of the Black People” the best way to tell if somebody is really black is to watch him dance, and according to his wife, if you don’t embrace this Great Black Hope, it’s probably because you’re so stuck in a slave mentality induced stupor you need to be slapped awake so you can “get it.”

But see, we black people understand game.  We have a long tradition of telling white people what they want to hear just to get them out of our faces.  (Think Rochester and Mr. Benny.  If you’re too young to remember, here’s a little clip.)  We also know the code words when we hear them, so we know that “y’all” is not really “us;”  the Savior Senator is just shucking and jiving and we’re not being bamboozled and hoodwinked.  We smart.

Now, the reason white people embrace this transcendent, transformational, just-black-enough symbol of the promise of America’s future and triumph over its’ past is simple.  White people have a thing about black people with funny names.  Especially if that name starts with “O”.  Think about it, Oprah, Omarosa, Barack Obama.  These names work like gris-gris on unsuspecting Caucasians.  As soon as they hear these names they go into a trance-like state, the likes of which have not been seen in America since the Beatles first appeared on Ed Sullivan.  These poor innocent descendants of Europeans seem to become hopelessly lobotomized zombie-changelings upon the mere mention of these incantations disguised as names and can’t seem to stop themselves from giving these funny-named black people money.  Why else would Omarosa ever have a job?

So, as anyone can plainly see, the political science lab created candidate with the magic voodoo name and the conveniently caramel skin is simply unstoppable.  To some, this realization is a comfort, a fulfillment, even a wonder to behold.  To the non-delusional, non-believers, however, it’s just freaking creepy.

In future posts, I will share my rarefied vision and angry, yet enlightened viewpoints with those with the wisdom and clarity of thought to resist watching the bright shiny object move back and forth that Dr. Deanmento and his bargain basement Bush’s brain clone of an assistant Brazile are dangling in front of us.  Hopefully I will learn how to do all the website tricks that serve to enhance such verbal treasures as I have to offer but until then, righteous indignation, ridicule, scorn and derision will simply have to do.