The Gay Agenda, Explained

No, Vanity Fair’s photo of Michael B. Jordan and Ryan Coogler is not the mainstream’s attempt to effeminize black men.

Michael B. Jordan and Ryan Coogler
Michael B. Jordan and Ryan Coogler Vanity Fair

Who is Ryan Coogler? And who is Michael B. Jordan?

Ryan Coogler and Michael B. Jordan are the young director-actor duo most famous for creating the harrowing and amazing (and amazingly shut out for Oscar consideration) Fruitvale Station. They also worked together on Creed—a critically acclaimed movie with a black director, a black star and a black love interest for the black star.  

Oh, so they received Oscar love for that, then, right?

No. But one of the white supporting actors did.

Wow. How did that happen?

Because the Oscars are whiter than Wal-Mart potato salad.

Damn. That sucks.

It does. But on the bright side, Jordan has been so successful as a movie actor that I’m no longer compelled to scream “Where’s Wallace???” at the screen every time I see him.

Why are they in the news this week?

Vanity Fair recently published a feature with the two men, who, along with being colleagues and collaborators, are apparently close friends.

However, the feature was accompanied by a photo shoot. And the image that circulated around the Internet shows a solemn Jordan clutching the top of the head of the equally solemn Coogler.

OK … well, what’s the problem with that?

There is no problem with it. It shows two men who obviously share some affection for each other … sharing some affection for each other. Some people, however, did think there was a problem. That problem being that the picture effeminizes Jordan and Coogler. And is an example of the mass media emasculation of the black male. And is a sign of the gay agenda. And is even why the Warriors lost to the Lakers last week.

Wait, what? All of that from that picture? Did you neglect to mention something about it? What could possibly have made those people draw that conclusion from that?

Great question! And in order to answer that question, I’ll need to share a story: A couple years ago, because of some miscommunication with my insurance, I drove with expired registration stickers for two weeks. Which might not seem like a big deal. But I’m a black man. With a Dodge Charger. (Why a Charger? Because I enjoy being a stereotype at times. It keeps my breath fresh.) In Pittsburgh, which might be the only major American city whiter than the Oscars. Basically, I already had, like, a thousand bull’s-eyes on my back, and I didn’t need another excuse for the police to follow me and pull me over. But I chanced it for two weeks, and I fortunately made it out unstopped.

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