"So black people do have table manners! Well, f'shizzle, mah nizzle!"
Expect a week or so of foamy playa-hatin' in which El Falafel insists that we are the real racists, and he'll show up a half-hour late in a velvet track suit to prove it. Jesus, maybe he should just start doing football commentary with Rush Limbaugh.
(For the record, I don't really think that Falafel dislikes blacks. I'm sure he thinks everyone should own one.)
[Update: Sure enough. The guy's a predictable, tedious fuckhead. I'm not sure which is worse, that Falafel is in the habit of calling people up and screaming at them, or that the people he screams at sit there and act like it's okay, and say they can't wait to have him on to clear things up.
Fucking morons, all the way around. These are the people who are entrusted to provide you with information and commentary; is it any wonder everything's fucked? Perhaps growing a pair and simply hanging up on people who talk to you like that is the first step toward self-actualization, instead of sitting there taking shit from a fatuous blowhard who sexually harasses his co-workers.
I guarantee you, one Paulie Walnuts vocalization of "Ohhhhh! Who the fuck you think you're talkin' to, Ponyboy?", followed by the slamming of the receiver in mid-tirade, will get either an attitude adjustment, or an even more embarrasing (and thus newsworthy) apoplectic fit from Mister Man. The sooner these idiots figure out that their warped vision of objectivity and comity are wrecking their profession, the better off they'll be.]
2 comments:
I've lived in almost every part of this country and even though raised a "Yankee" (that's what my middle school mates called me) had a chance to experience the South when there were "white only" drinking fountains in most public buildings. Falafel exhibits what I found to be prevalent in those years of my childhood: some people are so ignorant and bereft of any kind of empathy for others that they consider this, the realization that people different from them are indeed human and we are linked by a common humanity, to be a great and startling revelation.
In his magnanimous gesture informing us of the humanity of those darkies dwelling in the darkness- those places we dare not venture-he reveals himself to be the boor and ignoramous that he is. This is what happens when we allow the ignorant to define the discourse.
My only question is: how was the fried chicken and collard greens?
Lo siento, Bill, that you're dumber than a box of doorknobs, but I had much the same experience the first time I went to a Mexican restaurant in the U.S. All the staff and customers were Chicanos yet none wore wife beaters or zoot suits; not a switchblade to be seen. And everyone spoke English, and better than Preznit Privilege, too. The difference between us is - I was twelve.
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