I’m sure that many of you have heard the news by now that one of the most respected sites in journalism has uncovered evidence of my involvement with the Ku Klux Klan. I will not impugn the journalistic integrity of the reporter who unearthed the documents; in fact, I don’t even deny the charges.
I just want to explain myself.
After reading the article three times, I finally got what the writer was trying to say, and I do appreciate them for lifting this heavy burden that I’ve been carrying around so long. I also want to thank them for putting some “respeck” on my name by calling me “one of the most respected names in black media.” (I told you, girl!)
The person who penned this masterpiece apparently knows me so well, because the next sentence contains three words I hate. I have never branded myself as a “civil rights activist.” I throw up in my mouth anytime someone asks me to describe “my brand” or refers to themselves as an “activist.”
Even though they refer to me as a “social justice warrior,” I have also never been a warrior for anything, especially social justice. I used to pretend I was one of the Road Warriors when I was into wrestling in my youth, but I can’t recall if I was Hawk or Animal. I didn’t even know justice came with adjectives. I thought there was just one kind of justice—justice. However, now that I know it comes in flavors, I would like to inform you all that I prefer grape justice.
But yes, I have collaborated with the Ku Klux Klan, but I did not do it for money or power. I did it because I have such a good heart and care about everyone. When I saw people making fun of how stupid they sound when they talk, I felt sorry for them. I was paid on a consulting basis, and my duties were limited to the following:
If you’ve ever read an email or note from a white supremacist, you understand the struggle. I simply showed them the difference between “your” and “you’re,” “loose” and “lose,” and taught them about the existence of commas and the caps-lock button.
They were accustomed to buying the sheets to make their uniforms from Walmart, but I took them to Bed Bath & Beyond and introduced them to bed linen with a higher thread count. I also taught them how to remove pee stains from the bedclothes. One would think they were well-versed in removing unwanted spots from things that were once all white, but when I showed them how bleach works, they told me they’d rather live with the urine-soaked sheets because they didn’t trust all that fancy science stuff.
Look, I don’t judge.
I tried to explain that there was no need for “White lives matter” or “All lives matter,” but I came to realize it is built into their DNA. They reflexively say it when they hear the phrase “Black lives matter.” It’s like wypipo’s Tourette’s syndrome.
I paired some of the higher-ups in the KKK with people like Ben Carson, Herman Cain, Tim Scott, Charles Barkley, Stacey Dash, Omarosa Manigault and other prominent black standouts in the field of white respectability.
From now on, when you hear someone say something racist and then explain how they are excused because they have a black friend ...
I did that.
But that’s all I did. I did not participate in any cross burnings, despite whatever records they show you. I was getting that gas for my car, not for setting crosses on fire. And those tiki torches I bought in bulk were for my family reunion ... mosquitos are terrible in Bishopville, S.C.
I hope this is a sufficient explanation for you to find it in your heart to forgive me. Until then, I will be practicing my karate chops for when I go to war with social justice (I think that’s what we do, right?). God knows my heart, and he knows that I am not a white supremacist. He’s seen me season chicken. Forgive me ...
This is really going to hurt my brand.