Season 500, Episode 450
I’d like to welcome you back to another sold-out lynching of a black man. Please take your pre-assigned seats at the front of the theater, where the slaves, my great-great-grandfather included, will take your coats and provide you with all the necessary comforts as you so desire.
Feel free to use, abuse, discard, degrade, deride, coddle, rape, pillage as you please. Remember that the privilege of white people is a hard thing to live with and only your delicate selves are of utmost importance to the world, and you are here to see another black body destroyed to evoke some feeling in you about righteous justice, after a day of hard work. Excellent. Fellow niggers, our guests have settled in. Make them comfortable, even if it kills you. Even if they kill you. As their Bible says, You were bought with a price. So chop chop, let us get to being inconvenienced and exhausted so little Karen can be a delicate flower.
A warm round of applause to this week’s star, Ms. Cooper. I am terribly sorry you couldn’t kill my cousin this time, and that all my kin have succeeded in temporarily putting you out of work. I know it sucks. No, you’re not a racist for trying to get a black man lynched courtesy of everyone’s favourite band, the Boys in Blue. You were just scared, as you should be. After all, Jesus is white and the devil looks like me. Don’t cry now, Ms. Cooper, the show you wanted was put on for all of you by the ever-reliable Boys in Blue. Steady lynching niggers since 1440, you know it. Oh, please seat Ms. Cooper next to Firebird Trump. I hear he might get the Men in Green to perform a show for you this week.
The show is about to start, and as always, I will walk you through what could possibly be my own death, if some of you could have your way. Do not worry. I forgive you in the name of white Jesus, whom, coincidentally, was lynched in the name of justice. And you don’t have to be nice to us, no, our reward is in Heaven. Just know that right now, only your feelings matter. This privilege is a burden and we should all be grateful you carry it. So. My brother, or my sister, or my father, or me, here, Mr. Floyd, he’s carrying a counterfeit bill. Does he know it’s counterfeit, you ask? I don’t know. Generally, when a man of little means is given a bill, provenance is the last thing on his mind. Of course, the opposite of poor being white, to rework a phrase by Senile Overseer Biden, you would know a bill is counterfeit just by seeing it in someone else’s pocket. But onward we march.
So the Boys in Blue are called, as a matter of procedure. He’s arrested. Pay attention now. We see he is resisting arrest because he’s breathing in the general vicinity of the officers, and as we all know, police only kill when there is a reason to. Us black folk just kill because we know no better. Chicago. Africa. So there’s a reason for our lynching, the breathing of air. He’s compliant, as you can see, but he has desecrated your royalty, so he must be punished. Mr. Chauvin, here, Blue Rambo, performs a routine restraining technique, but owing to a complication of all the diseases we get because we are inferior to your sunburned kind, my cousin, or my brother, or me, here being Mr. Floyd, cannot breathe and soon dies. Notice the professional way Blue Rambo conducts himself during this lynching, as Minnesota’s finest. I see some of the younger ones are in tears and the grandparents are lost in memories, way back when lynchings were not so cleanly completed. Do not worry, you are okay. Your feelings are what matters now. Let those white tears out. My mom and her army of mammies will cater to your every need.
Back to our show. Now there’s an angry crowd, asking why this happened. And they’re mad, and your children are with them, and I see some in the crowd are uncomfortable. Look at them, entitled negroes. They’ve been ill-treated for 500 years and they cry out and nothing changes, and still they cry. If they only worked themselves to the bone they could become, maybe, chief janitor, and isn’t that a thing of beauty? Racism is not as important as how you feel when you go to Stanford instead of Harvard because Daddy Warbucks paid up, and isn’t it lovely that all the black people in our schools are here thanks to your benevolent affirmative action? Oh look! It’s a bird. It’s a plane. It’s Firebird Trump and here come the Men in Green, ready to protect your delicate constitution and your pale complexion and rosy cheeks. Ah, the Boys in Blue are angry, and I see some of you cannot take it anymore. You’re in pain. We cannot have this! We will teach you how to stop the things you do to us. We cannot have you cry because you kill us, so we will walk with you as you learn to kill us less cruelly. Dry your eyes, fair ones. We are here for you.
Ah, the show’s over, but I see most of you have bought your tickets to the next one. On your way out please remember to buy books on racism that match the interior decor of your homes, approved by your one black friend, which a lot of you share. You don’t have to read the book. Just buy them and have a black friend and you will no longer be called racist, no matter what you do. Even if you lynched one of us, or simply justified it. As always, I am your graceful host, the dancing, fried chicken-loving, dangerous Negro in North America. Stay safe, white ones, and see you soon for another edition of Boys in Blue: To Lynch a Mockingbird.