Social Studies: If a Karen Falls in the Woods...

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Here’s a question that needs answering: What is the male equivalent of a Karen?

Is it Chuck or a Todd? How about Bryce?

It’s an existential question akin to “What’s the sound of no Beckies crying?” If a Karen falls in the woods, does God speak to the manager for her?

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Well, I think we’ve found an answer:

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First of all, someone please give Tison a raise. He wasn’t bullshitting. I’m sure he was all hopped up on free sausage samples and Kirkland orange juice but he is still a hero for standing up to this ManKaren.

But, most importantly, why do wypipo assume any rule that is not specifically enumerated in the Constitution is a breach of their “freedoms?” White people have a lot of freedoms (plural). Apparently the hill they’re willing to die on is sold on aisle 13 at the local warehouse store. As a black man, whenever I enter a place that requires a membership card for entry, I’m on my best behavior. After all, isn’t Costco a retail outlet for whiteness? It’s the place where you buy shoes after you burn your Nikes. They basically sell mom jeans, bulk multivitamins, the books you see on Fox News and patio furniture.

And everyone knows patio furniture is for white people. Black people’s outside furniture is plastic or it folds up so you can take it inside at the end of the cookout. But white people have whole couches with microfiber fire-resistant cushions that sit next to the propane-powered firepit under the preassembled gazebo for evenings playing acoustic guitar while sipping artisanal beer with friends.

I have a confession to make:

I bought an outside refrigerator once. And a barbecue grill from Costco. I loved that grill. I still think about it sometimes.

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Wait, this may be my blackest story ever.

Yes, I was never into cars and I don’t like Jordans, so whenever I get a bag, I blow my money by buying home products (Seriously, I just installed one of those hidden bookshelves that’s actually a door).

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So, back in the mid-2000s, I had a few dollars to spend. One of my college friends who fancied himself a money guy tried to get me to invest some of the money into a brand new company but I knew it would fail. Say what you will, but I’m pretty good with financial noticing trends.

I had a degree in macroeconomics so when he tried to get me to invest in an internet company that had just gone public, I balked. He was crazy if he thought I was going to put all of my money in one company at $90 per share. The market changes too quickly. I was on the internet all the time and knew that Altavista had the best search engine but he was adamant about this idiotic idea about going all-in on this IPO. Even the name was stupid.

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It was a company called “Google.”

Anyway, instead of spending my money buying stock in that stupid tech company, I bought a repossessed house and decided I’d move in, fix it up, flip it, and make more money than those tech dummies could imagine. It was the first time I’d ever had a house with a patio, so of course I needed the latest cookout technology.

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Man, I bought a whole setup. I had an outside refrigerator. The outside sink that hooked up to a retractable garden hose. And, to top it off, I bought a luxury grill that was a returned item at Costco.

That grill was perfect. It had the ceramic plates that allowed you to alternate between gas and charcoal. It had a cast iron griddle. It even had a part where you could fry fish. It was as if it was designed by Jesus himself.

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A few months after I purchased the grill, I was at church while they were planning our annual church bazaar. Now, my mother was the founder of this church bazaar way back in the seventies, and it had morphed into a community event. Honestly, our bazaar didn’t offer a lot of arts and crafts. It was more about the food. Imagine an outside cookout with a selection of church lady potato salads and deacon-based barbecue sauces. The food was spectacular. I basically went every year to defend my reign as the 10-time Household of Faith potato sack race champion (I humbly admit that my championships were not consecutive) and for Sister Joretta Jackson’s chili (I would later discover that it wasn’t shit but ketchup, ground beef, Lipton’s Onion Soup and cheap chili powder, but it seemed spectacular).

Eager to contribute, I offered the use of my grill. I knew it could handle the traffic and would have my whole church family marveling at how God had opened up the windows of heaven and poured his blessing upon me.

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So, the second-in-charge deacon came to my house and picked up my grill. We loaded it on the back of the truck and took it to the church. Those hamburgers were popping and the hot dogs were the perfect vehicle for Sister Joretta’s chili.

After the event was over, we loaded it up on the vice deacon’s truck and took it back to my house. I was admittedly a little worn out from defending my title, so I didn’t secure the grill as tightly as I did when we picked it up. After all, my 11th potato sack race ring was proof that I had God’s favor.

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As I followed the under-deacon in my car on a long two-lane highway, we were halfway to my house when shit just started flying at me. A ceramic plate. A cast iron griddle. Knobs. My happiness.

The deputy deacon kept driving. He didn’t even notice.

When we arrived at my house and the lieutenant deacon realized the bed of his pickup was empty, he felt like crap. He offered to assemble an emergency deacon meeting to reimburse me for my grill but I wouldn’t have it. It was my fault for not securing the centerpiece of my prized patio collection.

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That deacon-once-removed is now the head deacon of that church. Every time I see him, he offers his condolences about that grill. I pretend that it was ok and tell him that these things happen. I don’t blame him.

I blame God.

“For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them.” — Exodus 20:11

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Wind resistance and gravity destroyed my grill. And, according to the bible, God created heaven, earth, the sea and the law of gravity, which definitely is not in the Constitution (I checked).

I can’t understand why God would take away my “freedoms.”

World-renowned wypipologist. Getter and doer of "it." Never reneged, never will. Last real negus alive.

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DISCUSSION

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Probably Redundant Comment

I’m surprised he didn’t throw tyranny into his tirade... Is tyranny mainly just a white people word?

It seems like it’s been thrown around a lot lately... usually by indignant gun wielding MAGAs angry about wearing masks and not getting their mullets touched up.

“The business up front is my business because freedom! The party in the back is a freedom party! The close our business & we aren’t allowed to party”*

*translated to human from MAGA Thumb People-ish

I assume it’s equivalent to “...some bullshit” but ramped up for dramatic effect because someone is telling them what to do.

“I can’t buy groceries since I’m not wearing a mask... This is...”

A) ...TYRANNY, MUH FREEDOM!

B) ...Some bullshit