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I'm Black Y'all

Internets, I'm happy to see all of the worst black people on the Internets coalesce around an activit
I'm Black Y'all
By Byron Crawford • Issue #43 • View online
Internets,
I’m happy to see all of the worst black people on the Internets coalesce around an activity that doesn’t involve fill-in-the-blanks humor, questionable investment opportunities or casting aspersions on “light-skinted” people, but I’m at a loss for how they’ve come to believe that going to see a comic book movie will actually do them any good. They do realize this is not a documentary, right?
This must be how white people felt when the OJ verdict was read.
I probably will see Black Panther at some point, but I’m not in any rush to see it in the theater. As you may have surmised from reading pretty much anything I ever wrote, I’m not the kind of successful young brother who can easily spend $10 on a comic book movie and not have it weigh on me for weeks after the fact, to the point where I’m taking it out on random people who don’t have anything to do with my financial situation.
It’s hard to justify spending any amount of money at all to see a movie in the theater, even if it’s something that’s appropriate for a 37-year-old man, when you can have access to more movies than even the unemployed have time to watch for more or less the same amount. Not that I actually pay for Netflix, but the point remains.
Then there’s the festive, communal experience of going to see a movie with other people. If it’s the 10 PM showing on a Friday night, it’s likely to be filled with people talking back at the screen, eating fried chicken from a fat lady’s purse, groups of 15 to 20 older black women showing up 10 minutes after the movie began all trying to find seats together, so on and so forth, while the audience for a 3 PM showing might not consist of anyone other than a guy who’s there to rub one out at the sight of an especially attractive woman or, failing that, anything that could be perceived to have a sexual connotation.
On Twitter Thursday night I saw people at midnight showings in King Jaffe Joffer cosplay and people on the way to their seats with white paper plates of what appeared to be barbecue. I can only imagine what a shitshow the theaters will be this weekend. Even if I did know anything at all about comic books I might sit this weekend out, not because I wouldn’t be willing to partake in some greasy contraband, if someone were offering (nullus), but because I wouldn’t want to run the risk of being in the one theater that ended up getting shot up by some teenage white supremacist.
Think about it: What better place to shoot a shedload of black people than an opening weekend showing of Black Panther? We already know they like to shoot up comic book movies, from the time Tumblr-teen heartthrob James Holmes shot up the third Christopher Nolan Batman movie. Because he was sorta kinda dressed like Bane, people thought he was part of the presentation. I imagine that could also be an issue at Black Panther, I mean if people are showing up in costumes.
If a young CAC (cracka-ass cracka) jumps up during a showing of Black Panther, I wouldn’t take my chances. As a matter of fact, I’d recommend showing up armed, if it’s permitted in your area. Here in St. Louis we have unlicensed concealed carry, meaning literally anyone can carry a gun pretty much anywhere other than a bank and the DMV (one of the main places you might want to shoot someone), provided you’re not a convicted felon.
If and when I do see Black Panther, it won’t be for any reason other than any entertainment value it might have for me personally, and maybe also to have something to talk about in conversations with young people, lest they somehow think I’m with the police, despite my physique. I don’t have any illusions about emerging from a screening of the film with more money or self-esteem than I had going in, i.e. hardly any at all.
Black Panther stands poised to gross hundreds of millions—or maybe even billions—of dollars at the box office, of which black people will be receiving roughly zero-point-zero, the same as John Belushi’s grade-point average in National Lampoon’s Animal House (which maybe I’ll watch this weekend instead). Even the guys who made the film are all married to white chicks. (Admittedly, I’m jealous.)
The only way black people could make any money from this is if they owned stock in Disney, and black people aren’t invested in anything other than hair weave, rapidly depreciating “certified pre-owned” luxury automobiles and maybe, if they’re lucky, real estate in neighborhoods where property value declined the moment they moved in. I’ve got like $8 in an IRA that’s invested in all sorts of things, but I’m assuming it’s not invested in Disney. I happen to know, from researching an article on rap music and the prison-industrial complex, that some of my money is in private prisons, and it wouldn’t make sense for it to also be invested in something that could potentially uplift the black community.
The other day, I saw some people talking about trying to get Disney to donate 25% of the film’s profits to black charities and what have you. This was literally the dumbest thing I’ve ever read on Twitter—which is saying something. I don’t even think it’s possible legally for a corporation to just give away a huge chunk of its profits. Shareholders (i.e. mostly CACs) would revolt! The only way they’d even donate a nominal, meaningless, fully tax-deductible amount is if it turned out that one of the stars of the film was in a relationship with a neo-nazi, and having them adopt an African baby for PR purposes didn’t suffice.
Take it easy on yourself,
Bol

 

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