Identity Thieves And Flashlights

"I say that 99% of you have stolen identities."
"And you can make us invisible?"
"You ever look for an object in a dark house or dark room?"
"You could be looking straight at it and not see it because of the darkness."
 "Say you stole an Anglo's or a Spaniard's identity.  Only a Spaniard or an Anglo can really see you because they know what their real people look and act like, and they see an imitation in that darkness you'r in.  The only way a non-Anglo or non-Spaniard can really see you is to look into that darkness you're in with a special flashlight."

"Flashlight?  You mean black as I am they can't see me during the day?"
"Not unless you shine that special light on yourself from that special flashlight -- and we got a special discount on these flashlights today."
"They can't really see me, but can they hear me?"
" 'Hello, is somebody here with me?  I hear a voice, but I don't see anybody.'  That's not true.  I really see you because I'm black like you, my brother.  I just said that to give you a sample of what it's like for someone who  hasn't seen this light."
"You mean I can walk down the street, get on buses and subways, go into buildings and nobody can really see me and recognize me from these ig'nant blacks rioting and looting and burning and teaching hate for police and all authority?"

"Exactly."
"How much is them flashlights?"
"Like I said.  They're on sale  today.  They're just a thousand dollars each, and you can get a box of them and be like a walking flashlight yourself, selling light to your family and friends, especially all these so-called blacks on TV  running their mouths about black this and black that."
"How many in a box?"
"Five."
"Will you take a check?"
"Of course, my brother."
"Gimme a box.  After I lighten up some friends, there's some jewelry stores, banks, and other places we'd like to visit."

Ingenuity's Black Suit

"Son, I named you Ingenuity the Sixth 'cause you gon' be the sixth daddy in this family and I been waiting till you was sixteen to explain to you this black suit 'cause with all this drug business, gangs, and blacks shootin' each other if a black boy make it to sixteen these days he sho'nuff lucky.  But this suit is like sump'm sacred to us.  It's the only suit I ever had, ever wanted.  My daddy passed it down to me, like his daddy passed it down to him and his daddy's daddy passed it down and as far as I can trace it back it's been passed down from all our daddies to all our daddies' daddies.

"We only puts it on twice in our life and that's when we gits married and when we dies.  Marriage is a serious business so you got to git into it like a black suit.  And when you laying in the casket you got to look  business-like, show the people that you been a serious man.  Of course, after that undertaker wheel you outta that church or chapel or wherever you was last looked at, it's been arranged that he give us back the black suit so we can pass it on and leave you naked 'cause that's  the way we come into this serious world.  I'm telling you  this 'cause we gitting into a situation wit people talking about 'our jobs,' and somebody talking 'taking our jobs.'  When people been doing thangs a certain way for generaions and somebody start messing wit'm doing thangs that way, we gon' have people politicking and taking advantage of that situation.

"I ain't got no education, ain't got no culture that teach me to want to have a business so I can hire our people, like other people do they people.  So, for generations we been going 'round talking about 'making beds, cleaning houses and offices, digging ditches, carrying other peoples' bags in airports, and all that kind of stuff as 'our jobs,' and ain't created a damn job.  Don't own a single job.  So I figure if we always complaining 'bout this and that for generations, we can't blame other people for nothin'. We can't be worth much if in the 21st century performing that kind of labor is what we still call 'our jobs,' can we?"

Stuff That Sentimental Spot

"If I said that I'm a Christian would you believe me?"
"Sure."
"Why?"
"Why would you lie about something like that?"
"People will say whatever is to their advantage."
"But I know your background.  You attended church."
"I also went to a Muslim school and there was the Muslim influence in my home, and some people think I'm a Muslim."
"Islam means 'peace' people say, and Muslim terrorists worship in mosques, but that doesn't mean that everyone who worships in a mosque is a terrorist."
"And some 'Christians,' preachers, politicians, and criminals, attend churches and cathedrals and march with rioters to try to justify violence against police . . . community agitators, as I once was, use the church as a cover for their radicalism."

"People do things when they're young that they later aren't proud of . . ."
"But I was a grown man when I associated with preachers who preached anti-American and anti-Jewish sermons."
"How can people call themselves Christians and hate Jews?  Jesus was a Jew."
"I'll admit that when Muslims are slaughtering Christians and vowing to kill all Americans and Jews that if a Christian's actions seem partial toward Muslims his or her identity as a Christian is suspect.  Yet, if my childhood among Muslims was pleasant can't you understand why I might have a sentimental spot in my heart for that experience?"
"Let's just hope that sentimental spot doesn't give a certain Ayatolla a sentimental nuclear bomb."

Or Regimented Oddly?

Always, hoping to find two empty adjoining seats to avoid sitting next to another passenger, he swept the seating in a bus in a glance.  That day as he turned from the fare-box he saw two empties and rushed to them.  Feeling comfortable in his good fortune he had looked across the aisle at the woman sitting alone.  Something indefinable about her.  She seemed fixed in a stillness that gave her the semblance of a coal-black mannequin that could not move unless propelled by another.  Her narrow black face showed no sign of life, as if slapped no sound would come from it; its stern expression would not change. 

The black satin blouse and black trousers held her slim, tight body as if she had not seen him look at her or didn't know what went on around her.  She had to know that her face reflected that hard look, he had thought.  Her people being without a legitimate culture her face probably didn't smile as easily as the face of women in that powerful reigning culture . . . her voice, because of something about  women like her having no protection down through history, could not sound as cheerful as theirs.  But she could have their hair.  She could go down to any drugstore and get it, like medicine.  Was that why her short black hair was decorated with four or five long blonde plaits?  They, against all that blackness, made her look odd.  Did she personify that "total" integration crowd?

The bus had pulled up to a bus stop and passengers were getting off.  There would be empty seats available.  He looked about for two empty seats farther away from her, saw two and went back and sat in one.  Still he thought of her.  Maybe she found living her entire life regimented into a single color too shallow and disgusting . . . with moderation as you go, son . . . .

The Grinning Stick Ones

"Oh, look at you, you are such wonderful people," he said, standing on an upside down white plastic bucket.  Hundreds of the natives squatted in the dirt  beneath a broiling sun and grinned up at him.  They had only some beans and rice and corn to eat every day and they were quite bony.
". . . you smile and dance so easily," he said, "how wonderful you are . . ."
All their lives they had bathed in a dirty river, then put on their floppy old black trousers and wrinkled white shirt or if a woman, she daintly dressed in an old long black skirt that rats had eaten holes in and she would tie a tattered white rag around her breasts, and music was made by beating sticks together and everyone danced, grinning and chattering some in worthless dialect.

". . . you are so happy," he went on, "what wonderful people you are, always grinning and happy, grinning profusely on your "holy" days as you scutter barefoot to your "holy" grass hut to worship some mysterious force that some long ago power told us about . . . oh, you are so industrious, ploughing up your ground with sticks to plant your corn . . ."
They always ran to the mountains to escape the constant monstrous, howling winds and floods that annually destroyed their villages, but they continued to worship the all-powerful, mystical, "holy" force and kept on chattering and grinning and cackling through the few rotted teeth that they had left.
". . . you love me as you did the powerful people who could read and write and they taught me and made me your master because I am one of you and I love you and have beans and rice brought to you and I teach you what the loving Spirit tells me to teach you . . . so continue to  worship the Spirit as our ancestors did in the Stone Age, but continue to worship the Spirit of the powerful people, too, and I will continue to be your master . . ."

"Thank you, master!" they all shouted, grinning and beating the sticks.
" . . . I will continue to represent you at the United Nations where Stick people like us have much  power," he said, "and are taking over the world -- with the help of the terrorists . . . ."

An Insult To Ants And Apes?

Considering the destructive actions of many blacks in communities throughout the United State we're tempted to ask ourselves:  "Do these people have brains superior to insects and so-called dumb animals?"  Take, for example, ants and gnats.  The huskiest and toughest dude on the block among each group is accepted as their leader, and his constituents look to him for protection from any other group or dude that might take a liking to any of the cute little female ants -- single or married -- prancing around.

The hormones of an outside gorilla ant might be nudging him, "Hey, brother, don't be half-stepping.  Get some of your home-boys and take over the group's terriotory and establish yourself a new harem."  The leader of this colony that the outside gorilla ant was spying on knew what was up the first time he saw this outside gorilla ant in the distance.  "He's smoking us over," he thought and put his trained back-up ant squad on "Stand By," ready to "git down" protecting the community.  a similar code is recognized among all insects and animals, gorillas, apes, elephants, lions, tigers.

Then we come to some "leader-preachers," politicians, and "peek-a-boo"- agitators who appear when the crowd is large enough for them to agitate and disappear before they can be pinpointed.  The "leader-code" that has been passed down through all generations of blacks is:  "We ain't  here to protect nothing; we s'pose to keep shit stirred up, change everything by 'whatever means necessary.'  Every time a black gits 'ccused of doing sup'um -- no matter how much evidence they got ag'inst him, we gon'  raise hell 'cause we know he's innocent . . . and they jes racists ag'inst him . . . ."

So, do the ants and gnats, baboons, lions, and other so-called dumb animals or do the "leaders" agitating blacks to disrespect police and tear up communities to demand more federal funds demonstrate the most intelligence?  In fact, would these "leaders" and their dumb followers be considered an insult by ants and gnats and gorillas and apes?

What'cha Think?

Throw out the history books of their glorious homeland; these books don't come close to teaching us what the bodies of these hundreds of thousands of refugees from the Middle East and Afrika press indelibly into our brains.  Are there enemies of America and Israel hidden among them?  Don't you just love how these "poor, hungry, suffering souls" look so clean and healthy as if they've never missed a meal in their lives?  And some reporter or commentator tells us that the wandering hundreds of thousands of them just want some countries to allow them to march joyfully across their border.

Now, who can erase those scenes of  horror that these weary, tormented thousands who could not find the strength to pick up a stick or stone and join their fellow-citizens in the fight against the enemies in their country, but, as in a miracle, after trudging miles day and night, they, unfed and unrested, suddenly find the courage and power to attack police guarding the borderes of countries they want to crash across.

And what of these "tired, hungry thousands of immigrants, frightened of gangs, criminals, and violence in their countries" -- we're told.  Are there enemies of America and Israel hiding among them as they swarm like bees to a hive to mount moving boxcars to reach our American shores, while their comrades remain behind singing and dancing about the glories of their country's culture, and wait for the next boxcar.  Could there be some discrepancy in the cultures that these refugees and immigrants boast of?  What'cha think?

Zombies Of "Color"

"But I've heard you criticizing us with 'black this and black that' as if you don't identify with us and then you get involved in this riot . . ."
"I know what you're gonna say, but it contradicts you as a human."
"No, you're the contradiction . . ."

"You say that because you and I -- and all babies -- are born as babies and not as colors -- "
"That's nonsense.  We were all born some color . . ."
"But if we get hung-up on that 'color thing' that can get the other part  of us -- the essence of us -- in big trouble --"
"There ain't no 'other part of us'.  If we in trouble, every part of us is in trouble . . ."
"Take, for example, those hundreds and hundred of 'people of color' who in the '80s followed this preacher -- I think he was Indian or part Indian, anyway he wasn't black -- into a jungle in South America and he had them all kill their babies by giving them  poison cool-aide to drink and then kill themselves by drinking poison cool-aide --"

"Color didn't have anything to do with that, people of all colors was in that society -- you just said that the preacher was Indian or part Indian --"
"And that's what made him more acceptable to these 'people of color,' these black people who were dedicated to 'total integration' . . ."
" 'Total integration' was the cry from the masses of black people in those days --"
"But don't you think that there was a part of each of those persons that rejected poisoning their babies and themselves?"
"Yes,  but . . ."

"And 90% of those 'people of color' who follwed that preacher into that jungle and poisoned their babies and themselves were blacks -- and the part of me that stood up against that ignorant rioting and motivated me to lead some people into the street in this town that night to stop it was not about color --"
"What was it about?"
"Think about it, it'll come to you."