YOoooh, BUBBA-CULTURE

"That doesn't bother you?" "What?" he asked, bouncing a basketball on the crowded sidewalk downtown, waiting for the traffic light to change. "Being surrounded by millions of people speaking a language that you don't understand?" "Long as I don't know what they saying, it don't bother me." "They might be standing next to you and talking about taking your head off." For a moment he looked a little dumber, as if he didn't know what to say. Then, still bouncing the basketball, he mumbled: "It ain't in my black culture -- English is my language." Maybe if some Spanish were written on a basketball he could bounce some of it into his brain. Yeah, what brain. English was his language . . . millions of CARBON-COPIES said that out of their slavepen mentalities. Could never have entered their meek mind -- whether they call English, Spanish, French, or Portuguese "their" language -- that they were living their one life on this magnetic ball revolving in space as cheap imitations of the English, Spanish, French, or Portuguese, and parroting, "We's all equal." Can't conceive of speaking an Afrikan language in their so-called "black culture." Just as they came out of the slavepens is how they've remained, stagnating in culture-ritis. Still the white man's burden after over a hundred years.