Music Videos

It’s been a good two years since I last saw a music video of any kind. The last time I watched them regularly, Queen Latifah’s ‘U.N.I.T.Y.’ was a popular song and ‘The Box’ wasn’t a sexual slur. In olden times, a lot of hiphop music videos were visual representations of the narratives given in the songs. The really popular songs that the old folks didn’t like at least tended to have a story to them, and even ferociously conservative people like my father openly expressed an appreciation for the artistic flair and creativity of the videos and their expression*.

Figure 1: Goddammit…

Then last Friday rolled around. As Shabooty** and I waited at my place for more of our friends to show up for a night of drunken lunacy, this sand-dwelling fucktard turns my television to MTV Jams and fills my condo with the sights and sounds of the modern-day hiphop video for the next thirty fucking minutes. The following happened as a result:

• The value of my home dropped 50%
• My IQ dropped to 74
• I became a HUGE fan of eugenics
• I killed Shabooty – at least in one of several…
• …Nightmares I had featuring Lil’ Wayne proposing to my daughter

The music videos I saw on Friday were the most remarkably retarded cookie-cutter manufactured works of ‘creativity’ I have ever seen. I don’t remember who any of the artists were (with the exception of Lil’ Wayne, who I’ll deal with in a minute), but I do remember that each video borrowed from the same bag of reusable hiphop music video elements:

• Some asshole getting a haircut
• Some asshole ‘singing’ or ‘rapping’ three inches from a chick’s face
• Some asshole in a barn or barn-like structure for no apparent reason
• Some asshole wearing a t-shirt with the name and image of a dead friend
• Some asshole with 40lbs of gold in his mouth constantly baring his teeth
• Some asshole dressed like an ex-con with easy access to glitter successfully seducing some professional looking chick
• Some asshole flaunting his ‘thuggishness’ out of spite in a country club, high end restaurant, or equally inappropriate venue
• Some asshole driving a giant SUV with spinning rims
• Some asshole constantly self-affirming his gangster status
• Some asshole flashing a giant wad of $100 bills at some doe-eyed chick
• Booty

Figure 2: Ruining black America, one shitty song at a time

Every single video featured one or more idiots, each more unattractive than the last, singing exclusively about vapid materialistic bullshit. This isn’t anything new – ever since Viacom dug its claws into hiphop the music has always included some degree of this. But what’s different now is that ENTIRE TRACKS feature nothing more than dudes talking about their haircuts, grillz, shades, rims, clothes, cars, and cars.

As much as five straight minutes of this shit in each video…over and over again…for thirty minutes. Despite the fact that watching it was more traumatizing than watching video of the human aftermath of car crashes, my psyche was pretty well postured to recover itself back to normalcy. Until a Lil’ Wayne video came on.

Anyone that’s watched MTV Jams this week has seen this video, because it’s the MTV Jams Video of the Week. In this video, the screen flashes green over and over again for thirty seconds until some ugly be-dredlocked overtattooed asshole jumps onto the stage and, for the next four minutes or so, runs around the stage at some live event jumping up and down and yelling at you in what sounds like a hoarse and unintelligible combination of Zulu, Farsi, Algonquin, and Cantonese mixed in with some good old fashioned tard-groaning. Seeing this idiot, whom I recognized as Lil’ Wayne after about 90 seconds, made me want to get on the phone and start donating money to abortion clinics in the south.

Figure 3: I’m going to get so much shit about this…

What amazes me, after seeing this video, is how much everybody loves this fucking guy. Every verbal assault I’ve ever made on Lil’ fucking Wayne has resulted in someone(s) rushing to his defense while failing utterly to give any valid reason why his very existence shouldn’t be a federal crime. His fame makes no sense to me, which is significant because I don’t hold the bar very high for what justifies celebrity. Case in point: Paris Hilton’s fame is entirely understandable to me***.

Lil’ Wayne, however, just boggles the mind. He doesn’t have any real vocal talent (e.g. Mariah Carey), dancing ability (e.g. Ne-Yo), or lyrical genius (e.g. Teddy Riley), nor does he have overwhelming physical attractiveness to make up for a lack of other talents (e.g. Beyonce – see upcoming aside). The fact that Lil’ Wayne is famous (in a positive light) proves that the very ether of logic is being eroded, the cause likely being something cosmic. After all, we’re only a few years away from crossing the galactic plane again, and there’s no telling how close we may or may not be to a black hole.

Lil’ Wayne is proof that the world will end, as the Mayan’s predicted, on December 21, 2012.

Figure 4: Fear it.

Aside: Beyonce Cannot Sing

Awhile ago, Destiny’s Child received a Grammy and when they went on stage to accept the award, they harmonized part of their acceptance speech. This was apparently done to dispel rumors that Destiny’s Child has no real vocal talent, as if anyone else couldn’t gather up two other morons and have them harmonize for five fucking seconds.

Beyonce can’t sing. She just can’t. She sucks at it. I don’t care how many childhood singing contests she won – as an adult, she CANNOT sing. Ella Fitzgerald could sing. Sarah Vaughan could sing. Whitney Houston and Mariah Carey can sing. Beyonce, on the other hand, sounds like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Her voice is grading, nasally, whiny, and utterly devoid of anything pleasant.

Beyonce is to music what rugby is to a hemophiliac.

End Aside

*In my father’s parlance, this approval was given with an emotionally neutral grunt
**My clinically insane Persian friend, often referenced by the much more appropriate nickname ‘Asshole
***White America forever is, has, and will be enamored with the ‘heiress’ concept and anything else remotely related to fairy tales – no matter how much of a fucking asshole the benefactor is

Ralph Nader

The greatest thing about this political campaign cycle, unique in its having a viable black candidate for the first time ever, is the fact that it’s been white people, not black people, who have been constantly injecting race into the…race.

Hillary and Bill Clinton tacitly injected race into their campaign by comparing Obama’s candidacy to that of Jesse Jackson during the now-infamous South Carolina primary. They did it again when they painted Obama as ‘the black candidate’ in an attempt to rouse Latin vs. Black sentiments in the run up to Nevada. When the Clintons got really desperate, they directly tapped into white fear/hate of Obama by becoming the first campaign in decades to directly aim their appeal at working class whites at the expense of alienating minorities.

Then there were countless other incidents:

• The ‘terrorist fist bump’ as described by Fox News between Obama and his wife (anybody else think that the date of the fist bump is slowly becoming an unofficial black national holiday?).
• Various members of the Clinton campaign attributing Obama’s success singularly to his race.
• Images of Obama in Somali garb that prompted rumors of him being a secret Muslim, with conservative commentators all over the country placing emphasis on his middle name from then on.
• The Rev. Wright fiasco, with the media conveniently glossing over the fact that he was also a spiritual adviser to the Clintons
• John McCain, among others, attempting to wheel Obama’s education and oratory ability into an ‘elitist’ label, which is absolute crap. I wish McCain would just cut the bullshit and say what he really means when he says ‘elitist’ – namely, ‘Uppity Nigger’. If Obama were white, no one would be calling him elitist. He’d just be a smart white guy.

But all of the above instances are downright subtle when compared to recent comments made by the man I consider to be the second-most responsible for the shitty state of the country today: Ralph fucking Nader.

Figure 1: Creepy similarities, anyone?

In case you hadn’t heard, Ralph Nader made public comments this week accusing Barack Obama of “talking white” and “appealing to white guilt” in his bid for the White House. Specifically:

“There’s only one thing different about Barack Obama when it comes to being a Democratic presidential candidate. He’s half African-American…Whether that will make any difference, I don’t know. I haven’t heard him have a strong crackdown on economic exploitation in the ghettos. Payday loans, predatory lending, asbestos, lead. What’s keeping him from doing that? Is it because he wants to talk white? He doesn’t want to appear like Jesse Jackson? We’ll see all that play out in the next few months and if he gets elected afterwards.”

Figure 2: Even Jesse Jackson doesn’t want to be Jesse Jackson

According to Nader, Barack Obama shouldn’t be running for President of the United States. Instead, he should be running for President of Stereotypical Black America. Hey Mr. Nader, avoiding talk of payday loans, predatory lending, asbestos and lead is ‘talking white?’ Does this mean that white people don’t ever have to worry about these things and don’t talk about them because the issues don’t affect them? I had no idea that predatory lending was a uniquely black problem, but thanks to Ralph Nader I finally know that us reggins are the only ones dumb enough to succumb to ecomonic exploitation.

Nothing amuses me more than white people that like to pretend there aren’t vast swaths of their own kind all over the country living in poverty and getting their asses handed to them by life on a daily basis.

Figure 3: White people like to pretend she isn’t one of them

Nader quickly followed up his original statement with one even more ridiculous:

“I mean, first of all, the number one thing that a black American politician aspiring to the presidency should be is to candidly describe the plight of the poor, especially in the inner cities and the rural areas, and have a very detailed platform about how the poor is going to be defended by the law, is going to be protected by the law and is going to be liberated by the law…”

Oh how I do love it when people who aren’t black tell black people what they SHOULD be focused on, as if black people don’t know what the fuck it’s like to be black. Thanks, asshole.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by any of this. Ralph Nader, like countless other white politicians whose hopes were dashed in the wake of Obama, are very pissed off that a black man was able to successfully run a campaign as something other than ‘the black candidate’. Obama represents the worst nightmare of every white racist prick in this country: a black person whose success cannot even remotely be attributed to affirmative action, preferential treatment, quotas, handicapping of white people, or any other double-edged policies racist fucks use to justify ANY measure of success achieved by black people. Obama is a black man who, by some miracle, has managed to get a large part of the American public to look as his character first and his color second.

Dr. King’s dream is staring racists in the face in a way more real then they could have ever imagined possible, and they are scared to fucking death.

I couldn’t possibly be any happier.

Thoughts for Thursday: Hilarity

For those looking for a good way to waste time at work, these two sites should keep you busy for quite some time:

http://www.tard-blog.com
http://www.tuckermax.com

Figure 1: Just…wrong.

You will laugh so hard, you’ll wet your pants. Unless you suck.

Slave Food

There are a shitload of things that black people do in spite of themselves. We supoort Jay-Z. We refuse to firebomb Viacom headquaters. We smoke menthol cigarettes and insist on frying and/or putting salt on damn near everything. We allow European standards of beauty to be crammed down the throats of our women. But perhaps no self-spiteful practice among black people is more bewildering than the fact that we cling desperately to Slave Food.

Figure 1: “Chittlins? Fuck. Nah, I don’t want no more.”

We all know what slave food is – it’s food made from that parts of the animal that make even native Chinese people say “dude, that’s fucking sick”.* It’s the shit our slave ancestors were forced to eat because all they’d be given after their ‘masters’ got done raping, eating, kissing on the mouth, and doing whatever else it is to animals that white people just love to do.

I can’t believe that today, despite all the social, cultural, and economic strides black people have made over the years, so many of us still insist on eating that grimey shit. I’m pretty sure that 50% of the reason MLK ever marched anywhere is so his children wouldn’t have to eat pig intestines ever again. Anyone caught eating this crap is willfully desecrating the memory of the following:

• Martin Luther King and Malcolm X
• Nat Turner
• Each and every Union casualty from the Civil War
• Jesus
• Sugar Ray Robinson
• Your mother

Let’s take a moment to examine some of the more common types of slave food, shall we?

Name: Chittlins
Description: Cleaned and boiled pig intestines
Stank Rating: 10/10
Summary:

Figure 2: Sick…

The first argument you’ll get into with black people about this is the proper way to spell it. Some use ‘chittlings’, ‘chittluns’, ‘chittlins’, or for the conflicted and self-hating bougie negro – ‘chitterlings’. No matter how you spell it, there’s no denying what they actually are: swine shit tubes. Nothing is worse than the smell of these fucking things when they’re being cleaned and cooked. If you want to know what the inside of your own asshole smells like, just mozy yourself down to any country kitchen in Mississippi and inhale. One of the worst days of my life was when I came home exhausted from a powwow and was bludgeoned in the nose by the unimaginable stench of grandma’s big ass 10 gallon boiling pot of chittlins. The fact that anyone can get past the smell of these things to not only touch them, but TASTE THEM, is proof positive that the Force exists, and human beings can use it.

Name: Hog Maws
Description: Cleaned and boiled pig stomach
Stank Rating: 6/10
Summary:

Figure 3: Sick…

Apparently eating a pig’s shit tube isn’t nasty enough in and of itself. To remedy this, we decided to also throw in the stomach because…fuck it, that’s why. Hog maws cooked alone actually doesn’t stink too much since there’s a relative absence of…you know…pig shit. The problem is that the popular thing to do is cook hog maws right alongside chittlins in the most oddly paradoxical culinary endeavor imaginable. By eating this stuff you’re basically digesting another digestive system. Logically speaking, this is insanely confusing – kinda like the ‘tree falling in the forest’ or ‘one hand clapping’ riddles. My fucking head already hurts just thinking about it.

Name: Pig Feet
Description: Take a wild guess
Stank Rating: 9/10
Summary:

Figure 4: This is the only post I’ve written where I’ve struggled not to vomit

Feet and I do not get along in general. My cousin said it best: “feet are for the floor”. I cringe whenever I see people will bare feet on coffee tables, kitchen tables, sticking out a car window (I’m looking at you, white folks) or, God forbid, anywhere near my face. Feet are the nastiest part of the whole entire human body, including the asshole. So you can only imagine my thoughts about EATING the f-f-f-f-feet of the most vile and disgusting animal ever to walk the face of the planet. Pig feet can be boiled, fried, or even baked, each method producing a respectively larger and more permanent stench in whatever unfortunate venue you happen to be doing the cooking. There are also people who eat pickled pig feet. The thought of this is so fucking nasty I’m just going to move on.

Name: Chicken Feet
Description: ….
Stank Rating: 2/10
Summary:

Figure 5: ….why?

While certainly the cleanest of slave food, it is unquestionably the most bizarre. I’ve never actually seen anyone eat chicken feet, but there’s a legend passed down to me from my brother indicating that, like my rude introduction to chittlins by my maternal grandmother, he was given a similarly abrupt introduction by our paternal grandmother to a big ass pot of upside-down boiling chicken feet. I can’t really imagine what eating chicken feet must be like. They can’t have much meat on them, there are claws in the way, and their ‘W’ shape would seem to make for difficult handling mechanics. Plus they’re feet, for Christ’s sake. The Amish must love chicken feet since they enjoy doing everything the unbelievably hard way for no particular fucking reason.

*After once watching a chinese dude eat an entire bowl of monkey brains, I become convinced that they will eat damn near anything

Thoughts for Tuesday: The Project

All,

Part of…the project…involves gathering as much information about as many black-owned businesses (they do not have to be black operated, just black owned) as humanly possible in the shortest reasonable time I can muster. Since several thousand people view this site everyday, I figured I’d take advantage of it.

Therefore, I’m asking all of you good-humored folks for your help. No matter where you are or where in the country the business is, please send the following information about those businesses to stuffblackpeoplehate@gmail.com:

• The name of the business (required)
• The type of business (required)
• Web address (optional)
• The address of the business, or general location if it’s not a brick and mortar biz (required)
• Some kind of contact info (phone number, email address) (required)
• Any other information you might have (optional). This could include the date of founding, the name of the owner(s), business hours, or anything else you can think of that might seem relevant

None of this information, nor your own email addresses, will be used for spamming, junk mail lists, or any other bullshit in that vein. You have my word.

Remember, these don’t have to be brick and mortar operations. ‘Businesses’ can include any of the following and then some:

Freelance writers, banks, barber shops, beauty salons, web designers, real estate agents/brokers, mortgage bankers/brokers, restaurants, auto repair shops, marketing/accounting/law/engineering/architecture/construction firms, insurance companies, liquor stores, grocery stores, convenience stores, graphic designers, farms (yes, farms), electronics stores, black-owned franchises, import/exporters, clothing companies, research labs, doctors, dentists, entertainers, psychologists, auditing firms, IT services companies, landscaping businesses, communications and PR, radio stations, publishing houses, caterers, consulting firms and independent consultants, tax professionals, manufacturing, child care services, truckers, etc. etc. etc.

Make your contribution to…the project…today. Dammit.

-Chris

Farmers Markets

I finally got sick of the old and rotten fruit/vegetable selections at the fucked up Safeway up the street from me and decided to go to Eastern Market to see why white people love that damn place so much. Here’s my summary of what I learned:

• What’s good about farmers markets: Freshness, variety, low prices
• What’s bad about farmers markets: Everything else

Figure 1: Jesus + Fruit Tits = Bad News

The single most infuriating thing about farmers’ markets are the white hipster yuppie twenty-something douchebags trying to sound intelligent by interrogating the vendors about their food. When these assholes, wearing the requisite hipster uniform*, saunter up to salt-of-the-earth farmers it’s actually quite entertaining to watch said farmer’s visibly restrain themselves from punching the hipsters in the face. The conversation goes something like this:

Biff:  [holding a tomato like an asshole] “So, where’s this grown?”
Farmer: “Uh…southern Maryland”

[Note: there's a HUGE sign above the stand that reads "Farm Fresh Produce Direct from Southern Maryland"

Biff: "Ah I see. Is that really the best region for growing this stuff?"
Farmer: "Uh...I s'pose. They're good n' ripe n' red ain't they?"
Biff: "I dunno bud. Looks like these could've been trucked in from a grocery store [insert hipster chuckle]

[Note: this douche just called the farmer a liar. Farmers hate this. My grandma told me so.]

Biff: “So what grade of pesticides do you use on this stuff”
Farmer: [internal monologue] “I am going to sodomize you with that t’mater…”

These farmers, many of whom probably attend Klan rallies on the regular, hate hispters so much that they’re actually delighted to see my black ass next in line. This is why Neo-Nazi farmers are supporting Barack Obama in overwhelming numbers**.

Figure 2: One of these people wants to kill the other
The next irritating thing you encounter at the market are the goddamn asian vendors eyeballing you the whole entire time. Since these places aren’t usually a hotbed of negroid activity, fucking Pai Mei is pretty sure that I’m there either to steal something or drag his daughter back to my mud hut. This is completely fucked up since only half of his assumptions are correct. Asshole.

Figure 3: Average asian dude welcoming white folks to Eastern Market

As you’re dodging the squinty gaze of the asian vendor, you notice something else – produce samples. What the farmers like to do is cut up their plums and peaches and shit and put them on a plate for everyone to try. This plate sits out in the fucking sun for HOURS while insects and people who haven’t washed their hands in weeks pick at it until it looks like some dead guy’s stomach contents on a medical examiner’s table. I’m not sure what’s funnier – the fact that white people so willingly partake of this perverted feast of the dead, or the looks on the faces of little old black ladies watching them do it. What I do know is that 95% of white people that attend farmers’ markets wind up with Hepatitis.

All of this, of course, pales in comparison to the still-awful trip to the black grocery store – the place where hope goes to die. Last time I was there some toddler dropped a box of Lucky Charms on the floor. Her mother responded by calling her a ‘dumb nigga’ and smacking the child on the leg hard enough to kill a dog. Feeding idiots to lions is the one Roman practice modern society really should have adopted.

* Leather sandals, ripped up cargo shorts, stupid t-shirt with optional ironic statement, ragged faded baseball cap with sunglasses on top and, of course, lots and lots and lots of body hair.

** This is probably not true

Aside: Black Women

The things I’ve witnessed over the past 10 days or so, especially tonight, have truly led me to understand why black women remain the most unmarried demographic of females in the entire fucking country. I can’t wait for Bill Cosby to write a followup to his original book “Come On, Ladies – Get The Fuck Out Of Your Own Way.”

Jesus fucking goddamn Christ…I did not think it was physically possible for me to be this pissed off.

Figure 1: I’ve never liked the man…but suddenly I think we understand one another

Editor’s Note: So I don’t have to hear anymore dumbasses waxing retarded about my alleged hatred of black women, I’m posting a followup comment I made several days ago to the front page of this post. To the other dumbasses who think this post was the result of me being rejected by a black woman, you are wrong. Sorry. If you read this comment and still think I hate black women, feel free to kill yourself.

The Comment:

“I know my own self-worth and I won’t lower my standards for yackity yackity yackity yack…”

What’s interesting about Muse’s response is that the problem good black men tend to have with black women (I’m leaving idiot black men out of the discussion because, like idiots of every color, they are irrelevant) is the very fact that so many women DO lower their standards. Then after getting burned they don’t raise their standards, they just come up with a bunch of stupid ones.

Damn near every black woman travels this path:

1. Fall for some assclown 50 cent lookalike wannabe music producer
2. Get burned by the assclown, but in the process learn what you don’t want in a man
3. Good guy falls in her lap, but she’s too busy dismissing him wholesale or beating him to death with her emotional baggage from the last relationship to realize she’s fucking herself over to, ironically, keep from getting fucked over

To illustrate:

Scenario 1) Sue is Jack’s “boo”. Jack doesn’t have a job, is forgiven. Jack cheats on Sue, is forgiven. Jack emotionally abuses Sue, is forgiven. Jack goes to jail on misdemeanor drug possession, is forgiven. Jack disrespects Jill’s friends, is forgiven. Jack reveals three illegitimate children, is forgiven.

Scenario 2) After Sue finally dumps Jack, she meets Bill. He is attractive, intelligent, and funny. She learns he owns his home, has a stable and high-paying career, and volunteers frequently. Sue is really into this guy…until she learns he’s two years younger than she is, which is against one of the new horseshit relationship rules she pulled out of O Magazine. When he asks if he can call her, she says “you’re too young” and walks away.

After exiting a bad relationship, women love to establish sets of criteria that their next guy will have to meet. This is a good concept except that the criteria the women pick are usually completely irrelevant when it comes to avoiding bad guys, and are at the same time remarkably effective at deflecting good guys. Shit like “I won’t date guys more than three years younger than me” or “I won’t give my number out at a bar” are typical examples of women thinking that having a lot of standards is the same thing as having good standards.

Black women aren’t the only ones that do this of course – women in general just love to make good guys jump through a thousand hoops while inexplicably opening the floodgates for marginally charismatic jackasses.
Non-black women, however, aren’t subject to the unfortunate and extremely unfair social circumstances that black women are; in short, black women, through no fault of their own, simply can’t afford to have this attitude.

Every black woman hears this argument about being attracted to bad guys and dismissing the good and cries “NOT ME, I’M DIFFERENT!”, and yet – as so many black men on this board can attest – we see it happen more often than not. It’s like ten years ago before it was cool to admit to watching porn: everybody said “I don’t watch that filth!”, yet porn was somehow a multi-billion dollar industry.

Other women throw nonsensical excuses at the person making the point:

1.) The good guys coming at me are dorky, ugly, and/or have no game
2.) You just hate black women
3.) Your problem is that you just have a fetish for white/asian women
4.) You hang out in the wrong places
5.) Don’t be mad because black women aren’t throwing themselves at you

I find it sad that in this age of female empowerment so many educated women are responding with this decidedly unempowering response. (Enthusiastically assigning blame to others robs you of the ability to fix the problem yourself and is decidedly unempowering.)

Granted, I could be accused of doing exactly that…except for the qualifying word ‘enthusiastically’. It does not make me happy to recognize the seemingly pathologic attraction black women have to liars, cheaters, losers, deadbeats and gangbangers. This might sound arrogant, but fuck it…I truly wish that I could assign most or all of the blame for my own mishaps with black women and their frequent attraction to unworthy men on myself – if the problem is me, then at least I’m in control.

I suppose I misspoke by saying these are all conclusions I came to in the last ten days. That’s not true; these opinions have been forming for years based on everything from personal experience to readings of doctoral dissertations (yea, I’m that asshole). It’s just the last ten days that finally set me off about it.

Persians

Attention Indignant Persians: please read http://stuffblackpeoplehate.com/why-you-shouldnt-read-this-blog before reading this entry and getting your magic carpet in a knot. Thanks.

The Georgetown Waterfront is one of that only places in DC that doesn’t suck anymore. From March – October, you can hobble your angry ass down to Georgetown Waterfront Park and enjoy drinks outdoors by the water, grab insanely expensive food (with insanely-er bad service) from Sequoia restaurant, and watch scantily clad women walk between M Street and the water while pretending to be indignant about the negative sexual attention they draw to themselves.

Unfortunately, there is one thing about the waterfront that sucks: Persians.

The favorite pastime of the sons of rich Persian oil and IT barons is to get a bunch of their greasy Ferrari-jacket-wearing douchebag friends together, hop on a Sea Ray, and park that motherfucker on the improvised dock in front of the harbor. I’ve included a diagram below to point out the interesting sights you’ll see there:

Figure 1: Click on the image to zoom in

When you park your boat at the dock, you’re within sight of the many women sitting around the bars and restaurants looking for dudes on boats to fuck, but you’re not close enough for them to distinguish your youthful awesomeness from the 50+ year old rich white dudes who’ve also parked their Sea Rays and are gallivanting about in the company of their Stepford wives, Abercrombie sons, and golden fucking retrievers.

So what’s the prospective Persian suitor to do? Blast god awful techno music, of course! Somehow, these sandbags* have convinced themselves that a perpetually alternating woofer-thump and stochattic cymbal is precisely what makes the pussy go “ooh whee.” After all, if it works in porno, it must work in real life. Techno music is so effective at attracting women, in fact, that you never see any women on a Persian boat. This is because their reaction to the electronica, combined with the pungent stank of the Persians’ Sex Panther cologne, has caused all women in the area to orgasm so hard that they literally disappear into thin air.

Figure 2: Persians do not realize this is a comedy

Surprisingly, water-borne Persians are by far the least annoying type of youthful sandbag. That’s because they save their atrocious A-game behavior for the club.

Persians are very easy to spot at a club. Just look for the following telltale signs:

1.) Hair. On a Persian, it will invariably have at least 3 or 4 thousand pounds of gel in it. Nothing drives the ladies wild like a grown man looking like an olive-skinned anime character who may or may not have dynamite strapped to his chest underneath his…

2.) Armani Exchange** Shirt. What better way to say “I’m a pompous shitbrick” than by letting everyone know you paid $60 for a lousy t-shirt? None, dammit!. It’d be rude to actually go up to girls and say “hey, I’m rich. I got a $60 t-shirt”, so instead the Persian takes the humble route and buys the shirt with ‘ARMANI EXCHANGE’ or ‘A|X’ in shiny silver 1,418,071 point font across the chest.

Figure 3: Asshole

This in-your-face fluorescent logo makes it noticeable even in the awesome presence of his…

3.) Jacket of Random Italianness. Girls love Italian shit – sports cars, shoes, handbags, ice – so your Persian ass had damn well better make sure your outfit includes an Italian element. The best way to do this is by wearing a jacket featuring an easily recognizable Italian theme. This is why you see mongoloid sandbags wearing red Ferrari jackets, or red/white/green jackets with an Italian flag and the word ‘Italia’ written in giant retard print across the back.

Figure 4: Asshole, Stage 2

This jacket is never a normal length jacket – it always stops a couple inches above the waist so that a.) it looks like a genuine racing jacket, and b.) it doesn’t cover up the logo on his…

4.) Horrifyingly Expensive Designer Jeans. That’s right folks, only Diesel or True Religion jeans are worthy of encasing the decidedly flat and hairy buttcheeks of the sandbag in their sweet denimy embrace. Wearing anything else would say to the ladies “my jeans cost less than $250, so there’s no way I’d be able to buy you a new set of tits every three years.”

Figure 5: Why would you want pants with a picture of a crane attacking your cornhole?

The sandbag stands tall and proud as the ladies take in the jeans’ fake fade, giant pre-cut holes, and painted-on wrinkle patterns…and they have to practically FIGHT themselves not to jump right on his cock when they see his…

5.) Shoes of Random Italianness. The shoes must always match the jacket in both color and refined sportiness, so the Persian sandbag will be seen wearing some sort of Ferrari-brand Pumas at least 110% of the time. Don’t be afraid if you accidentally scuff his shoes though, because Puma-related homicides are exclusively committed by black people.

*This is what I call douchebags from the middle east.
**I’ll admit that I own a lot of shit from Armani Exchange. But unless you get within six inches of me, you’ll never know it, because I’d sooner die than buy the shit where the AX label is clearly visible

Thoughts for Thursday: Stupid Email

From: Daniel Prieto

Date: May 18

Subject: YOU ARE EUROPEAN TOO
Stupidity Level: 8.5/10

http://stuffblackpeoplehate.com/2008/04/28/white-supremacy-ii/

I know you get a lot of hate mail and I am sorry for becoming on of those assholes pointing stupid details to you but, at least for me, this one is important.

All americans tend to disconnect themselves from their history thinking about America and themselves as a new fresh start so they start talking about the middle ages like it happened in another world. And please excuse me for this but the same thing happens with black americans that try to isolate their culture from “white” or “european” culture (go to Africa and you’ll see how “white” you are).

What I am trying to say is that you (a black American) and me (a white European) booth have the middle ages, the french revolution and the hundred year war in common because, like it or not, we can both track a big part of our culture and influences to that. You are american and black but you speak english and you are for the most part, culturally Anglo-Saxon, sorry to point that out.

Although you are culturally many things apart from Anglo-Saxon and you are absolutely right to tell me this but this is my point. Yes, you are American and I am European, yes you are black and I am white and these and many other things make us different but, the old Europe, the middle ages, the roman empire, the renaissance and even the spanish inquisition are all things that shaped our culture and who we are with good and bad results.

If you are talking about Europe 500 years ago, you are as european as I am, even if you are black. Don’t talk about the old europe like is a distant culture because it is our history. Even if you happen to be the son of a recent immigrant like Obama, you are basically culturally European because this is the language you speak, the laws you obey, the clothes you wear, the way you eat your food, even your myths and religion are all for the most part influenced and traced back to that distant old europe.

I don’t like the same things you don’t like about this heritage but I have to admit that this is who we are, even if we don’t like it. If we don’t like our past it is our duty to change the future, we can not avoid our responsibility negating our past. That past wether it is adopted, imposed or inherited it is our past and we can not run away from it.

Let me finish with a question, you are mostly black and you could say that you do not have any responsibility in the native american genocide but as an american who speaks english, pays taxes, votes and obeys the law ¿Do you think you are morally responsible to pay reparations?

¿Do you think that when you adopt a culture you also inherit all it’s debts?

PD. I also hate when people revere the Roman empire, the conquest of the west, the renaissance or the second world war as the heights of all that is good with the western culture. All those things were written with the blood of countless not-western people who didn’t ask to take part in this western rally to destined enlightenment.

Baby Showers

I’ve gone pretty much my entire life thinking that baby showers were events for women only. This all changed when, for some reason, a buddy of mine whose wife is gonna drop a little Viet/Cambodian poop maker decided to invite me, Chicken Jon, Mandrew, and another friend (Landmine) to their baby shower last Sunday.

If you haven’t been to a baby shower, then let me say that it is without a doubt one of the most depressing events you will ever attend. If you are a man, there’s a good chance you’re not going to make it out alive if you aren’t extremely careful. So what I’m going to do now is provide a Man’s Guide to Surviving a Baby Shower for all the unfortunate penis-wielding souls out there who may find themselves at one of these things.

Step 1 – The Planner: The first thing you do is enter the house where you are greeted by the overzealous friend of the mom-to-be who planned this thing (usually against the mom’s will). You’ll recognize this woman by the crazed look in her eye, the fact that she’s holding a clipboard for some reason, and her constant yelling of shit like “OK PEOPLE, TIME FOR [insert inane game here]!!!!”

Figure 1: Avoid this woman, even if it kills you

You’ll see most people communicating with her by sighing, grunting, or rolling their eyes. When you first encounter her, it’s best to have your point man jump on the grenade and occupy her with a hug or loud small talk so the rest of your party can move past her into the center of the house.

Step 2 – The Party Room: If you live to get past the planner, you’ll immediately notice that you are surrounded on all sides by a ridiculous amount of femininity. There is pastel shit EVERYWHERE. Everything around you – cups, plates, plastic silverware, serving dishes, party favors, the cake, and possibly even the father-to-be are decorated in pale pinks, lilacs, and greens with pictures of teddy bears and balloons and other shit. The best place for you to be at this time is near the freezer, because you’ll notice after about five minutes that your testicles are beginning to melt and you will need to put them on ice.

Figure 2: Brace yourselves, gentlemen…

Your friend, the father to be, also notices his balls are beginning to melt. But don’t give him any ice, because he deserves melty balls for inviting you to this thing in the first place – and his melty balls may keep him from having more kids and inviting you to another one of these things.

Step 3 – Women: Do not, under any circumstances, hit on any of the women at a baby shower. This won’t be a problem in you’re at an asian baby shower like I was, because all asian women look like they’re 12 years old and they hate black people anyway. Otherwise, be advised that women at baby showers are in a very delicate emotional state much like they will be at their own weddings. They’re sitting around watching their pregnant friend get showered with attention and gifts – and as they sit there watching it, they slowly start to want it for themselves, even if it means having their own fucking baby. So when you go up to them and start chatting them up, you may find them inexplicably enthusiastic about taking you home and fucking your brains out. If you’re dumb enough to go home with them, make sure you know where your condoms are at all times lest the woman poke holes in them.

Figure 3: I recommend wearing one of these to any baby shower or wedding

Step 4 – Games: One of the worst parts of the baby shower is the series of idiotic games that the planner (see step 1) forces everyone to play. All of these games will be exceptionally lame, but you will almost certainly be required to participate in one. The best thing to do is to avoid the planner until she comes near the end of the list of games because that’s usually when she starts listing the ones that involve alcohol. Mandrew, Chicken Jon, and I wound up playing a game where everyone’s given a baby bottle filled with beer and the winner is the first person to drink it all*.

Figure 4: How come this asshole gets a real bottle?

I won this game (at the cost of my immortal soul) and received a candle as a prize. I asked Mandrew and Landmine to kill me, but they let me live just to spite me.

Step 5 – Gifts: This is unquestionably the worst part of the whole affair. Everyone gets in a big gay circle and watches the mother and father open a parade of increasingly depressing gifts for sixty fucking minutes. Though this is the worst part of the event, you’ll actually find it fairly easy to entertain yourself:

• Everytime a new gift is opened, gasp loudly in unison with your friends. When your buddy recognizes what the gift is, yell “dammit this sucks!” He will appreciate you vocalizing his internal monologue
• As your buddy unwraps each gift, say “c’moooooooooooon new set of balls!”
• Sneak offensive gag gifts into the pile. You can choose any end of the offensive spectrum, from the mildly offensive and fairly funny (e.g. a box of condoms) to the insanely offensive and downright hurtful (an appointment at a local abortion clinic)

You’re free to leave the baby shower once all the gifts have been opened, because that’s really all you were invited for anyway. Be sure to punch your buddy in the testicles on your way out just to let him know how you feel.

* Drinking out of a baby bottle is probably the most insanely difficult thing I’ve ever done