By WR Marshall -- Staff Writer [Email This Story]
George Bush is running out the clock, his presidential train wreck becomes more and more obvious every day. Even many who voted for him have realized they made a colossal blunder and are doing penance as best they can. Even better is the fact no one has heard from Lord of the Underworld Cheney for quite some time. Rumor has it theyíve hidden him in his old desk at Halliburton and its being shipped to Dubai at this very moment. (Olí Dick likes the heat.)
So, with evil on the run--even though the country is in horrible shape thanks to George the Dull--I can again have hope . . . at least I thought I could.
Then a black guy had to go ahead and run for president. Doesnít he know this is America and we donít like black folk? Let me amend that: itís not that we donít like them; we just like them to know their place. They can be mayors, entertainers, athletes; weíre even letting them be quarterbacks these days, but president . . .
Black people have run for high office before, but none of them were serious candidates, so we never had to enter into any real discussions on the possibility of someone other than a white man running things.
As long as that was the case, we could all pretend that half the country isnít still terribly bitter over the outcome of the Civil War. Weíve all pretended pretty well that we want racial equality--okay, not all. Strom Thurmondís been dead for five years and some folks in South Carolina are still voting for him. And letís not forget his disciple and wannabe Imperial Wizard, Trent Lott, who said America would be a better place if Thurmond had been elected president. He apologized for that, got a wrist slap, lost his position in the Senate for about five minutes before getting back, got a fat book deal, then resigned his Senate seat for a fatter lobbying deal.
Weíre America, we just canít help ourselves--we love racist crackers.
A few weeks ago, in New Hampshire, all the polls had the black guy winning. Problem was--as surmised by all the pollsters who got all the polls wrong--people lied when they said they were going to vote for a man who wasnít white, they just didnít want to go public with their racism. They didnít realize--or probably didnít care--that as soon as the votes were counted they did go public with their racism.
But it was anonymous racism, thatís the kind we like around these parts. You donít think those pointy white hoods are just a fashion statement do you?
Now that a black man is actually in the running for the presidency, we canít sit idly by. We have to stop this guy, and the best way to do that is to call him an A-rab. There ainít nothiní lower than a Koran totiní, insurgency plottiní, middle name Hussein, A-rab.
So weíre crackers; hath not a Cracker eyes. Hath not a Cracker hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions; and donít forget a truck with the stars and bars in the back window and Skynnard on endless replay coming from the crappy in-dash stereo.
But weíre broadminded here in America; weíd never end our prejudice with just politics.
Recently, Tiger Woods--who has never played the race card, who has let his preternatural talent conquer a very white world, all the while spending his time and energy doing other good works--was embroiled in a controversy that, frankly, only a black man or a horse thief would find himself in. An off-handed comment about the only way to stop Tiger from winning everything was to lynch him was said on the Golf Channel (watched by tens of tens). It went from there to a hangmanís noose making the cover of a Golfweek magazine (read by hundreds of hundreds.)
You might want to know how a special purpose noose could make it to the cover of a national magazine? Easy; lynching a black man is as funny in 2008 as it was in 1848.
We just need to accept who we are and keep our unbroken string of white guys in charge of things. After all, white guys have gotten us this far, and look around, things could not be better.
And donít get me started on that lesbian who wants to be in charge . . .
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