Tricked Out Cars

11 08 2008

I was recently telling a buddy of mine that I’m thinking about heading to California for a few days, at which point he immediately reminded me that I would be assaulted without end by one of the things I hate more than just about anything on the whole entire planet: Tricked Out Cars.

Tricked out cars, like most things I hate, don’t piss me off for conventional reasons. I don’t hate them because I’m ‘hating’. I don’t hate them because the men (and a few cock-envying women) that drive them tend to be pompous douchebags.

I hate them because they are a constant reminder of the fact that people make shitty decisions, and they are still allowed the same number of votes that I am.

Tricking out your car can start with one of two items – your wheels, or your sound system. Where you start depends on which gender of impressionable fucktard you’re most interested in wowing with your irresponsible spending habits that you’ve adopted, quite ironically, to mask an utter lack of personality*.

Wheels (rims) tend to be more expensive but are easier to install and are more noticeable to impressionable female idiots. This is a good place to start if you have a lot of money but don’t have a clue. Sound systems aren’t quite as expensive as rims, but are far more complicated to install and, if installed correctly, present an intimidation factor that wows impressionable male idiots.

Figure 1: Can you get silicosis from your own tits?

After you’ve poured anywhere between $10K – $20K into your depreciating asset and augmented the #1 macro-level cause of black and brown people in this country not having a goddamn motherfucking dime to their names with which to combat what seems to be an increasingly correct perception among the general public that black and brown twenty-something males are, without a doubt, the most uncompromising, ferocious, and proactive bringers of self-destruction on the face of this fucked up planet…you’re ready to move on to paint.

Lots of guys prefer to go with flame or fire designs, because it lets you use just one symbol to make two statements: 1.) I have a fast car, and 2.) I am a homosexual. If you’re not (completely) gay, you can go with some kind of neon glitter paint design, a bi/tri color sport design like in Figure 1, or some insanely intricate portrait/tribal-tatoo/asian calligraphy design. Either way, be prepared to shell out an additional $1K – $5K for your paint depending on the complexity of the design and reputation of the artist.

Figure 2: You can avoid looking like a queer if your car looks like it was involved in a 30’s mob war

At this point, you’re at a fork in the road that gives you two ways to extend your automotive bender of stupidity. You can either go the Gran Turismo route and try to make your car as fast as possible, or you can go the purely aesthetic route and start adding unnecessary accessories.

The Gran Turismo route is the way to impress guys. The easiest way to tune your car for racing is to buy a stronger clutch, get a lighter flywheel, upgrade the exhaust, install a turbocharger (or, if you like spending money for no reason – and of course you do – a supercharger) and NOS canisters, tack on a boost controller, install carbon fiber paneling, get some kind of engine-regulating chip thrown in, buy tires and a new suspension that can handle the speed, and then apologize to your father for being born.

You’ve just spent $30,000 to make a 1997 Honda Civic do 0-60 in 5 seconds when you could have used the same amount of cash (plus the $10K – $25K you spent on rims, stereo, and paint) on a late model S4, M3, or Z06 and had time left over to make more money, work on your personality, and otherwise not be an idiot. Oh well.

Once you’ve done all this, you can spend Friday night at the oversized parking lot in a Taco Bell or gas station where two dozen other douches park their cars and rev their engines for no damn reason. When chicks approach, you can tell them what you did to your car and they’ll think you’re awesome because they have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about. I’m not even being sarcastic at this point. There is at least one girl reading this blog right now sporting a newly moistened vagina because the last paragraph would seem to indicate that I know what the hell I’m talking about. Jesus Tapdancing Christ.

Figure 3: No matter what you do, at the end of the day it’s still a fucking Civic

The purely aesthetic route is that taken by people who want to spend less money but still create the illusion of speed. There are a number of ways to do this: install fog lights, paint your calipers red, put stickers all the fuck over your windshield, add undercarriage and/or interior glow lighting (add a blacklight if you want to be able to see the semen spit out by the chicks who are actually addicted to enough coke to suck your lumber in your car), get your seats reupholstered with ‘illegal leoparrrrrrrd’ (hispanics only), install a rear spoiler on your front wheel drive car (you stupid sonofabitch), install useless body paneling and fake intakes, add brightly colored engine hoses and chromed engine components, tint the windows, and replace the steering wheel with a low-diameter ‘rally’ wheel.

Once you’ve done all this, go out and snag yourself a chick, then bask in your own hypocrisy when you find out she has fake hair, fake fingernails, fake eyelashes, fake color contacts, caps on her teeth, spray-on tan, fake tits, empire waist top hiding her gut, and bad credit…and you have the nerve to get upset at her when you’re doing the EXACT SAME THING.

* It’s ironic because a unique car is supposed to achieve one of three things: a.) make you appear to have unique personality and moxie, b.) make you appear wealthy, or c.) both**. People targeting goal A, however, never have personality. If they did, they wouldn’t need the fucking car.

** There is a tiny minority population of guys who trick out their cars because that’s just what they love to do. These cats I have no problem with.

Music Videos

30 06 2008

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

‘Creole’ Chicks

13 05 2008

If I hear one more person justify Beyonce’s increasing whiteness by saying “she’s not getting white, she’s just Creole!”, I am going to murder every single person I meet for the next hour.

The term ‘Creole’  was originally used to describe olive-skinned folks from Louisiana who had some mixture of French, Spanish, Black, and/or Native American ancestry, and spoke a language of the same name. More recently, ‘Creole’ has become a moniker used by pompous light-skinned fucktards to justify buying into and promoting caucasian standards of beauty.

Figure 1: Shrimp Creole – the only acceptable form of Creole

Some of these motherfuckers running around calling themselves Creole have no ancestral ties to Louisiana. They don’t speak Creole. They’ve never even BEEN to Louisiana. But that won’t stop the local resident douchebitch who happens to have ‘good hair’ from dying it blonde, getting Japanese straightening or whatever the fuck it’s called, throwing in green contact lenses, and running around claiming (implicitly or directly) to be better than ‘regular’ black people.

If she’s a REAL cunt, she’ll give the name some weird spelling like ‘Kreyole’ or ‘Creyol’ when she fills out some government form that asks for your race. She won’t check black, or white, or native american – NOPE! She’ll check the ‘Other’ box and write ‘Kreyole’ in the space next to it because she’s way too exotic and special to be a nigger, redskin, cracker, or some combination of these played out races.

The following is the internal monologue of the fake Creole chick:

“If I say I’m Khreyowle, then people will think I’m sophisticated! They’ll think I’m descended from French people and drink martini’s with extra extra dry vermouth while speaking a combination of French and Spanish to my friends while cruising on my superstar athlete husband’s yacht.”

Figure 2: Delusions of a pompous shit-brick

“They’ll think that my freakishly straight blond hair with pubes that don’t match is somehow natural! I’ll also have skin that’s tan but not niggerish, and I can lighten it with makeup JUST enough to rise above my blackness, but fall short of being considered white! Yay, racial purgatory! They’ll fall for this even though I can’t distinguish between Creole and Cajun, have no idea that Creole is also a language, and couldn’t point out Louisiana on a map OF Louisiana.”

The following is the internal monologue of the pompous real Creole chick:*

“Mmm mmm mmm, I sure am FINE. I’m kinda black, but my hair is naturally straight, my skin and eyes are light, and the media has decided that I’m what everyone wants. Oh I know! I’ll leverage my blackness and start a music career! Just for good measure, I’ll make sure my backup singers are darker than me in skin tone and/or hair color so that little nappy headed girls all over the world will know that light skin and long light straight hair comes first.”

Figure 3: In case you hadn’t figured out who I’m talking about yet…

As I reach a wider and wider audience, I’ll lighten myself just slowly enough so the average idiot won’t be able to notice. This will make me more acceptable to white and international audiences, and I’ll just ignore the collateral damage it does to the body image of the black adolescent girls that got me where I am in the first place. I’ll contribute further to the decline of black people by encouraging use of the word ‘conversate’ and being in a relationship with a man whose success was built on encouraging young black men to be promiscuous, experiment with cocaine, and kill people. After all, the ends justify the means! TEE HEE! Despite my active and conscious participation in the erosion of the black sense of self, people will ignore and even defend my behavior because – GASP – I’m just Creole!”

I can’t write anymore. There’s a fucking fire alarm going off in the office, and the blood vessel above my right eye is about to burst. I fucking goddamn hate everything.

*No, I do not think all Creole women are pompous. Please get off my nuts.

Isaac Hayes

9 05 2008

Black people have had to eat a lot of stigmatized shit over the years. We’re falsely characterized by the population at large as being innately dumber, more criminal, more promiscuous, and more self-destructive than virtually any other race on Earth. But in spite of that all, black people have for decades been able to say the following without batting an eye: “Yea? Well at least we don’t do crazy shit.”

Jeffrey Dahmer, Ted Kaczynski, Timothy McVeigh, Charles Manson, the Columbine kids, Jim Jones…all of them were white. Whenever some white person came along talking shit about black people, we could always point at those examples and say black people would never do that shit.

Unfortunately, our collective forcefield against “crazy” seems to be eroding bit by bit, and it started with OJ.

To stab someone is a crime of extreme passion and craziness and, outside of prison shankings, black people tend not to do it. We prefer to shoot people, probably because you don’t have to hear the icky squeezed-ground-beef sound that I can only assume you’d hear when you do the deed. Stabbings are also very difficult to perform in drive-by format, unless of course you’re this guy:

Figure 1: Reminds me of my father, when he’s in a good mood

OJ changed all that when he decided to get all stabby with his goldilocks wife and Ron Goldman, whoever the fuck he was. Before the Juice, black people could easily claim that being a ‘slasher’ was strictly the domain of white people, hispanics, and the Japanese – and that black people rarely ever took part in the decidedly sick act of plunging, with your own two hands, a sharp implement into the flesh and organs of another human being with the intent of killing them. Not so after OJ.

OK, so one black guy went Edward Niggahands on a couple of white people. It was an isolated incident, and at least it was, as Chris Rock put it, an ‘understandable’ (albeit horrible) crime of passion. But at least we don’t go around killing huge numbers of people at random for no apparent reason, right?

Figure 2: Wrong.

Thanks to this jerkoff, we black people can no longer dismiss the Psychopathic Serial Killer moniker. Every black person reading this post remembers when this asshole terrorized DC for a couple weeks a few years ago, and every black person reading this post knows damn well that he/she just KNEW the killer was white. When the perpetrators turned out to be not just one but TWO black dudes, part of the whole entire black community died while, at the same time, part of the whole white community lifted up its voice in unison to say “HA! YALL, TOO!”

And there you had it. In a few short years, black people entered the once-caucasoid realm of high profile slashers and serial killers. But still, we knew that black people would at least never…ever…EVER subscribe to crazy religious cults right?


For those who don’t know, Isaac Hayes is a believer in Scientology – the cartoonishly named demi-cult (involving aliens among other ridiculoutiae) developed by fiction writer and resident psychopath L. Ron Hubbard that, for whatever reason, has pulled countless celebrities into its fold and turned Tom Cruise into (more of) a raving lunatic:

Figure 4: Tom Cruise is, to this day, the only person to ever successfully scare the living shit out of Oprah Winfrey

What’s interesting about Isaac Hayes is how the news of him being a Scientologist came out. No one really knew about his ‘religion’ until his sudden and unexpected departure from South Park, which it turned out was done in protest to ‘religious insensitivity’ shown by the creators of the show when they mercilessly lampooned Scientology in the episode ‘Trapped in the Closet‘.

But even when people found out he was a Scientologist, no one really put him in the same category of crazy as Tom Cruise until they began to realize just how hypocritical his reasoning for leaving the show was:

“There is a place in this world for satire, but there is a time when satire ends and intolerance and bigotry towards religious beliefs of others begins.” -Isaac Hayes, in a statement released explaining his departure

I started shitting dynamite the instant I read this.

After spending years on a show that made unequivocal mockery of Jews, Muslims, Blacks, Asians, Native Americans, the mentally retarded, the physically disabled, Catholics, Mormons, poor people, homosexuals, and the homeless…Isaac fucking Hayes decides that mocking SCIENTOLOGY is unacceptable.

This blind and hypocritical loyalty to his pseudo-religion rocketed him from normalcy right into the stratospheric realm of crazy occupied by Tom Cruise and other celebrity Scientologists. We now knew that Isaac Hayes was a maniac, and that he had officially popped the negroid cherry of religious fanaticism. Next thing you know, allegations are flying that Will and Jada Pinkett Smith are Scientologists as well, and I wind up having to cry myself to sleep for the next six weeks.

Thanks Isaac, you bald cock.

Looney Tunes

2 05 2008

Three things happened yesterday that made me quite upset:

  1. I dropped several thousand hackle feathers all the fuck over the floor in my condo
  2. Walking into the elevator with my headdress and eagle feathers, some stupid chick asked me “OMIGOD ARE YOU A REAL INDIAN?!?!?!”
  3. I watched Looney Tunes for five fucking hours

Watching Looney Tunes for so damn long reminded me of a cartoon I saw as a child, where Bugs Bunny somehow wound up in what was called “Deepest Darkest Africa” and spent the episode making an ass out of an African native that was drawn to look like an eggplant with feet and a spear. What disturbs me about this memory is that this racist fucking cartoon was aired as late as the early 90’s.

Anyone on this board over the age of 21 or so probably has racist Looney Tunes episodes seared deeply into their memories – which makes the following statement by Wikipedia about the ‘Censored Eleven‘ complete and utter bullshit:

“The ban [on showing the censored 11] has been upheld by UA and the successive owners of the Looney Tunes catalog to this day, and these shorts have not been officially broadcast on television since the late 1960s.”

I specifically remember watching the episode ‘All This and Rabbit Stew‘ several times on cable (I believe the station was TNT) in the early 90’s, and ‘Jungle Jitters’ is probably the episode featuring Deepest Darkest Africa and the eggplant man.

Figure 1: I’ve seen this cartoon before, and I’m pretty sure I wasn’t alive in 1968

What the hell can I say – people were racist as shit back in the day, and the intended audience for Looney Tunes was, as Friz Freeling partially admitted, intended for racist fucking white people. No small wonder that the Warner Brothers, all four of whom were apparently Jewish, still bought the Looney Tunes series despite innumerable negative references to Jews.

For those who want to get mad by experiencing the racism in visual form, enjoy this.

Racism aside, I enjoyed Looney Tunes because it was undeniably fucking hilarious. This is why I was emotionally devastated when I came upon the following:

Figure 2: There is no God

Apparently in 2005, someone took the friendly characters from Looney Tunes (Bugs, Daffy, Wyle E. Coyote, Taz, and the Roadrunner) and injected them with Agent Orange or some shit. Now these clever characters have been reborn as ‘The Loonatics’, who in the image above are depicted as soulless and unnecessarily badass spreaders of the X-treme marketing virus hell bent on leaping out of my computer screen and punching me in the testicles.

Let’s take a look at each of these characters in turn:

1.) Ace Bunny – (pictured at the center) Ace Bunny appears to be the craziest out of the entire group, which is impressive considering that not one character even has pupils. Ace’s tightly clenched fists, inexplicably sharp teeth, scimitar-shaped ears, and what appears to be a twitching right eye symptomatic of severe stress, seem to indicate that the sole purpose of Ace Bunny is to rape your dog and murder your family.

2.) Danger Duck – (bottom left) is actually the most normal-looking of the bunch, in spite of the fact that his soulless eyes are given a red hue to indicate that he’s been to Hell at least once. Danger’s predecessor, Daffy Duck, was fairly lanky, out of shape, and had hands that resembled feathers – but the new Danger duck appears, at least in this image, to be rather broad shouldered and have fists cast of solid bronze. I’ve never seen the cartoon, but I’m pretty sure that at some point Danger has uttered the phrase “feathers are for cunts.”

3.) Tech E. Coyote – (far left) was always green with envy at the Roadrunner in the original cartoon, and for the Loonatics series has been rendered literally so. Recognizing the fact that our children are indeed dumber than ever and have no idea what the word ‘wily’ means (or the ability to associate ‘wile’ as a pun on ‘wild’), the creators apparently made Wyle E. Coyote take a fucking MCSE exam and become Tech E. Coyote – the cheesiness of which is borderline criminal, but nonethless simple enough for our stupid ass uncultured electronically-obsessed fatass children to comprehend.

4.) Slam Tasmanian – (top) has a fist bigger than his fucking head even if you adjust for perspective, (we can only assume he uses that fist to beat unwilling women into submission), and 95% of his face is composed of innumerable gigantic teeth because apparently his character was modeled after Terrell Owens. The enormous size of Slam is not done justice by the above picture, so I’ve included another:

Figure 3: Seriously, dude. There is NO God.

Slam clearly weighs at least a metric ton and is suffering from an X-TREME case of ‘Roid Rage. One can’t help but notice that his transformation from ‘Tazmanian Devil’ in Looney Tunes to ‘Slam Tazmania’ in Loonatics is not at all unlike Barry Bonds’ transformation from man to Silverback Gorilla between 1986 and today, and is therefore a horrible example for our children.

5.) Rev Runner – (far right) is so fucking goddamn X-TREME that he’s the only bird I’ve ever seen with teeth. TEETH ON A BIRD, DUDE. I am willing to bet my life that right now somewhere in the country, some middle schooler is flunking a science test because he sees this question…

  • True or False: Birds have teeth

…and then thinks to himself: “AH! REV RUNNER HAS TEETH! TRUE!”

Fail. That child will spend the rest of his life asking people if they’d like to try a combo.

6.) Lexi Bunny – (bottom right) I’m not too sure why they didn’t just cut the bullshit and call her ‘Sexy Bunny’ or ‘Flexibunny’ or ‘Slutty Bunny Cum Bucket’. Is there any coincidence that Lexi is positioned below Ace’s left nut? Anyhow, the creators of the show clearly wanted to introduce sexual tension to the show while a.) maintaining plausible deniability of said introduction, and b.) at the same time assuaging the oh so annoying Girl-Power lobby. To this end, Lexi has been given scythe-like dagger hands that suggest awesome fighting prowess and excruciatingly painful sex all at the same time.

Figure 4: Come back, guys. Please?

Sex & the City

11 04 2008

I’ll admit this up front: I watch Sex & the City.

I don’t watch it, however, because I enjoy the silly comedic moments or the idiot-savant romantic insights of Carrie fucking Bradshaw. Instead, I watch Sex & the City because after working 8 hours in the office and up to another 5 hours at home and spending another 3 hours sewing beads on my dance regalia, there are only three things that can put a smile on my face:

  1. Sex. I don’t have a girlfriend and I’m too lazy for one night stands, so this is out.
  2. Pancakes. Under the imminent threat of diabeetus and weight gain, I usually don’t eat bread after noon if I can help it.
  3. Self-destructive behavior of unreasonable white women. This is the living definition of Sex & the City.

Figure 1: Vaginitus Douchebitchicus Caucasus Maximus Quadruplicus.

I was perfectly content to watch the four unattractive hags* that star in the show blunder their way through life from now until the Rapture. The general unhappiness of these women made me happy enough to overlook the implausibility of four essentially sociopathic women all having very successful careers that involve – get this – dealing with other people.

Then I had an epiphany: Sex & the City is a white woman’s visual manifesto of classism and racism.

For now, I’m going to skip the classism part because if I were to contemplate it long enough, I will lose my shit. So instead I’ll just focus on the flagrant racism in this motherfucking show.

In my memory, there were four black characters who had speaking parts that lasted more than ten damn seconds – and this is where the racism starts. Sex & the City’s conspicuously unrealistic absence of black people in NEW YORK CITY is surpassed only by that of the partial-birth abortion of a show called ‘Friends’. The popularity among white women of these shows combined with the popularity of New York shows us exactly what white women are looking for:

Figure 2: Fuckers.

But let’s get beyond that and look at the few black characters that were in the show.

Brother and Sister: there was an episode where Samantha (the village bicycle of the show) decided to date a black guy. I can’t remember what he did for a living, but I’m pretty sure I remember it involving sports, and he was very successful. He was an all around good guy.

This man had a sister – a very attractive black woman who, I shit you not, spent the entire show yelling, waving her neck, and snapping her fingers at Samantha loudly and in inappropriate venues telling her that she didn’t want to see “another good brother taken by a white girl.” In the end, it was actually the MAN who capitulated to his sister’s wishes and broke up with Samantha.

  • What black people see: a white woman taking yet another of the endangered species of good, eligible black men, and the sister rightly getting her brother to come to his senses.
  • What white people see: domineering racist ghetto negro wench hates white people for no good reason, and her weak willed negro man-child of a brother is too much of a pussy to stand up to her. Black women are crazy, black men are sissies.

Navy Boy: in one episode, the four Itchy Vaginas come across a bunch of model-worthy male sailors wearing Navy jumpers walking around aimlessly in midtown, because apparently this shit happens all the fucking time. The sailors invite the IVs to some party that night. The main character, Carrie, spends the whole time at the party dancing with some black pretty boy sailor from Louisiana who looks like a shrunken-down version of The Rock wearing a fruity sailor outfit.

At the end of the night, Carrie and The Pebble are talking outside the lounge. Sounding like a lost puppy, the guy asks her, in nearly as many words, “can I please come home with you tonight?” Carrie, who has had uncountably many one night stands with dudes straight out of, rejects this guy – opting instead to go home and, for all I know, masturbate to videos of black men being attacked with dogs and fire hoses during the March to Montgomery.

  • What black people see: black man far and away out of Carrie’s league gets rejected by her for no particular reason at all. Sheer racism (or comeuppance, since overly attractive black men should not be passing up black women to fuck with white girls that look like an incarnate Australopithecus exhibit.)
  • What white people see: horny black navy boy is on shore leave and wants to invade the Antarctic. Carrie, who is pure and white as the driven snow, rejects his coontastical advances and remains ever unpenetrated by the black torpedo.

Sports Man: GASP! A RECURRING BLACK CHARACTER! That’s right everybody, Sex & the City featured for several episodes a dark, intelligent, extremely well-paid, highly educated black man with more moral character than Jesus himself…dating Miranda, aka the fugliest of member of the cast, for several weeks.

FIgure 3: I saw her face, and my dick evaporated.

Sports man is called ‘Sports Man’ because he’s an orthopedist for the Knicks. This makes sense because black men can’t be successful unless it either directly or obliquely involves sports. Miranda is constantly getting jealous of Sports Man because all the white cheerleaders on the Knicks are all over his jock. But he remains ever faithful to this red headed sea monster, eventually even popping the ‘L’ word on her. She freaks out, and breaks up with him to make babies with Woody Allen’s ugly twin.

  • What black people see: a ferociously attractive, successful, and loyal black man gets his heart farted on by the last living child of the corn in a combination of bullshit, racism, and karma.
  • What white people see: the Superman of black people is not good enough even for the ugliest, most judgmental, type A ho-bag in the entire Itchy Vagina Ensemble. Black people are shit. High five!

I can’t fucking take it anymore. It’s time for me to drive to NYC and scalp Sarah Jessica Parker.

Figure 4: Maybe there’s a fourth thing that can put a smile on my face…

*My father hates Sarah Jessica Parker and everything about her. If you ever meet the terrifying man that is my father and you want to immediately make him like you – insult Sarah Jessica Parker. If you want him to LOVE you, call her an “intolerable horse-faced pussy smuggler who belongs in a zoo rather than on television”.


18 03 2008

I sincerely hope I’m not the only person noticing the increasing acceptance of the word ‘nigger’ on television.

Five years ago, it was completely unacceptable to use this word, uncensored, on virtually any network or basic cable television program. It was bleeped out when black people said it, and it was bleeped out when white people said it. It was bleeped out on the radio when stupid ass J-Lo used it in “I’m Real”. It’s bleeped out in the censored version of Eddie Murphy’s “Raw”. It was EVEN bleeped out (usually) in PBS and basic cable airings of the “Roots” series.

Today, you hear the word ‘nigger’ being said EVERYWHERE by EVERYONE – and nothing is more interesting than the fact that this can be blamed entirely on Comedy Central.


Figure 1: Created a monster

Chappelle’s Show premeired on Comedy Central sometime in 2003 with the incomparable Dave Chappelle as it’s star and creative director. The first season (and specifically, the first skit in the first episode of the first season), executed nothing short of racial shock-and-awe with Clayton Bigsby’s constant uncensored use of the word ‘nigger’. This skit was absolutely fucking hilarious and would set the tone for the racial irreverence that defined the show. What poor Dave wouldn’t realize until 2005 was that he’d created Dr. Frankenstein’s monster.

As I see it, Dave used the word ‘nigger’ to force white people to laugh at their racist past (and present). Use of this word, as well as other black-white themes in the show, were supposed to make white people think introspectively about their own stereotypes, become aware of them, and perhaps become more cognizant of subtle, latent racism. In short, these caustic jokes were intended to make white people laugh at themselves.

The same can be said of two now-infamous episodes of South Park – also a Comedy Central product

The first was the ‘Here Comes the Neighborhood’ episode, in which the only black kid in town (who also happens to be the only rich kid in town) feels isolated by his wealth, and goes on a campaign to get more rich people to move in. All the rich people he gets to move in are also black, and the entire storyline is then based on the conflict between the townsfolk (all poor and white) and the newcomers (all rich and black).


Figure 2: Rich black kids will never do this

The conflict, however, is mockingly centered on class instead of race – the townsfolk refer their rich black neighbors as ‘richers’ instead of ‘niggers’ and dress up with white hoods and robes because “rich people are scared of ghosts”. All this is designed to make people aware of the obvious racial subtext in spite of the less plausible but certainly possible socioeconomic subtext – and again get white people to laugh at subtle racism.

Then there was the much less subtle ‘Nigger Guy’ episode, which was partially created in response to Michael Richard’s tirade at the Laugh Factory, but was probably created even moreso in response to his claim after the fact that he’s “not a racist.”

The plot is simple. One character is at the bonus round of Wheel of Fortune. The category of the puzzle is “People Who Annoy You” and, after picking his four consonants and a vowel, the letters on the board read N _ G G E R S.


Figure 3: I can’t believe this hasn’t happened in real life yet

After an uncomfortable 5 seconds and a threatening look from the black cameraman, he finally shouts out ‘NIGGERS!!!’…only to find out that the answer to the puzzle was ‘NAGGERS’ (as in people who nag.) This character then spends the rest of the show trying to convince everyone in the country that he’s not a racist, becoming socially ostracized in the process and forced to become friends with people like Michael Richards and Mark Fuhrman. Like ‘Here Comes the Neighborhood’ and Chapelle’s Show, this episode was designed to make people examine their own racist attitudes, and get a laugh by laughing at themselves.

This is not what happened.

All these shows accomplished was, in fact, to desensitize everyone to the word ‘nigger’ and, by extension, the very idea of racism itself. Using the word ‘nigger’ was supposed to shock people into realizing that they still harbored latently racist attitudes. Instead, it just got everyone laughing at the word ‘nigger’, black stereotypes, and the resulting indignation of black people.

Dave Chappelle realized this sometime in late 2004, when he noticed one of his white crew members effectively laughing AT him instead of WITH him. He quit soon after, but the damage was already done. ‘Here Comes the Neighborhood’, which aired in 2001 (before Chappelle’s Show) did not use the word ‘nigger’ – not even bleeped out. After Chappelle’s Show ended, everyone was using the N-word all over television – including the ‘Nigger Guy’ episode of South Park which used the word at least several dozen times, uncensored.

The insensitivity to the word finally leaped out of television and onto the streets of supposedly enlightened cities like Washington D.C., where suddenly I could hear white people freely using the N-word IN PUBLIC and IN THE PRESENCE OF BLACK PEOPLE. Basically, we can thank Comedy Central for an increasing perception among non-blacks that black people should be OK with the N-Word coming out of their mouths.


Figure 4: “Duuuuude! What’s up my nigger?!”

Of course, none of this is really surprising since Comedy Central is owned by Viacom. Many people are fooled into thinking that Viacom is a media conglomerate, but smart people know exactly what Viacom is:

Vi . a . com [vie – ah – cohm] (n) – a soulless economic juggernaut with the sole and expressed purpose of destroying black people*

Viacom is responsible for all kinds of offenses against black people, in addition to tricking Dave Chappelle and the creators of South Park into thinking their racially incisive wit would be understood with any degree of sophistication by the average jackass. These offenses include, but are not limited to:

  • The unmitigated destruction of hip hop as an artform and mode of cultural expression
  • The popularization of the ‘angry black man’ and ‘gay black man’ stereotypes through shows like The Real World
  • MTV
  • BET, and specifically all the racist stereotypes injected into the shows on this network, which was then expanded overseas to promote worldwide stereotypes of black people
  • The assassination of JFK**
  • The 1993 bombing of the World Trade Center**
  • The crucifixion of Jesus**
  • Slavery**
  • The destruction of Alderaan**


Figure 5: Viacom Headquarters

It’s pretty obvious that in ‘Undercover Brother’, Universal Pictures had Viacom in mind when referencing the nameless evil corporation, intent on the enslavement/destruction of black people, that was headed by ‘The Man’. I just wish more people saw this for what is was.

*This may be understating a little
**This may be overstating a little