(Scene: Jude writes a letter to White America, hoping the Hip Page will print it now since he is an employee) Dear White America, Although I am white, I KNOW what discrimination is. I KNOW what racism is. I feel terrible for all those poor African-American men who have been murdered by the police. I […]
Yeah, I’m real fucking confused. Our president, D Trump, took a meeting with annoyingly mustachioed “comedian” Steve Harvey. Hold the fucking phone here.
What the what? What the fuck? Fuck the what?
According to reporters, the first thing our golden-haired president did was call Ben Carson and put him on speaker. Well, hell yeah. It makes sense that he called the only black person he knows to join the conversation.
And then they talked about how to help people in the inner cities.
Yes, you heard that correctly. President Golden Shower spoke with two incredibly wealthy black dudes who haven’t lived in a ghetto since they were children. Wow, now that’s progress.
I’m sure that every poor, real ghetto person feels better today. They probably walked outside and quoted Ice Cube, “Today, I didn’t even have to use my AK. I got a say it was a good day.”
(Someone should probably tell Dr. Carson who Ice Cube is.)
Probably the best part for me will be when all the pasty, white conservatives will pound their chest and say, “See, Mr. Trump really cares about the black community. He’s going to make a difference.”
Duh’Merica, you are a dirty, dirty whore. Go to the clinic and get tested immediately.
On the ESPY’s the other night, we were enlightened by Lebron James, Carmello Anthony, Chris Paul and Dwayne Wade about racism and cops. Thanks a whole fucking lot assholes.
It cracks me up when millionaire athletes speak about issues they long left behind them once they signed their first contracts. These are the same athletes who are encouraged to drop any of their ghetto friends and family the moment they make the big time.
Yet here they are, speaking to the public about black men being shot by non-black police.
Now, please keep in mind, these same four people have never spoken to a national audience about stopping any other violence in the communities they once lived in, but only now when a cop is involved.
I view myself as a human and this a human problem. Black cops kill black people. White cops kill white people. Hispanic cops kill Hispanic people. This happens all the time. But sadly, these rubes pander to the media’s narrative that the only lives that matter are the black ones who are killed by non-black cops.
People of all colors should be highly offended by this. But it’s too difficult to actually give a shit about reality. It’s too difficult to realize that we are all humans. We are Americans first. But fuck that, that’s too hard to grasp and doesn’t garner enough clicks and views.
So, as those four athletes talk about making changes and stopping the violence what exactly are they going to do? They are going to say what’s popular, get in their limos and drive back to their gated community where they live all the other rich people who are not affected by violence.
Four athletes who make money by throwing a ball into a hoop just changed the world. Actually, they didn’t do shit and what they said doesn’t mean shit. If you don’t believe me, check back in five years and let me know what they actually did to change anything.
(The past few days I noticed that my site views were higher than normal so I check out what was being viewed the most. I was a little surprised to see that my top three blog posts for the week were about John Travolta, Rednecks and pit bulls.)
So, I decided to write a little story that incorporates all three:
Pam the Bartender– she’s about 48 years old, with stringy blonde hair and looks like a meth addict.
John Travolta- playing himself of course
Skeeter the Redneck– a very prideful Southern man who obviously hates gays, blacks and anyone who doesn’t believe in God. He’s about 6’4” tall and built like a lumberjack, a big goatee and mullet hair.
Hitler the Pit-Bull- Skeeter’s dog who will attack, he has a Confederate Flag collar
Fade In– a somewhat seedy bar in Sanford, Fl (where the Trayvon Martin ordeal took place). Travolta is already sitting at the bar, smiling creepily and ordering Cosmopolitans as Skeeter walks in with his pit bull Hitler. Continue reading
I’m a parent, so I feel qualified to deliver this rant. Some parents should never have been allowed to breed. I’m going to attempt to offend as many ethnicities as possible. You are welcome in advance.
Hey White Trash Parents (this also applies to Rednecks), they are called “socks”, please put them on your children when you leave the house. Children with dirty, 7-11 feet become adults with dirty, 7-11 feet.
What parenting book did you read that said it was alright to take your children to Wal-Mart with bare feet in a diaper? Shit, my bad, I actually insinuated that you have read a book. Silly me.
And look, it’s not alright to keep breastfeeding your 8 year-old just because you ran out of Mountain Dew.
And by the way, make sure you keep your 12 foot python’s cage locked, it’s plenty big enough to gobble up half of your family…… unless of course your pit bull gets them first.
Hey Black Mamma (sorry, but the dad’s are rarely around and that’s not my fault), put your shoe back on stop throwing it at little Tyrone as he runs around the meat market looking for the pickled pigs feet. Continue reading
(I wrote this while I was in college working at the mall in a woman’s clothing store in the mid 90’s. I know, a male working at a woman’s clothing store, very progressive of me at the time. And by the way, I’m not even remotely racist, so just relax while you read this. I make fun of all people, regardless of their color.)
While at work the other day, I was reminded of the horrible cultural phenomenon sweeping through the South. A light-skinned African American girl walked gracefully into my store and I noticed she had one of our black, plastic bags curled between her fingers. As I looked closer, I could see that the bag was nearly full. This meant either one of two things; she wanted to return or exchange merchandise.
I approached her, like a good assistant manager should, and asked if I could help her. As she opened her mouth to speak I was nearly blinded by several gold, capped teeth, especially by the left front tooth that was gold with a diamond shaped into the middle.
“Yes, I done bought these jeans a couple week ago and they too tight. Some crazy body must a’ sized these mo fo’s wrong. I fina make a exchangement,” she said with misguided confidence. Continue reading
A man wearing only one flip flop, sits slumped over on a bench resting the side of his head on a oak tree about 20 feet from the main stage. He is wearing a black shirt with a red confederate flag on the front that says, “You’ve got your X, we’ve got ours.”
There are other men in only slightly better condition standing behind him drinking Budweiser from cans and smoking pot from a one-hitter that slides into a belt buckle. Behind them, a normal looking mom and dad with three young sons eat fried foods on extra-large toothpicks.
The weather is beautiful. It’s about 80 degrees, sunny with no clouds and very little humidity. The kind of weather that keeps the tourists around until the snow melts in their northern hometowns. The kind of weather that keeps the tourists clogging my streets while I try not to succumb to massive road rage.
“If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me,” is the Lynyrd Skynrd song being played by the band. About 25 to 30 people attempt to dance to the country anthem, but really just sway back and forth spilling beer on their feet without a care. A rough, biker looking couple wades through the crowd with a pet python wrapped around both of their necks. Little children run up to pet it, while others run away and grab their mother’s legs. Continue reading