I know, I know, I know. It’s quite a surprise. I carry an oversized beige
murse attache. If you look inside this oversized beige murse attache right now, you will find a book. (Which you know is some White shit cause niggas can’t read.) I live in Pittsburgh. I prefer mayo to Miracle Whip. I’ve never really been a huge fan of chicken. (I like it, but I think it’s slightly overrated.) Shit, I even know my dad. But, lo and behold, aside from that translucent stage I went through for the first two weeks of my life when I vaguely resembled the Pale Man from Pan’s Labyrinth, I’ve been Black for the majority of my time on Earth.
Lest I forget, I receive occasional conspicuous reminders of this Blackness. One occurred a few weeks ago, after I completed a half hour stretch that would definitely at least make honorable mention in a nationwide competition for the “Unnecessarily Blackest Half-Hour Stretch.”
To wit, I ate a couple pieces of fried chicken (I know) and washed it down with a couple red Little Hugs I took from the fellowship hall of a Baptist church the day before. When finished, I walked the Gay Reindeer’s pitbull, and when I got back inside, I called my parents and we spoke for 15 minutes about watermelon. Adding Blackness to injury, I had on a wifebeater, basketball shorts, and Tims (Didn’t feel like going upstairs to get some sneakers), and the couches in my living room—including the couch I happened to be sitting on while eating fried chicken and drinking Little Hugs—are black leather.
Basically, not only am I Black, I’m actually one of the Blackest people you’ll ever meet.
This Blackness was reiterated this week with my glee over the BlackBuzzFeed hashtag—where Black Twitter users parodied Buzz Feed by “repurposing it for a Black audience.” I usually don’t take part in Black Twitter’s daily hashtag orgies, but this time I couldn’t resist the urge to show off my shiny old Blackness, tweeting about any and everything from dating practices…
…to Morgan Freeman…
Still don’t believe I’m Blacker than you? Ok. Here’s why you should.
1. I came thisclose to just making “Yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Niggaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!” an entire post after the Heat won the championship. (I seriously had to talk myself out of it.)
2. I’ve had the exact same hair cut for 18 years. Why? Because I’m Black, and Blackness makes you lazy.
3. I still refuse to do anything other than well-done. Basically, you need to char my meat. The only pink things I trust are Pepto Bismol and Lil Kim.
4. I’m a grown-ass man, and I still occasionally go grocery shopping in my parent’s fridge. (This will also be used on next week’s list: “10 Reasons Why I’m Broker Than You”)
5. I always recycle my cup at Panera Bread. And, by “recycle” I mean “I walk out with the cup, save it in my car, and use it again the next three or four times I go so I won’t have to buy a new drink.” (This will also be used on next week’s list: “10 Reasons Why I’m Broker Than You”)
6. I still own a pair of Karl Kani jeans. And Iceberg. And Wu-Wear fatigues. I don’t actually wear any of this stuff anymore. But, the high top fade came back, so who knows when I might need to start rocking my Clarks again.
7. I put salt on apples, watermelon, and cantaloupe. (If you think this is bad, I have an uncle who puts salt on bacon)
8. In college, I maxed out a credit card to buy an Avirex. Three weeks later, I traded the Avirex for a gold chain. I am not making any of this up.
9. I’ve been to Youngstown, Ohio. Multiple times. And (obviously) survived each time! (This really could have been the only thing on the list)
10. Last week, the Gay Reindeer jokingly suggested to me that if we had four kids, we should name them Ebony, Essence, Jet, and Black Enterprise.
I don’t think it’s a bad idea.
Ok. I might be willing to concede I’m not the Blackest person reading this, but I need to be convinced. If you’re up to it, explain exactly why you’re Blacker than me.
(Non-Black people can play, too. Just explain why you’re the Whitest, or the Hispanic-est, or the Asianest person alive. We’re all family here.)
—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)