Kim Kardashian and Kanye West (John Lamparski/Getty Images)

On Monday, the human black-man succubus, also known as Kim Kardashian, continued her trek to colonize the entirety of black womanness, thus completing her transition to become the first-ever cloned Armenian sex doll with black mannerisms.

She accomplished this latest maneuver by appropriating cornrows. To date, Kardashian and her merry band of familial pirates have stolen black women’s hips, asses, lips, eyelashes, men, style, behaviors, ethos, attitude and demeanor, and, then, with the audacity of Rachel Dolezal, Kim, the point guard of the family, had the nerve to subtweet black women who pointed out to her that she was wearing cornrows, not some dumbass “Bo Derek braids.”

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I understand the idea of wanting to dismiss Kim and the Kardashian clan, including the one fully white one who now looks Armenian, but I also understand the historical plight of black women who’ve been erased from history.

Monday night’s Twitter trolling of black women wasn’t some new low (for Kim, the spoon has been stirring in this tea cup for some time), the subtweet actually signified a larger undoing—she really doesn’t give a shit. And the issue with this is that this silicone-injected butt with a working mouth has gone rogue, very rogue.

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The problem is Kanye.

Kanye West is Kim’s black husband and therefore her guide into black life. It’s his job to explain to his wife why what she’s been doing and continues to do is not only wrong, it’s also hurtful, to black women. But don’t expect Kanye to say anything anytime soon because we’ve lost Kanye to a fate that has ruined many a black man before him: “the sunken place,” aka Kim Kardashian’s vagina. Reggie Bush, Kris Humphries, one of the little Jackson boys, some producer dude and Ray J have all fallen victim.

Reggie Bush could’ve been the next Walter Payton. Kris Humphries could’ve been the next Karl Malone. That little Jackson boy probably wasn’t going to hit it big, and neither was that producer dude. But Ray J was not supposed to be the comical moped owner. Need I remind y’all of this?

And I’m not sure how to tell the brothers who fall for this act what’s what, but adding a fake butt onto a regular woman is like putting nice rims on a Honda Accord. Yet the Kardashians remain modern-day quicksand for certain black men, and no matter how many times black women warn them that a Kardashian move isn’t a good look; no matter how many men come out of the wringer more worse for wear, there’s another black man standing off to the side like, “Hold my warmup jacket.”

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For these men, who routinely choose an obvious trap, the value-add has to be the white gaze. For them, the acceptance of their white plastic counterpart is like bitcoin; they don’t fully understand it, but they know that they value it more than hard cash. They long for it.

Sad to say, but Kanye has been fawning for white approval for some time now. He wants desperately to be seen as the modern-day Steve Jobs and Walt Disney. He wants desperately to be accepted by the major fashion houses like Gucci and Yves Saint Laurent. He longs to be categorized among America’s great whites, so much so that he’s allowed himself to become the fawned-over black addition to the Kardashian circus.

While we’ve seen Kim’s impact on Kanye—the recluse who’s had a nervous breakdown, yet also produced a fat-dad clothing line called “Calabasas”—we’ve not seen Kanye’s impact on Kim.

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That is partly because the Kardashian machine never changes. It runs on likes and retweets and other vapid forms of approval. It is all the stuff that all the psychologists have ever written about the id and the superego, all snapshot into one Instagram post. The machine stays the machine; the only changes happen to those who fall within its purview.

If you expected the bullish and outspoken Kanye to change the Kardashian template to look like an original forward-thinking woman who stopped pillaging the soul of black women, then you were wrong.

While Kanye, an actual master craftsman masquerading as a genius, adds a legitimacy to Kim’s Frankenstein-esque concoction, he doesn’t seem to add a voice. I don’t know where he is while his Armenian-and-white wife openly trolls black Twitter. I don’t know what happened to the self-proclaimed mama’s boy raised by a strong black woman.

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Earlier Kanye rapped, “When he get on, he’ll leave your ass for a white girl,” and later Kanye did just that, but I didn’t expect him to lose his voice.

Where’s the gangster Kanye who stormed the stage to silence Taylor Swift with praise for Beyoncé? Where is the Kanye who said, “George Bush doesn’t care about black people”? Where is the Kanye who once claimed, “Kim doesn’t understand what a blessing I am to her”?

Then bless her, Kanye, with the knowledge of appropriation. Bless her with the history of the slave trade. Tell her about the time Venus Williams had a point taken from her during the 1999 Australian Open because the beads from her braids kept falling onto the court.

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But I know that I’m asking a lot. I’m literally asking a black man in the sunken place to explain the history of cultural erasure to a plastic blowup doll.