In Defense of Racism

Congratulations on your recent earthly embodiment as a human being!

We have discussed it and we’ve collectively decided that we hope you find your short time here to be of your liking, and that the good smells outnumber the bad ones.

Now then, if you took the time to read your syllabus ahead of time, then right about now you are expecting a presentation entitled “Race (An Idiot’s Guide).” Sorry to say and sad to report, however, that due to a misunderstanding between author and management – who knew that the “Idiot” in the title was supposed to refer to the readers? – that particular narrative shall never be narrated.

But of all the festering and verminous, rancid Rorschachian concepts that man has puked forth out of his primordial ooze – and Beelzebub knows there are a lot of them – the rancidest, Rorschachiest, the primordially ooziest granddaddy of them all has gotta be “racism”.

Yep. Yeah, I don’t know what that word means, either.

So if you’ve come here looking for a definition, you will be going from here feeling disappointed. Maybe even bitterly disappointed, what with bitterness level variations from person to person being what they are these days.

Legend has it that there exists a very elusive, technical and sophisticated context in which professionals known as “sociologists” are able to use the word in a laboratory setting with surprisingly polite results.  Suffice it to say, I do not possess the knowledge, grace, or subtlety of a professional “sociologist”.

But I do know “bat shit crazy” when I see it. And with all due respect, when it comes to racism, you human beings are bat shit crazy.

I know. I hear you asking, “Adri! What in the blazes does THAT mean?” Well, real world research into this “bat shit craziness” is patchy at best. It’s just too too dangerous. It’s a modern tragedy how many people have died trying to investigate it. And to top it off, all the researchers turn out to be bat shit crazy, too.

But me, I did some research of my own before I came to here today, and I found me a couple of interesting finds.

Like, remember the “primordial ooze” that I mentioned? It turns out that ooze-pit dried up just day before yesterday. See? I’ve still got the flippers and gills to prove it!

Also, turns out that when it comes to race, bat shit craziness probably helped us back in the oozy, oozy days of yore. Here’s how:

    1.         Caveman Pattern Recognition.         

Let us play pretend for a minute. Let us say that I am a caveman. Go ahead: Say it. And true to form, I have chosen to live in a cave. Every afternoon, roundabout this time, I saunter out of my cave to check the mail-rock. And for a long, long time, this routine goes swimmingly, although sadly, there is never any mail.

Then, one day, I am outside the cave and almost all the way to my mail-rock, when this other caveman – wearing a green sweater and argyle socks – runs up and he punches me in the nose!

Next day, same thing. I can’t vouch for it being the same caveman doing the nose-punching, but… I mean, green sweater, argyle socks, c’mon! Day after that, green sweater, argyle socks, punch in the nose. Green sweater, argyle socks, punch in the nose.

Eventually, one of two things’s gotta happen. Either I see a pattern emerging and DO SOMETHING when I see that green and argyle flash in the corner of my eye, or else I am going to end up with a permanently sore nose. And if I go the latter route… Well, no self-respecting cave-dude is ever gonna want to make babies with a crooked-nosed cave-babe.

     2.         Caveman Campfire Shadows.       
   

And now it is night, and I am still a caveman, and I am sitting at the edge of a great and endless forest, roasting mastodon over the campfire (Yum!). And out there – out there in the great and endless forest – there are people. I can hear them. Some of them are strangers from different tribes, and they’re trying to steal my roast mastodon.

I know the strangers from different tribes when I see them. They look different than I look.

This is helpful.

You see, the problem comes later in the night, when the strangers change to shadows in my dreams and then the shadows grow teeth. Then the teeth change to fangs in the campfire light. Then the… Well, you get the picture.

The problem comes after I’ve traded in my saber tooth tiger coat and my cave for a business suit and a little condo out in the suburbs. Because then my daughter – who is a Sneetch who has stars – starts bringing home boy Sneetches with no stars on thars. And as soon as I see them, something wa-a-ay back in my head screams, “They’re trying to steal your roast mastodon!” so I hit ‘em over the head with a club.

Bat shit crazy. It can be so much simpler:

QUESTION 1:  Is it racist to call President Obama an “anti-American Muslim from Kenya who is the antichrist foretold in Revelation”?

ANSWER:      I don’t know if it’s racist, but it IS bat shit crazy.

QUESTION 2:  Is it racist to be niggardly in the care of your chainmail – to allow a chink in your otherwise spic and span armor?

ANSWER:      I don’t know if it’s racist, but it sure sounds stupid to me. Full body armor for a knight is hard to come by these days.

QUESTION 3:  Does it make you a racist if you treat others badly, and then – when called on your actions – attribute the criticism to racism?

ANSWER:      I don’t know if it makes you a racist, but it DOES make you a dumbass!

So now, the long and the short of all this – and the one take-away I’d like for you to take away from all this – is this:

If I should happen to refer to you as “a dumbass” or as “bat shit crazy,” then please! Do not interpret these words as an assessment of the color of your skin…

…or of your hair texture…

…or of the statistical odds of your having inherited sickle cell anemia.

Because really – and I do mean this in all sincerity – all I really intend to say is that you, my friend, are an irredeemable bat shit crazy dumbass.

And that’s something that knows no color.

I hope that wasn’t racially insensitive, Eddie. This could turn out to be “a teachable moment.”