Saturday, July 22, 2006

It's the Future! Invest Now!

I think black people should pool their money and buy land, upon which they will put casinos. No, really, I’m serious. The Native Americans didn’t start coming around until they found a way to fleece the wasichu; I think there’s a lesson to be learned from that.

Screw the “playing by the rules” and “moral high ground” bullshit. Who does that benefit? Not us, Shirley.

Hell, look at what haoles do to each other, Enron ring a bell? The Keating Five, fracking Watergate? How many non-whites fought at Agincourt, eh? I ask you.

It’s pretty obvious that “working our way up” for the majority is a hollow victory if the poster girl for such assimilation is Condoleezza Rice. Even the spellchecker doesn’t like her.

I think that in addition to that approach, we need to find a way to legally bilk the population for the reparations we’re never going to get anyway. Fark the mule, get the 40 acres.

My casino would be the only thing for miles along a majorly boring stretch of highway, say, Battle Mountain, Nevada. Ain’t a damn thing there, and I’ve been through there many times, wishing there were.

Think of it, lots of black velvet upholstery, mood lighting, and rather than that annoying “ching, ching” noise, I’d have the slots play Barry White crooning “Yeah, baby, pull it oooooone, mooooore, tiiiiiime.”

The gift shop would sell baby back ribs with gratis FUBU napkins. Satin sheets by Sean John, and toilets by Tommy Hilfiger, because really, isn’t that what you want to do to Tommy Hilfiger? Have some more corn.

It would be the only casino in the world where you can get a bean pie. The buffet would be All-U-Can Eat chicken and watermelon 24/7.

On the main stage, Earth Wind and Fire alternate with Snoop Dogg as house band, when they’re otherwise occupied, B.B. King brings the blues home for the evening. All sixty-four Wayans brothers provide the comedy relief in the cabaret. Tina Turner plays once a month (sold out) until the end of time, cuz’ they ain’t no end to Miss Tina.

Checkout is at 4:20.

Think of the profits to be made. The African tchotchke market alone would go through the roof. Imagine the sales of, say, mildly obscene hand-made wooden statuary (carved by convicted Nigerian e-mail scammers) upon which’s base is carved, “I got Shafted in BM, Nevada”. How could anyone resist?

Sure, we need some black people to be respectable, play golf, and wear Italian fashions, however, presenting only one strategy for an entire group of disparate people to wend their way in the world seems to me a poor idea. The fact that the duppy minimum-wage employees would be required to sing ‘Nkosi sikelel' iAfrika’ every morning means nothing, really.

So, let the naysaying nincompoops natter, and join the movement that is sure to sweep the nation by storm. The Bob Marley Memorial Assimilation Rehab Center and House of Ribs. It’s the future. Invest now*.

*Click for link to Badphairy’s Swiss PayPal account. All monies deposited therein to be used for further development of The Bob Marley Memorial Assimilation Society Rehab Center. "It’s the future. Invest now." (Editor's Note: Badphairy's Swiss Paypal account has been frozen by unnamed "officials" until she improves her golf game and obtains more Italian couture.)