Remember that time a foot-faced, soul-sucking gargoyle became a beacon of hope for previously shamed racist swampdonkeys and self-hating Black folks everywhere and won the U.S. presidential election, thus empowering a new wave of oppressive shitbaggery and violence by the hateful, unmoisturized masses?
That was big fun.
Even funner? When previous critics of the Tangerine Terrorist tightened their shackles and joined Backpedaling Acceptance Seeking Ho-Ass Bitches (BASHAB) on their Give Hate A Chance Tour, BenCarsonly.
But even mo' funner than all of that?
That time when Jethro, Jenny-Bob, and Jimmy Beau found a VHS tape of The Jeffersons reruns, outtakes from Blaxploitation films, and Motorola Razr-filmed clips of Midwestern soccer moms explaining hip-hop lingo, and used it to craft The Negrospeak Manual, a dialect guide and syllabus of outdated, context-free Blackisms for subversion-hungry online trolls intent on harassing The African-Americans in the 2000 and the 16 and beyond.
Disseminated via a sophisticated network of message-carrying bootyhole gerbils, the manual, which includes, among many gems, potential hashtags and acceptable spellings (“gunna” for “going to, “WITE/WHEIT/WYTE” for “white,” etc.), is a COINTELPRO-enthusiast's wet dream.
Once instructions to undermine, annoy, threaten, and/or spy on The Race-Baiting* African-Americans were spread through the dungeons and swamps of White Trash America, the treachery commenced.
Some expressed their glee at the prospect of Slavery 2.0 via intimidation and shouting, "That's why Trump won!" or simply, “Trump!” at people. Others joined Newports and Rush Cards in ruining life for Black people, this time via a poorly executed homage to yesteryear’s white dastardliness.
How, you ask? By assuming fake digital identities, infiltrating #BlackTwitter, and attempting to cause disruption and chaos in the dancery/dance soiree like only Caucasians can. Their goal was to gain entry with their new Black identity and confuse folks to the point that we couldn’t tell fake from real accounts and would begin accusing and attacking one another.
A few highlights from the Negrospeak Manual:
- Overall, speak and write like a newly emancipated slave.
- Let your words be fueled by inner-city angst and despair over being jobless, hopeless, and fatherless.
- Use peeps/peepz often.
- Curse a lot.
- Safe word in a crunch: BET.
- Use "dey" and "dese" over “they” and “these” 78.4% of the time.
- Black Power stuff is a good start (“DOWN WITH WHITEY!” etc.)
- Subject-verb agreement? What’s that?
- Nicki Minaj
- #blacktwitter and #BLM are their darkie bat signals. Use them like periods.
- “Hotline Bling” and sizzurp
- Gangsta grillz
- For bonus Shitbag Points: “Kill whitey,” #killwhitey, etc.
- Subject + be + [verb]in (i.e.: “My muma alwayz be cookin crack after school.”)
- When in doubt, imagine yourself as a surly, enslaved sistergirl or hip-hop homeslice who exists solely to kill whitey and go from there.
…and so forth.
Armored with instructions and blessed by the Ghost of COINTELPRO Operations Past, Foot-faced Frank and Deborah Dumpsterheart were released into the wild.
Step One: Get a convincing, thoroughly Black account like one of these:
And, with your Negrospeak Manual and your ungraceful-aging-as-karma on hand, you’re all ready for the Shitbag Circus!
An ambitious effort for sure.
Now, having been a full-time Negro for 32 years, I knows me a faux-Nigger when I see one. And that Neanderthal-adjacent display of Blackness right there? As authentic as ackee and saltfish prepared by Sandra Lee for Caribbean Night at Rachel Dolezal's house.
But Sucker Sam persevered. The hilarity continued:
All of Mr. Blackest Name Ever’s tweets were generally laughable, but this has to appear in the Faux Niggerhood Hall of Fame:
This is premium shitbaggery, folks. But, like Alicia Keys adopting stray notes, Sucker Sam took it too far. Which one of your Black-ass cousins is repping #BlackTwitter to the grave? Since when are White folks “Oreos?” Anyhow, bonus points for trying to throw the dogs off his scent, though. More fuckery can be witnessed under the #BlackTwitterBlock hashtag.
This misguided online asshattery is the result of powerful boredom, innate cornballhood, and a remedial grasp of Blackness. Apparently, Black life imagined by people living in alabaster bubbles causes more than just shitty television and Iggy Azalea recording contracts.
I suppose if Black folks were bored enough and had such collective low self-esteem that we felt compelled to go underground as green bean casserole-loving terrorists to gain access to and fuck up the pariah master classes and the secret mayonnaise taste testing societies, we could do so with less ridiculousness and relative ease.
Sure, they got swept up in the game and crossed over to the dark side, but you see how quickly rogue agents Stacey Dash and Juan Williams got invited to the family Flo-Rida concert? Before they cut contact with headquarters, they had acquired the legendary Gentrification Guides, introduced season salt and Adobo in a combined 8,500 homes, and had been selected as 87 and 81 people’s Black Friend, respectively. Decades spent hearing coworkers, associates, and mass media worship Friends, Seinfeld, and Eminem has to pay off somehow.
And can we definitively say that Omarossa isn’t playing Auntie Ruckus just to gain access to the master dungeon to decommission and disassemble the future Troglodyte-In-Chief?
I reckon we will just have to wait and see.
As their amateur antics are discovered, the unmoisturized masses have had to regroup and reassess their methods. Iggy’s parasitic subterfuge was short-lived. Gary Owens and Michael Rappaport, though visible, rely too heavily on annoyance and appear to only have one storyline and character in their respective arsenals.
Thankfully for them, their unrelenting and fearless leader, Rachel “The Racial Stowaway” Dolezal, is carrying the faux Nigger torch with pride, Blue Magic hair grease, and, sadly, favorable results. Whereas Sucker Sam and Deborah Dumpsterheart crashed and burned just like the gods of White Mediocrity intended, Rachel is soaring, scumbaggily, headlining natural hair rallies and such.
This Kwanzaa, I wish discernment and a decreased need to engage with diseased rhinoceros pizzle unto us chocolatey wonders. (We’re Black. We already won.) And sunscreen, self-esteem, and purpose to Ye Aspiring Wiggers. It can’t be easy being the LaTavias of humanity.
*I still don't know what the hell race-baiting actually is.