Sunday, January 19, 2014

Things To Like About White Folks: Jokes Without Jokes

This cracked me up - Ann has a link to The Tax Prof and this question:

Here's what's so funny: 

While all agree "it is incredibly damaging" and "maybe we are at a 9.5", what exactly is "it" that's brought us so low - and even got Ann, and other identified-as-right-of-center professors, spreading the question?

If you ask me, ignorance - along with a healthy dose of manipulation and exploitation - are the crimes, here.

This reminds me of living in France, when my white "friends" warned me not to talk to blacks. When I asked why not, they'd say, "I don't know."

White people are fucking hilarious,…


  1. Yeah, we're really funny.

    We've got the family stability, education, money and property you want.

    But you don't want to work for it.

    You want to beg and holler and shame until you convince whites to give it to you.

    That's really smart, chump. How's it been working for you up to now?

    There's a million black guys like you who want to be the next Race Man hero. All my life, black guys have been playing the Race Man Hero bit.

    What's playing the Race Man Hero getting you, chump? Other than some hits on the internet. Is it filling up your bank account? Buying you a house? Helping you to find a wife and raise a family?

    We know the answer, don't we?

  2. Sixty-Five Years a Racist:
    Narrative of Shouting Thomas, a Citizen of Woodstock, New-York. ©2014

    Presently Cody made his appearance, and, mounting the fence, took a seat beside me. We remained two or three hours, all of which time Crack was in an agony of apprehension.
            That night, while he was broiling his bacon, I entered Crack's cabin with my rawhide in my hand.
            "Well, boy," said I, "I understand I've got a larned n*****, that writes blog posts, and tries to get white fellows to send him donations. Wonder if you know who he is?"
            Crack's worst fears were realized.
            "Don't know nothing about it, Master Shouts," he answered me, assuming an air of ignorance and surprise; "Don't know nothing at all about it, sir."
            "Wan't you over to Cody's night before last?" I inquired.
            "No, master," was the reply.
            "Hav'nt you asked that fellow, Cody, to post a blog post for you?"
            "Why, Lord, master, I never spoke three words to him in all my life. I don't know what you mean."
            "Well," I continued, "Cody told me to-day the devil was among my n*****s; that I had one that needed close watching or he would run away; and when I axed him why, he said you come over to Cody's, and waked him up in the night, and wanted him to post on your website for you. What have you got to say to that, ha?"
            "All I've got to say, master," he replied, "is, there is no truth in it. How could I post a blog post without any laptop or iPad? There is nobody I want to write to, 'cause I haint got no friends living as I know of. That Cody is a lying, drunken fellow, they say, and nobody believes him anyway. You know I always tell the truth, and that I never go off the plantation without a pass. Now, master, I can see what that Cody is after, plain enough. Did'nt he want you to hire him for a rent-a-cop butt-wiper?"
            "Yes, he wanted me to hire him," answered I.
            "That's it," said Crack, "he wants to make you believe we're all going to run away, and then he thinks you'll hire a rent-a-cop butt-wiper to watch us. He just made that story out of whole cloth, 'cause he wants to get a situation. It's all a lie, master, you may depend on't."
            I mused awhile, impressed with the plausibility of Crack's theory, and exclaimed,
            "I'm d****d, Crackl, if I don't believe you tell the truth. Cody must take me for a soft, to think he can come it over me with them kind of yarns, musn't he? Maybe he thinks he can fool me; maybe he thinks I don't know nothing—can't take care of my own n*****s, eh! Soft soap old Cody, eh! Ha, ha, ha! D**n Cody! Set the dogs on him, Crack" and with many other comments descriptive of Cody's general character, and my capability of taking care of my own business, and attending to my own n*****s, I left Crack's cabin.


  3. Meade, you're just a fucking idiot.

    You think that shit bothers me?

    Just makes me laugh.

    The racist is you, you fucking lowlife piece of shit.

    You're indulging Crack in his mental breakdown.

    You're afraid of blacks, aren't you?

  4. The fact that nothing bothers Shouting Turd is what is most disturbing about this fool. People without a conscience have lost their humanity. He should not be trusted around children.

  5. @Anonymous

    I'm one tough motherfucker.

    I can deal with shits like you, too.

    You've met an immoveable object. I'm fierce.

  6. Oooooo, I'm so scared. You gonna chase after me on your bicycle?