What the Hell Happened to White People?

True story. I shit you not.

A little while back I was in a convenience store in Taneytown MD. There was a pimply, high school aged white kid behind the counter. This is not at all uncommon in small, rural communities. Taneytown is one of the few small towns in central Maryland that has thus far managed to resist being conquered and steamrolled by the ever expanding suburbia spreading from Baltimore and DC like so much fungus.

So anyway, I'm browsing the magazine rack and three more pimply, high school aged white kids come strolling in. All were decked out in hoodies and long shorts which hung down around their asses, and walked with an absolutely ridiculous strut which poorly resembled the inner city black kids in all those "growing up in the hood" movies.

In short, they were wiggers. These too, are not (or at least, no longer) rare in small rural communities. Stupid white kids who think it's "cool" to emulate black culture, or at least its piss-poor televised representation. Not that American youth have ever really noticed the way entertainment media and reality have precious little in common. It's just that right now, black culture is what's in, so that's what the kids mindlessly conform to.

Actually, it's worse than that. You see, it's not black culture on the whole that is glorified in TV, music and movies. No, just it's absolute worst parts. Drug use & abuse, sensless violence, irresponsible sex, illiteracy and all other manner of idiotic bullshit are somehow touted at the cardinal fucking virtues of the "black community", which is the P/C term for "ghetto". Blacks who are violent, or pomiscuous, or stupid, or degenerate (pieces of shit, in other words) are hailed as being more authentic or more black than those who are not. 50 Cent talks like he has the mind of a child and raps like he has a mouth full of turds. Tupac Shakur and Biggie Smalls got their brains blown out fueding over who lives next to the better ocean. Tookie Williams murdered four people, including an entire family, in cold blood and founded a notorious street gang that terrorizes Los Angeles to this day. All of these have been depicted in the media as being authentic black men worthy of the automatic respect of everyone. Bill Clinton has even been referred to by a black author (her name escapes me just now) as "America's first black president", because he's been in trouble with the law and cheats on his wife.

Is this really what being black is all about? If so, why on God's green earth would any self respecting white kid with the slightest hint of sense want anything to do with it? If anything, they should be thanking the Good Lord for delivering them at birth into surroundings where they don't have to worry about getting shot on their way to school. Where education is available, opportunity is plentiful and most of them do know their fathers. Instead they think it's cooler to mimic the bottom rung of the underclass. Granted, I've never heard anyone accuse white kids of having sense or self respect.

It should be noted that these same honkey larvae would likey shit in their pants if one was to take them down to the city, drop them off at the corner of Charles and 23rd streets (where I used to live), then drive off and leave them there after dark.

It should also be noted that these qualifications for black "authenticity" are really not so much set by inner city blacks as by white businessmen in New York and LA. Behind every black celebrity (and every other celebrity), there's a small army of suit and tie wearing Wonderbread types who carefully craft and market their public personna. The low opinion, indeed the outright contempt, they hold for black people is self evident. These too, would need new pants if they ever had to get out of their car in Anacostia or Cherry Hill.

But as ass-backwards as all this is, nothing could have prepared me for what happened next:

As I thumbed through a magazine, the three wigger kids who had just entered the store looked over and appearently recognized their schoolyard buddy behind the counter.

"Hey, whassup my cracka?" one of them yelled.

"Hey crackaz, whassup?" the clerk replied.

They were dead serious. I was fucking shocked. My jaw hit the floor. That issue of Fat Chicks slid right out of my hands.

Instead of buying a soda like I'd planned, I went down the street and bought half a case of Sam Adams. A real beer, for real honkeys.