Slut. Whore. Pussy. Bitch.

American society hates women without end. Our very language reverberates with misogynist nomenclature. We manufacture mascara, inject collagen, implant silicone. Even our celebrities reflect our anti-woman wrath; pop culture jargon codes feminine skepticism and masculine enmity in celebrity proper nouns. Just hearing the name Lil' Kim conjures a gaudy Black Barbie, posable and disposable, discarded behind prison walls like a chocolate covered mini Mattel mannequin outgrown by today's youth. Martha Stewart manifests for your mind's eye a tyrannical iron maiden, her pale, wrinkled face a bizarre tragicomedy mask, porcelain, frozen, inscrutable, a psychotic symphony of corporate marketing genius and matronly domestic virtue. The dainty socialite Paris Hilton presents idle privilege's poster child, America's number one party chick, a boisterous bukkake bulimic with more money than God and about as many scandals worldwide.

Cindy Sheehan symbolizes both modern woman's maternal rage and Victorian woman's eternal frailty. With every protest, every speech, every televised tear shed and every sound-bitten question asked, Mrs. Sheehan discards independence for visibility, sheds autonomy for popularity - according to the fair and balanced conservative character assassination machine that discredits her daily. Many liberals who share her aims and decry her tactics share in the "Sheehan as anti-war movement pawn" dogma; they envision the middle-aged grieving mother as too emotional, too biased, and too meaningless to offer useful perspectives on American foreign policy. To protest is to hate American fighting men, so these detractors believe, and of course, men matter more in modern America. Incidentally, this is the reason the very concept of sexually integrated military forces jar the national psyche; so accustomed are we with the mental picture of the synchronized, efficient, unstoppable United States Armed Forces - replete with good-natured twenty-something Teutonic Easy Company squarejaws, awash with towheaded, azure-eyed Steve Rogers superpatriots from the last simple, good v. evil American military conflict, World War Two - that G.I. Jane fries our fragile synapses. Ben Affleck channels the Greatest Generation's triumph; Kate Beckinsale's only there to give Benji someone to do. Women in combat confuse and scare our basic sexual precepts past usefulness. Hard, simple, exact, distinct sexual roles for men and women calm the American public, because then we don't have to think. We just react, strut, act, creep in this petty pace from day to day. But in the last syllable of recorded time our outdated misogyny may deconstruct, and these traditional ideologies and longstanding beliefs will klaxon gender heresy; the current national schism over the eternal role of women in American society might soon cease with a coronation, not a cataclysm, an inauguration, not a revolution. She's the woman you love to hate, so say it once, with feeling: "Mr. Speaker, The President of the United States, Hillary Rodham Clinton!"

To love themselves, women the world over developed feminism, "a diverse collection of social theories, political movements, and moral philosophies, largely motivated by or concerning the experiences of women, especially in terms of their social, political, and economic situation", according to trusty Wikipedia. Feminism challenges our old-school sex prejudice, secures gender equality while promoting women's rights. Diversity, equality, democracy - our global capitalist revolution requires cold, corporate calculation, unencumbered by the irrational prejudices that undervalue the labor and ignore the inventiveness of half the human population. Feminism is necessary. And with every online discussion and blog comment I make, I declare myself feminism's enemy. I am the villain of the piece.

Enter Iago. Recently, I've noticed a trend in my online blog comments - I'm never feminist enough. More than the lack of a uterus or mammary glands or long hair, I appear antagonistic to the concerns and perspectives of feminist writers I converse with, like an internet Ishmael Reed without the book deal or the academic infamy. Case in point: the minor brouhaha over Angel's recent masterpiece, Baby Wars. Read the concise, effective prose and the comments, and you notice one repeated and disheartening feminist flaw - how easy it is to attack and discredit other feminists. As soon as Mother Superior DruBlood invaded with her matronly black robes and her unbreakable yardstick of procreative feminist discipline, it was Shirley Chisholm v. N.O.W. all over again. Drublood's anger, palpable and sarcastic and mean, hemorrhaged through the computer screen like a saturated Tampax, and nearly poisoned an incredible discussion on parental rights v. public decorum with irrational mommy toxic shock syndrome. Cheap shot? Yea, probably, but I was far from the only person who disagreed with DruBlood's stereotypically premenstrual sarcasm and vitriol during the exchange. Other bloggers spoke on the parents v. non-parents clash sparked by Reappropriate.com; Tekanji, longtime blogger at Shrub.com, gave her twenty cents in a powerful common ground defense of personal choice feminism, while Cheshire (Nykol) over at Marginal Notations waxed philosophical about Marxist theory's defense of public motherhood. Still, Drublood, La Femme Nikita of the La Leche League, penned the harshest criticism of Baby Wars. There's more Amazon animosity here, here, here, and here. Like Paul Wall, Angel's got the internet going nuts.

I drove slow, homey. My best netiquette, my most easygoing prose, and I'm still the sexist pig, the misogynistic bastard, the patriarchy's Colin Powell, made for television Technicolor wearing my richest sienna Stepin Fetchit Max Factor, preaching false truths on military intelligence for patriotism, posterity, and Halliburton profit. Even in drag, we coon so crackers don't have to. Throughout this weekend's debates - parental control of unruly children in public settings v. non-parent arrogance and intolerance towards families, pro/con public breastfeeding, possible sexist and classist oppression of mothers and children by the patriarchy, cultural preferences toward childbirth as sole path to life-fulfillment, etc. - no matter my personal support of and belief in gender equality and sexual social justice, I was always the oppressor, the woman-hater, Mister Charlie. Why? I'm the anti-O.J., the bizarro Kobe. I don't respect White women.

Today, I live and breathe amongst White women I despise; every passing day another lesson in impossible tolerance for those who benefit as they complain, who win as I lose. It's my most irrepressible racial prejudice - I can't stand White women. My job interviews would often fail when my Meryl Streep interlocutor instigates interrogation; and any overview of my online feminism struggles must grapple with this lifelong impropriety. I know where it starts - respect. Sexual politics belie racial conflicts, and I have the hardest time shaking the idea that your average college-educated, professional White woman respects Black men. Why would they? - we beat out wives, infect our girlfriends, rape our daughters, and call all bitches and 'ho's. Black men aren't just sexist - we're the sexists all men wish they were. Our audiovisual phantasmagorias, broadcast on cable staples MusicTelevision and Black Entertainment Television, offer the entire globe the syncopated blueprint on big pimping girls, girls, girls, half-naked, oiled, easy, with eyes big as saucers and the best breasts money can buy. At any hour of the day in mainstream America, you can turn on a television and immerse yourself in African American sexual terrorism, prepackaged and commodified, Videos Ready to Arouse (VRA's) from perverse private sector emergency marketing companies like Interscope and Island Def Jam. Consider the testosterone fervor of Curtis Jackson, a.k.a 50 Cent. If one believes the incessantly repeated video imagery of rap music's number one corporate superstar, Jackson wakes up every day surrounded by alluring video hoe hedonism. Women of all backgrounds, all races, all classes, envision him as the hardest, Blackest sexual dynamo rap's offered since LL Cool J, and if you listen to his lyrics, women believe the truth. The downside? No matter how socially conscious, White women see a little 50 Cent in all brothers, sometimes a nickel, sometimes a quarter, sometimes the full Kennedy. And every dimepiece around wants to make change.

Black men never leave the auction block. If you believe the published laments and spoken fears of professional, college-educated African American women and their White male counterparts, Black men, following either centuries of race-sex-class oppression in the White supremacist, patriarchal Victorian West or their innate animal lusts, desire White women above all other sexual concerns. The highest example of female beauty for a Black man in this stereotype is a White woman, and all Black men who can afford Missy Anne's cream cheese daughters in our liberal-capitalist present-day endure strong sociocultural urges to taste the other White meat. This racist Negro caricature enjoys such widespread refrain that women of color often adopt elements of Nicole Kidman Whiteness - processed long straight hair (sometimes blond), lighter skin, blue, green, or hazel contacts, eating disorders, weight loss, political apathy, etc. - to Stepford themselves into corporate mainstream perversions of their natural ethnic womanhood to attract the opposite sex within their own races. The oddly standardized Bratz offer comedic animation of this 'neo-whiteface for sexual competition' phenomenon; every low-budget, trailer-trash Million Dollar Baby in the country offers sexual attraction to a higher degree than a woman of color, especially a Black woman, to hear some sistas tell the tale. Whether or not you buy this Terry McMillan argument, realize the dilemma: Black women brighten and lighten and Whiten to attract Black men. Affluent, wealthy, professional Black men, who benefit and suffer from centuries of racist White fears of sexual potency and orgasmic promise, may choose with crass impunity what degree of White femininity and Black social ostracism they are willing to accept; in college, the most depressing example of cynical Black male interracial dating was the brother who spoke of dating Latina women to secure "all the sista's booty, none of her looks". No matter how disgusting his perspective, the sexual economics of Cornell's social scene supported his misogyny. Non-Black women, searching for cheap thrills and cheaper dick, screwed brothers without dating them, fucked brothers without knowing them. It was all about Benjamin, baby, and no matter what trust-fund, private school, Jack & Jill Black aristocracy spawned him, the cornrowed, Ivy League campus gangstas I knew ignored racist denigration for sexual gratification, and loved every hot, slimy, sweaty second.

The sad thing was that we all looked alike. Black Cornell, obsidian mirror of every recent survey of higher education's racial politics, offered a drastically woman-heavy environment; I heard once that Black women outnumbered Black men there at a ratio of six to one. Couple this with the aforementioned fanatic demand for African American Express throughout the female population at the nation's largest Ivy League University, and even the most socially inept, flustered, unattractive Black man becomes Usher Raymond, and suddenly has a confession to make. Except me. I met Angel my second day on campus, never looked back; we were together, inseparable, close, faithful - and it never mattered. For many sisters on the Hill, I was that nigga, the sellout who hated Africana in word and deed and mind, no better than any low-budget MTV rap hoodlum in a annoying club video with Patsy Paleface shaking her bony absentee ass on Total Request Live. Every brother that treated those women wrong, that climbed into young Kimberly Elise's bed smelling of her sorority sister, that abandoned his alluring caramel-mocha girlfriend for some Jessica Alba rip-off, was more desirable than I, who did not agree with, date, or even know my fellow Negroes. It pissed me off. Mike Lowry and Angel watched me on more than one occasion curse out some overweight Angie Stone impression for daring to impose suspect Blackness upon me if I didn't define my race through my penis. It didn't matter: Uncle Tom Negroes do exist, even at age 21, and I was lumped in with all the rest, those Bryants with clipped vocal tones and muted Polo sweaters, those Kwames who discuss patent law on the impeccably manicured sixteenth green of the Robert Trent Jones Golf Course at Cornell University in Ralph Lauren khakis and Titleist caps, those varied Apprentices, overeducated, articulate, whitewashed, ambitious, who bed Sun Li to lust Elizabeth, who desire money, power, and respect yet sacrifice life, liberty, and happiness, who advertise a Tenth talented and anonymous and foreign to their own communities, who disarm racist fear with mild-mannered sycophancy, who cede humanity to increase productivity - these corporate globalists, these chromium constructs, these plastic people - they are my perversion. They offer home.

Home is where the hatred is, moans modern griot Gil Scott-Heron, as he instructs a faintly snoring Kanye West, magical child prodigy, in Defense Against the White Arts at Hogwarts University. White feminists have to hate Black men in our shared United States of America. More than the hypersexual Mandingo stereotype they both despise and desire, more than the Supermasculine Menial aggression that both arouses and alarms, White feminists hate the attentiveness other men, especially White men, pay the Black Man That You Fear. Remember the alpha plantation philosophy, the original Black Code: the White woman must always remain the center of attention. In 1869 debates within the American Equal Rights Association over possible feminist support of the Fifteenth Amendment, that grants suffrage to all Black men but refuses women the vote, raged acrimoniously between two of the organization's founders, Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Frederick Douglass. Stanton shared acidic, divisive, and inflammatory elitist hatespeech to oppose both second-wave European immigration and freedman's suffrage, often in the most unapologetically racist dogma possible. A Stanton quote from the period: "We prefer Bridget and Dinah at the ballot box to Patrick and Sambo." In January 2004, during filming of the Real World: San Diego, Jacquese, personally offended by an inebriated Robin's public altercation where she shouts racial epithets at random passersby, calls his roommates together for a frank discussion on racial interaction, when Robin, her diva radar blinking, explodes into a tearful tirade on a past rape incident involving Black men. Blame skillful editing or cynical camera-grabbing, but Jacquese's hopes for respectful race conversation shatter when the hefty, busty Robin implodes in an oddly defensive "I'm not a racist for calling them niggers, really! I can say that 'cause niggers raped me!" emotional meltdown of loud, hacking sobs and shrill, banshee screams. Her crocodile tears flowed over her damaging rape memories, yet staunched the attention deficit threatened by rational thought.

In George W. Bush's America, rational thought declares jihad upon false oppression and compassionate conservativism, decrees fatwas against both enemies of the state, and awakens in a cold, gray, unyielding eight by eleven foot concrete cell, extraordinarily rendered somewhere within the coalition of the willing yet without due process of law or the Geneva Convention or simple human decency, for brutal, gut-wrenching, inhuman torture that casts Abu Ghraib as Club Med, a lonely enemy combatant characterized as criminal by his own government, forgotten by his family and friends, and lost to even the most inquisitive and determined Starbucks-caffeinated Woodward and Bernsteins amidst a black and white carbon-copied Freedom of Information Act tempest of self-conscious bureaucratic negligence, your tax dollars at work. Paleoconservative culture war attacks on civil rights and feminist legislation and legal precedents abound without comment, if the overwhelming support for the nomination of relative unknown Judge John Roberts for Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States of America delivers meaningful indication. In our era of base anti-intellectualism, we have not the luxury of emotion-as-oppression; today's stalwart identity politicians and boisterous feminist thinkers can ill afford to promote selfish special treatment as necessary anti-oppression public policy. We must be citizens, not partisans, democrats, not anarchists. I call it the Rev. Al Sharpton Rule: as moral indignation increases, available audience decreases. This is why Rev. Al's rhetorical skill and color certitude know not parallel in our public discourse, even though he never speaks directly on any policy proposal or specific fact. In glowing, flowery, collegiate language historical debate masters Cicero and Henry Clay would've murdered babies to possess, Rev. Al devolves into a mewling Neanderthal any public speaker willing to share a podium with him, ally, enemy, or innocent bystander - yet Black America's latest race leader can not articulate a specific political proposal to achieve any of his pro-Black platform. Rev. Al can't talk rising interest rates, but he knows poor people. Rev. Al can't discuss racist immigration policies, but he knows Haitians. Rev. Al can't convince Democrats of affirmative action's benefits, but he knows Black people. Rev. Al Sharpton - living proof that personal experience does not constitute oppression.

American language fails our populace with similar bombast. In this discourse, I've exposed my personal bias against White women, but even I realize that the term "White women" is too broad, too expansive, too diverse to accurately reflect my longstanding prejudices. Our race speech drowns in the ancient words and antiquated thoughts of past eras and prologue politics; today's diasporic, globalized, commercial racism cannot be confined to national boundaries or unspecific rhetoric. Take for example, the aforementioned Baby Wars. Angel talks about rich parents who drive seven hundred dollar asshole-mobile strollers to run rampant over everyone else's personal space in rude and condescending fashion to rub their radiant social procreation fulfillment complexes in everyone's faces; these parents allow their loud, unruly children to squeal and moan and cry in public spaces ruled by special decorum - movie theaters, airplane cabins, special events - where their progeny's wails just piss everyone else off. Sometimes, these parents publicly revel in the perfect human beauty of their chosen creations by breastfeeding; this raises some concern for general public conditions of non-nude propriety, because in the United States, rightly or wrongly, it is considered socially unacceptable for women to appear topless in public, not to mention illegal. But in all the comments on small child public behavior and public breastfeeding on all the blogs that have talked on these issues this past week, one incredibly important observation continually escapes notice, a fleet-footed Gingerbread Man who avoids the holy hotplates of a convent kitchen.

I speak heresy: all the mothers who breastfeed in public are White! Caucasian, Euro-American, either buzzing White Anglo-Saxon Protestant royalty or assimilated immigrant stock, but in street-level terms, White. Never in my life have I stumbled onto a young mother of color on a park bench or in a franchise restaurant or at a shopping mall with one nipple naked, one breast bared, to feed the angelic ambrosia of mother's milk to a hungry babe. Never. No poor Vietnamese immigrants outside of family bodegas in Chinatown, no middle class Filipinas on the white summer sands of Virginia Beach, Virginia, with oversized Jennifer Lopez beach towels and muscular, bronzed, spiky-haired young fathers in tow, no wealthy African American thirty-something Tracee Ellis Ross doppelganger who holds a cherubic, racially indistinguishable newborn mildly rocking on her Rocawear denim jeans, smiling, happy bourgeoisie Madonna and Child - none ever breastfeed in public. It just doesn't happen. Reasonable racial minority women don't randomly remove clothing in public in any sense; even if our disparate cultures smiled on such maternal exhibitionism, on some minor, minute level, the most counterculture and iconoclastic women of color among us fear mainstream backlash, and shudder at the thought of losing face from a indecent exposure charge. Do you think twenty-two-year-old Syreeta Jenkins from Brooklyn's Marcy Projects really wants to test the anal cavity-plunging NYPD's sensitivity towards young Black mothers? Tawana Brawley's lies resonate loudly today, especially after the Diallo case. So who does a La Leche lament benefit? When the digital thunder struck, and the internet's guerilla feminists launched their Tet Offensive upon the online Saigon at Reappropriate.com with matured mammaries held high, and stormed the instantly foreign non-parent rhetorical strongholds spraying milky ammo upon childless, sex-positive feminist positions, I was caught unawares, a crossfire casualty, and wondered how Ho Chi DruBlood could've possibly instigated such intra-feminist online violence. But at first, I didn't understand the lonely fury of the Desperate Housewives, the rage of a privileged class.

Our homegrown Teri Hatcher terrorists threaten reprisal between their wistful walks down Wisteria Lane; these manicured mothers with immigrant mammies and absentee children present a demographic that begins with privileged Whiteness but includes indifferent middle-class membership and narrow leisure-feminist fanaticism. The later-day descendants of plantation matriarchs and First Lady formality, Desperate Housewives, arrogant beyond human measure, exude stereotypical 1960's traditional nuclear family ignorance of issues as American as chitterlings, kimchee, quesadillas and venison. For the Desperate Housewives, feminism must be drained of its color to mean anything. Think about it: If Darth Drublood wants to physically nourish her small Stormtrooper in the action figure isle of the local Wal-Mart DeathStar, she's more than welcome; there's no need to threaten cauterized dismemberment by scarlet lightsaber if a random servant of the Empire offers a quizzical look or disapproving stare. There is no disturbance of the Force. But let's be honest and forthright on the issue - before assertions of widespread feminist benefit and healthy de-sexualization of women's breasts and females in general from female breastfeeding, we should remember the major beneficiaries of a widespread American social embrace of this controversial issue - the Desperate Housewives.

Notice oppression's extreme makeover: once the concept of an unjust or excessive exercise of power by a powerful prejudiced interest against a particular identity-based group, the Desperate Housewives redefined oppression to reflect conservative antagonism towards Jackie O's orgasmic freedom, cultural gender equality, and female charity case affirmative action in education and athletics and business. Now, oppression as a social phenomena based on societal denial of individual personal choice because of powerful interest prejudice against unchanging, natural, and unalterable group identities is not lost, but rather consciously sacrificed, to characterize all sorts of countermovement perspectives and oppositional speech as total, unreasonable, irrational evil. Notice the difference. The intrinsic minority (a social group based on a shared inherent trait, like racial minorities, or the poor) becomes synonymous with the behavioral minority (a social group based on shared behaviors and personal choices, like religious denominations, or vegans) in a slow marketing campaign where social movements from behavioral minority groups, often populated with highly privileged people, claim the histories, organizational strategies, and rhetoric from social movements from intrinsic minorities, to cement general social support and national cultural acceptance for their group members' personal choices. This was never more true than with the American Civil Rights Movement, still robbed and pillaged and raped today to serve other folks' agendas. The result? The conservative majority (all those who do not consider themselves a member of an oppressed minority, or do not want to consider themselves as such) disregard the sometimes reasonable sociopolitical concerns of oppressed intrinsic minorities, as they can not tell the difference between the real concerns of the disadvantaged, and the concerns of groups trying to deny others the American right to judge and critique and disagree with others' personal choices. Everyone isn't oppressed.

Some people are just inconvenienced. Our immaculate ivory matrons are, in my opinion, most guilty of this "oppression dilution" problem, and feminism's general relevance suffers as a result. Think about it: if the de-sexualization of women's breasts in America's patriarchy is a feminist goal, then what explains the absentee feminist defense of Janet Jackson after her Superbowl 'wardrobe malfunction'? Ain't Janet a woman? Justin Timberlake, the most non-threatening male since Carson Kressley, rips Janet's bodice and exposes her breast to the television cameras (read: simulated male violence toward a woman results in public female nudity), and afterwards Ms. Jackson's reputation bleeds out from millions of media paper cuts and camera slashes as reporters, pundits, and 'experts' demonize one of America's best entertainers as a harlot, a streetwalker, a common whore. If ever there was an opportunity for bold discussion of the feminist desire for breast de-sexualization, 'Nipplegate' offered the silver platter special. But Michael Powell's Federal Communication Commission scores political points with the Puritanical Moral Majority and other right-wing immorality groups by extracting large fines from the corporate media outlets that produced the halftime show, all without a peep from the feminist hordes. Yet again, America unites in unceasing disgust for Black people (public reaction to Hurricane Katrina's New Orleans rape stories is a recent example), but this media lynching against a self-made feminist entertainer lives and breathes and dies without comment from feminists, and we all should know why.

And we do. It's the same reason Helen Zia never tires of relating her stories about her troubles at Ms. Magazine, why sharia law in the Iraqi constitution incenses Max Factor feminists on K Street, but rampant female-driven poverty-stricken single-parent families in SouthEast DC never trouble their sleep - Desparate Housewives care for no one but themselves. Orientalized racism against traditional Asian American cultures force our suburban pals to think of Zia's people as sexist laundrymen only, and our Alexandria, VA pals only consider Black people when they chastise thirteen-year-old Zack about buying a Snoop Dogg album. And in case you were wondering, any legal principles that disenfranchise women anger these people politically, but like all good-natured White activists, it's easier for them to speak with Virgin Mary certitude on other people's backyards then Agent Orange their own weeds.

Angel and Tekanji spoke eloquently on their blogs that the current state of public decorum where men can remove their shirts and women can't offers unfair advantage to men, and is an unjust and unequal social convention. I can understand that. But public breastfeeding, in my opinion, clouds that issue, because it introduces a second action into the equation, one that both sexes can not perform. Here, the Desperate Housewives want to saddle a laudable sociopolitical goal - ending public nudity difference between men and women - with minor, controversial, small, and hotly contested pork - public breastfeeding. To me, that's anti-feminist: it reinforces the idea that to be a feminist, and a strong woman, one must have a domestic, child-rearing focus, it forces people to respect other people's parenting practices without conscious thought, and it promotes the "me-first" anarchism that degenerates feminism into a identity politics redistribution of wealth/ privilege/ power pyramid scheme with the Desperate Housewives cast as the lucky ones. Isn't the real feminist concern encouraging more breastfeeding and pre-natal care for racial minority and poor women - not where women breastfeed, but that they do? Think about it: if feminists are really serious about linking the struggles of young mothers and child-care within feminist concerns, why don't more feminists speak out about racial disparities in pre-natal care, and the fact that fewer Black mothers breastfeed than any other group? Instead of fighting so that Brooke Shields and Catherine Zeta-Jones and Madonna can pop a tidy out outside the hand lotion sales at Bath & Body Works?

No, social disapproval of public breastfeeding is not an oppression. Deal with it: we start calling that oppression, we should devote resources toward fighting it, and frankly, I'm not interested in wasting time and energy and money so that privileged White women can get more of what they want. You don't see brothers walking around with "Free Kate Moss" white tees, do you? Not when Black women are infected with HIV at astronomical rates, and that the rates of HIV infection in the African American community has doubled over the last decade. You want a feminist debate, a real feminist issue? "A 22-year-old woman who has sex with multiple men in an area with very low HIV prevalence, such as a Georgetown bar for well connected young people in D.C. politics, probably has less chance of getting infected than a 22-year-old woman who had sex with only one man in a poor D.C. neighborhood with a very high HIV prevalence," said Adaora A. Adimora, an associate professor of medicine and an adjunct professor of epidemiology at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Think about that: you can live the Biggie Smalls lyrics of Lil' Kim's debut album Hardcore, as a pretty young White woman with a college education and a decent paying executive assistant gig in Georgetown and be less likely to contract HIV than a pious, God-fearing, churchgoing young Black woman working ten-hour shifts at Long John Silver's for minimum-wage who is sexually active with one man. This is the Sex in the City no one hears about.

I know the war I'm desperate to win.

I am an American citizen. I am human. I am angry.

In the rank, oily, brackish, E. coli infested standing water that saturates New Orleans following Hurricane Katrina, emergency workers cajole stubborn citizens, unwilling to leave their homes and property, however drenched, dilapidated, and diseased, for the nomadic unknown of diasporic American citizenship. After Superdome starvation, after doctor-sniper privilege, after annihilated infrastructure and broken families and displaced communities, straggler remnants of a working poor metropolis refuse to depart the watery depths that were streets and parks and churches and stores, refuse to leave the abysmal black of neighborhood homes, aged houses, country dining rooms, pastoral porches, Southern bedrooms, slave memories, and human lives. Meanwhile, suburban soccer mom Americana watches Wolf Blitzer on CNN's The Situation Room, wonders aloud among fellow desperate housewives why America's problem people refuse logic to embrace insanity, again. America's problem people inexplicably steal Sony Playstation 2's and Panasonic plasma televisions and AK-47 Kalashnikovs from abandoned Wal-Marts during a natural disaster. America's problem people stay without reason in squalid conditions against the reasonable health concerns of federal emergency personnel. America's problem people complain of media references to 'refugees' when they lack shelter, clothing, food, employment, and hope. America's problem people accuse Americans of racism while they beg America for life support.

America's problem people are the poor, the Black, and the dead.

In truth, Hurricane Katrina has little to do with America's problem people. The vacant stares and hopeless frowns from despondent Negro evacuees who plead desperately with Paula Zahn to reunite with lost loved ones prove that every American politician may count upon cynical American indifference to the unending plight of the dispossessed. No matter how many pickaninnies prime-time on Larry King Live looking for lost mothers, Americans will not be moved to discipline and punish their federal leaders for the recent calamity. The multitude clamors for assistance, for justice, for vengeance, and five days too late our government responds with a bottle of water, a pained Presidential photo-op, and armed National Guardsmen. Political pundits gauge the inevitable fallout from this unnatural leadership disaster, judge with dispassionate prejudice ethereal antagonists like the federal bureaucracy and the welfare state and the war on terror while corporeal Americans suffer without jobs, without homes, and without hope. Living through humanitarian kindness is not living; the jobless and the homeless and the victimized deserve to know why their tax dollars did not ensure prompt assistance and effective rescue. America demands accountability.

We can't provide it. No attitude consensus, no opinion cohesion exists to provide meaning for any American citizen in these troubled times; predictably, the usual bisected political spectrum applies. The Right refuses to acknowledge wrongdoing by anyone except state and local Democrats, differing widely in tone, civility, and vehemence towards all liberals everywhere. If Ann Coulter speculates on an upcoming episode of Hannity & Colmes that the Rev. Jesse Jackson and Julian Bond planted thousands of poor Black people in the New Orleans Superdome without food, water, or bathroom facilities for five days just to cause President George W. Bush international condemnation and embarrassment, don't say I didn't warn you. In contrast, the Democrats' dismay over President Bush's absent leadership frays into dissonant dissension. Either National Guard overuse in the Iraqi theater caused this urban civic disorder, or Republican good ol' boy cronyism, or basic Bush Administration callousness toward American poverty, or grand old party tax patronage to America's wealthiest ten percent (during wartime), or anti-scientific, anti-intellectual Christian conservative, business-approved Bush Administration ignorance towards global warming, or nonexistent bureaucratic emergency planning and metropolitan evacuation strategy to maintain homeland security, or sheer incompetence, or class warfare, or unabashed racism. The Right exudes unified, fanatical support, the Left flaunts thought plurality without concern for electoral majorities. The Right wins elections and dismantles government services; the Left loses elections and concentrates impotent opposition. Meanwhile, American citizens die; their bloated corpses, soft and brown and impoverished, decompose in Lake New Orleans.

President George W. Bush polarizes for political gain; everyone knows that. Yet Hurricane Katrina unleashed bestial Nature's amoral destruction upon our already charged electorate, released feral winds and savage rain and primal floods upon the magnetic mannequins who populate our divided United States. Katrina mauls the Bush Administration's soft, slack, sloppy emergency measures, rips our phony homeland security hallucinations to rancid, rotting shreds of Cajun barbeque gone sour in muggy Southern heat. To placate Leftists on safari, Michael Brown's FEMA directorship dangles above ravenous reporters at every on-site press conference, yet the balding, incompetent morsel fails to satisfy rabid hunger pangs. Without remorse, pity, or sorrow, once honorable American citizens bite the pulsating jugular of the President we love to hate, lacerate our wounded weekend warrior's second-term agenda, eviscerate our elected sovereign's theoretical ability to purchase public policy bacon for the Christian conservative clogged arteries who deny personal choice yet indulge personal hate. We sense blood. We smell fear.

We fight to live: the electronic, civic, personal, and even physical right to privacy hemorrhages profusely from statuesque flesh torn by fanatical invisible hand conservatives who populate state legislatures and the U.S. Congress, elected by financially despondent social and religious conservatives without decent elementary schools and living wage employment. Queer Eye for the Straight Guy post-traumatic stress disorder Republican pack mentality recoils from homosexual marriage and partial-birth abortion and persistent vegetative states and gangsta rap civil disobedience and rampant Real World: Austin drunken debauchery and child pornographic Calvin Klein fashion advertisements and lascivious Laguna Beach premarital copulation and raunchy Paris Hilton/ R. Kelly sex tapes and bizarre Kobe Bryant/ Michael Jackson show trials and every modern example of American cultural integration, from Eminem to ecstasy, from bukkake to Bowling for Columbine, from abortion to atheism, from death metal to the down low. We choose to battle, battle to choose. And we're losing.

Judge John Roberts, nominated to replace retired Associate Justice Sandra Day O'Connor on the Supreme Court of the United States, was recently designated by President George W. Bush as his preference for the recently vacated Chief Justice position. The stellar resume from which no one can derive any legal opinion, save modesty, now desires the utmost judicial position in the United States of America, for life, recommended by the most flagrantly partisan Chief Executive this writer's ever known. Be alarmed, especially if you care for minor conveniences like civil liberties, civil rights, social safety nets, police brutality, free speech, bodily self-control, free elections, ideological plurality, and restrained executive warmongering. Mind you, Judge John Roberts may respect all of these ideas; the Roberts quandary is only that we don't know his general political perspectives at all. No person should receive the highest legal post in the free world just for keeping his mouth shut.

We must speak aloud. No matter how dissonant or irregular, Americans are justified in their myriad critiques of President Bush's butterfingers Hurricane Katrina handling; every gripe mentioned must be investigated fully, from Jacob Weisburg's to Jack Shafer's, from David Brooks' to Frank Rich's, from Howard Dean's to Eugene Robinson's. No matter how contentious or painful or violent, we need a serious, productive, public policy fruitful discussion on race and class in the United States of America, one that includes conservative apathy towards poverty and liberal ignorance of poor people, one that involves instinctive African American rage and learned European American fear, one that involves classic American individual upward mobility and traditional American institutional class stratification. We need to hammer out race and class with respect to both and privilege to neither. And the trophy wife shouldn't impede our efforts.

First Lady Laura Bush, when giving an interview to American Urban Radio Networks, criticized as 'disgusting' comments by Kanye West, Howard Dean, Rev. Jesse Jackson and others that race and class colored federal reluctance to assist hurricane victims along the Gulf Coast.

"I think all of those remarks are disgusting, to be perfectly frank, because of course President Bush cares about everyone in our country," the First Lady said Thursday in an interview with American Urban Radio Networks. "And I know that. I mean, I'm the person who lives with him," she said. "I know what he's like and I know what he thinks and I know how he cares about people."
The First Lady also said: "I do think -- and we all saw this -- that poor people were more vulnerable. They live in poor neighborhoods; their neighborhoods were the ones that were more likely to flood, as we saw in New Orleans. Their housing was more vulnerable, and that what we saw and that's what we want to address in our country."

Is Laura Bush high? How dare the First Stepford denigrate reasonable race questions in such dismissive, discarding fashion! Notice the stark discourse termination attempt here: it's not just that the Kanye West allegation 'George Bush doesn't care about Black people' is simply untrue, or false, or even slanderous. The First Stepford finds such rhetoric so repugnant that it does not warrant discussion, that reasonable Americans debase themselves through such tawdry interrogation. Something disgusting offends the moral senses, nauseates the body human; one cannot function properly with a disgusting smell or taste or sight or idea in close proximity. This genteel Texan librarian connotes the putrid, the contaminated, the repugnant, with her expert dismissal of racial discrimination's very possibility as explanation for despondent federal disaster relief after Hurricane Katrina. Laura Bush semiotically parallels the partially decomposed corpses of poor New Orleans flood victims, beaten and bloated and Black, with any suggestion that they died because of their darker shade. To discuss race is to divide America according to conservative political thought, so real patriotism demands groupthink silence and Maoist political correctness, demands irrational belief in and illogical support for a lethargic Leviathan who leaves all people behind, except for the wealthy and the White. Today, stating the obvious is state treason.

Today, I'm an American Taliban. The mechanical animal who birthed President Bush's personal American Idols disrespects American intelligence with her religious Republican anti-race rhetoric. The prevailing social division in American society throughout our young history is race. Regardless of whose personal feelings are slighted, whose moral sensibilities are insulted, or whose Samaritan charity is questioned, it is possible for reasonable individuals to discuss race in America, including the President of the United States of America. If George Bush cares about Black people, Mrs. Bush, please explain the rampant disenfranchisement of African American voters during Election 2000, the constant refusal of President Bush to discuss African American political issues with Black polemics and statesmen, the general distrust and enmity between African American voters and the Republican Party (8% of Black voters voted Bush/ Cheney in 2000, 11% in 2004), and the starving, mewling, terrorized Black multitudes left without food or water or bathrooms or law enforcement or medical attention or any federal assistance whatsoever in New Orleans for days on President Bush's watch. Rather, don't explain anything: just be willing to have a conversation about massive governmental miscalculation, impropriety, and incompetence that examines all possible causalities. But even beyond that, don't hide in the oppression of your choice.

Americans fail to discuss class inequity in our discourse because of several factors. Sometimes our omnipresent Adam Smith spirit guide sparks revulsion towards any and all collectivist ventures, sometimes financial system so distances rich and poor, upper class and lower class, immigrant and native born, that useful class discussion can not exist. The placid, polite, immaculate Laura Bush, soulless vision of neo-Victorian beauty, assassinates useful class discourse following Hurricane Katrina, using class difference as a bludgeon to batter racial animosity toward her husband. To speak with authority on class while denying race with impunity plays upon well-worn White Northeastern liberal ideology that cements all domestic sociopolitical inequality in rigid economic difference and conceives all possible race prejudice from uneducated backwater Southerners. Further, Lockheed Martin's prototype faith-based initiative ignores an undeniable truth - American poverty has gotten worse under George W. Bush's watch. According to the recent Nicholas D. Kristof column, The Larger Shame, "The U.S. Census Bureau reported a few days ago that the poverty rate rose again last year, with 1.1 million more Americans living in poverty in 2004 than a year earlier. After declining sharply under Bill Clinton, the number of poor people has now risen 17 percent under Mr. Bush." Compassionate conservativism translates into cynical capitalism. Laura Bush must realize that in five years as President, her husband has made no real effort to address American poverty; to speak on what he may wish to accomplish rings hollow to all those forced to sit and wait in cavernous sports arenas and stifling homeless shelters for thoughtful citizens to provide economic relief. But that's alright, the poor and the Black and the dead love subsistence living! Just ask your mother-in-law, Barbara.

Laura Bush, a disingenuous social Darwinist with Eurocentric flesh lamination like Arnold Schwarzenegger's Terminator, masks her crafted, sculpted distaste for African American political rage with the impeccable eloquence and perfect diction of a time-lost daughter of Dr. Noonian Soong. She dreams in digital, this mechanical Marie-Antoinette, and one can safely bet that her positronic phantasmagoria portrays no one of African decent. The poor and the Black and the dead - the original American virus - won't rewrite her programming.

This for Mississippi, and every place y'all treat like Mississippi.
Y'all wouldn't give us shit, we gone take it, bitch. YEAH!
-David Banner, "Bush", from his debut Mississippi the Album

I hid from the news. For days, I avoided any mention of Hurricane Katrina. In my hometown of Portsmouth, Virginia, a hurricane was a large and powerful thunderstorm that always threatened major collateral damage yet never delivered. Skies darkened, clouds grayed, winds blew, trees swayed. Outside of extremely minor flooding on low-lying streets, nothing of note really happened. I always stayed home and played video games. A bad hurricane for me growing up was when electric service ceased and I read Peter David's novel Imzadi by candlelight. So, Hurricane Katrina held no interest for me; the commercial symbolism of rock music's forced resurgence at MTV's recent Video Music Awards - a show I didn't watch - was more interesting than constant coverage on a Category 5 hurricane.

Yesterday, I watched CNN and lost my national innocence.



Massive, total destruction. Burning water above downed power lines. A flooded metropolis. Sniper fire. Random violence. Human suffering. Barbarism. Animalism. Theft. Rape. Sickness. Death. On American soil.

Not Bosnia. Not Rwanda. Not Fallujah. Not Malaysia. Right here, in the United States of America, your fellow citizens wait with taxed patience for federal disaster relief amidst demoralized savagery and subhuman conditions. Today marks the sixth day. As if to demonstrate the surreal calamity in the Mississippi River Delta, CNN's Nic Robertson, international correspondent known for on-location reporting in global political hot spots like Kabul, Afghanistan or Mogadishu, Somalia delivered commentary from New Orleans; what's next, Christiane Amanpour live from the Houston Astrodome? Stories of exhausted young Black mothers hobbling along country roads and flooded streets to escape certain death by drowning or starvation or disease fill the airwaves. Acrid black smoke from random fires dot New Orleans; disgusting, contaminated water filled with bacteria and gasoline and desiccating human bodies saturates the Big Easy, threatening diseases like cholera and dysentery upon an already devolved electorate. Doctors work without sufficient power or medicine or food or water at makeshift hospitals at the New Orleans International Airport; nurses give each other IV's, according to CNN's Lou Dobbs Tonight, to maintain their strength to care for the dying. Disheartening images of impoverished elderly men and women languishing in hellish heat plaster the national news; their corpses rot before shell-shocked Southerners and a world audience baffled by the complete and utter deconstruction of American society within the continental United States.

Experts predicted years in advance that the levies protecting New Orleans from utter calamity were vulnerable to powerful hurricanes, yet those warnings sounded upon the deaf and the uncaring. The human cost of this unprecedented event has yet to be determined. The New York Times called the anemic, belated disaster relief efforts seen today "a very costly game of catch-up", while noting that Iraq deployment of Louisiana and Mississippi National Guard units may have severely hampered relief efforts. The Congressional Black Caucus, the NAACP, and the Rev. Jesse Jackson publicly attack the President's shuffling, shucking and jiving disaster relief response, a response that allows untold numbers of working poor African Americans to die on their feet amid rising water and scarce resources and simple human wastes. Mental note to Lou Dobbs: Just because New Orleans is seventy percent Black and the city power structure is nearly exclusively Black and Mayor Ray Nagin is Black, does not mean that every national Black politician should immediately assassinate local Black political leaders to satisfy White sensibilities about a national public service failure. The apocalypse now endured in New Orleans, the catastrophic cessation of all public infrastructure and order, embarrasses the United States, cripples our global standing, and deserves swift and complete accountability at the highest levels of American federal government. Mr. Bush, you deserve impeachment.

"No one wants to see any American suffer," says Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice, when answering charges by the Congressional Black Caucus that race and class encouraged the Bush Administration's lazy response to assist impoverished African Americans in Louisiana and Mississippi. Her constant evasion and emotional sidestepping of the obvious - those low on capital and high on melanin are utterly inconsequential her Chief Executive - displays a conflicted and complicated African American conservative response to the callous indifference the modern Grand Old Party shows towards America's weakest members. Mayor Ray Nagin of New Orleans, Louisiana should not have to curse out the federal government to secure federal help for his dying citizenry. During times like this, I do not comprehend why any free thinking African American could vote Republican. Black America has endured the most patently anti-Black Presidency I've ever known, including the Reagan years. (Don't believe me? Ask Kanye West.) President Bush steals office by disenfranchising African American voters, refuses to discuss anything with any Black leader or organization that he hasn't handpicked, demonstrates a callous disregard for the financial squeeze his economic policies cause hardworking citizens, and now mismanages Hurricane Katrina disaster relief so completely that those unfortunate souls unable to care for themselves are now plastered all over CNN in stark relief: the poor, the Black, and the dead. All day yesterday, my wide-eyed horrified stare observed masses of impoverished Black Southerners baking in unmerciful August heat among contaminated water and broken toilets and rotting garbage, watched the young and the middle-aged and the old weep with hopeless despair, heard sweaty Black men recount stories of bloated corpses - their neighbors - floating like driftwood past their front doors.



Black men. Dangerous, scary, young Black men. America's longest national nightmare made corporeal and physical and larcenous. Much of the media coverage centers around repeated images of rampant looting of local businesses for supplies and luxury items by not-yet-recovered citizens, and an amorphous criminal element that impedes meager relief efforts from helping those in need. First, the looters. You can understand the looting by first understanding dehumanized poverty. People with no personal political tethers to accepted societal morality, people who operate on the fringes of America during the best of times, people normally abandoned and consistently controlled by the police powers of a indifferent and callous capitalist order have no reason to abide by American moral reverence for private property in the absence of a ruling military presence. I have no judgment for any looter of any items - given personal immersion in those abysmal circumstances, I can not tell you what my actions would entail. We are watching a modern American state of nature; the utter breakdown of governmental control can not be judged or criticized or moralized through comfortable climate controlled reason alone.

Next, the criminals. The 'roving gangs of violent men' the twenty-four hour broadcast media pontificates on relentlessly, who snipe stranded hospital patients and threaten rescue operations in New Orleans, mirror similar bands of armed anarchists in Liberia, Sudan, Rwanda, Somalia, and Iraq; the constant display of young, muscular, dark Black men on these channels reinforces violent Supermasculine Menial stereotypes to lull the American public into the belief that the usual suspects totally comprise the unchecked criminality of post-Katrina New Orleans. Rather, the isolated metropolis displays the cessation of American law and order: the only relevant criminal activity here is the atrocious and inadequate and overdue federal disaster relief measures undertaken by the Bush Administration. President George W. Bush failed to make the world safe from terrorist attack, failed to find weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, failed to secure peace and maintain civic infrastructure in Iraq, and now failed to ensure the domestic tranquility of American citizens under extreme duress. The Bush Administration cut Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) funding, treating the agency like 'an unwanted stepchild' according to New York Times columnist Paul Krugman. The Bush Administration diverted a third of the Louisiana National Guard to Iraq. The Bush Administration left those without money or health or youth to chance in a metropolitan area widely predicted to destroy itself in a perfect storm. As was true during Election 2000, President Bush's sacrificial lambs again resemble the Black sheep of our American family.

Native society is not simply described as a society lacking in values. It is not enough for the colonist to affirm that those values have disappeared from, or still better never existed in, the colonial world. The native is declared insensible to ethics; he represents not only the absence of values, but also the negation of values. He is, let us dare to admit, the enemy of values, and in this sense he is the absolute evil. He is the corrosive element, destroying all that comes near him; he is the deforming element, disfiguring all that has to do with beauty or morality; he is the depository of maleficent powers, the unconscious and irretrievable instrument of blind forces. - Frantz Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth

The American colonizer still fears the Black native. Yesterday's repeated question was "who shoots at unarmed hospital patients?", today's is "who's burning the New Orleans ruins?" President Bush, Head Colonizer In Charge, waxes Crawford philosophical over the unwavering American spirit while babies die on American soil of malnutrition and thirst. Meanwhile, Louisiana Governor Kathleen Babineaux Blanco (D) put the phantom American insurgents on notice, shouting of the National Guardsmen who've arrived "fresh back from Iraq". "These are some of the 40,000 extra troops that I have demanded," Blanco said. "They have M-16s, and they're locked and loaded ... I have one message for these hoodlums: These troops know how to shoot and kill, and they are more than willing to do so if necessary, and I expect they will." This sentiment displays without doubt the complete disregard for African American suffering shown by governmental officials. Amid the worst humanitarian disaster in United States history, the Governor of Louisiana treats its victims like hardened convicts in a prison riot. Criminality certainly stymied some relief efforts, but this 'Battle of New Orleans' should be a mission of mercy that delivers food to the hungry, shelter to the homeless, and safety to the scared. You can't save anyone if you're shooting at them.

Any pretenses about the sanctity of the American spirit or the stainless honor of the American body politic have been shattered, crushed, and discarded by the Bush Administration. We have witnessed the demise of the American Dream. Houses smashed into wet matchsticks and kindling. Businesses flooded beyond repair. Wal-Marts raided for food and water and fuel and clothes and sneakers and knives and guns. Blond, busty, blue-eyed national newscasters speak of American 'refugees' who drag their tired, battered, demoralized bodies from the horrific squalor and standing water and inhumane conditions of New Orleans along several hours in charter busses without air-conditioning to be turned away from the Houston Astrodome to locations so undisclosed, the drivers don't even know where they're headed.

The United States of America is a different country today, a primeval, feral, Neanderthal nation without civility or civilization or simple human decency. We are the worst we have to offer. We are a nation of rich cynics shocked by our own barbarism, waiting for our turn at the chopping block. What's worse, this could all have been prevented. Simple, logical organization of all available manpower to help those who could not help themselves - the moral purpose of federal power in a modern industrialized liberal democracy - could have saved lives: organized removal of the poor and homeless days ago, when Category One Katrina introduced itself to Florida, or food and supply airdrops over New Orleans after the levies broke - anything but abandonment. Fuck 20/20 hindsight! No American citizen can today believe that the federal government can or would help them if their homes, livelihoods, and utilities are destroyed by actions outside their control. None of us. No American citizen can today believe that their country can do for them when they cannot do for themselves. Given this, what is the point of doing anything for our country? Why volunteer to fight an unjust, illegal, commercial war, when your fellow citizens can't be rescued from heavy rains, high winds, and their own bodily wastes? What's the point of voting when the guy the minority voted for bungles both foreign policy and domestic health in such cataclysmic fashion? To all Republicans: why give a damn about illegal immigration when the society the impoverished illegal aliens claw and scratch and steal their way into refuses to save it's weakest and neediest from natural calamity and public anarchy? What's the national character of a country that reduces those without capital to those without voice, those without help, those without life?

President Bush murders America when he refuses to help Americans.

Whether his acts are sins of commission or omission, they deserve investigation. Whether his callousness displays the rich man's ancient indifference towards the poor or the White man's ancient prejudice towards the Black, it demands accountability. President Bush's compassionate conservativism unmasked today as a separate but unequal phenomenon, reserved for wealthy metropolitans in New York and denied to destitute metropolitans in New Orleans. With Bull Connor's bastard child in the White House, no amount of fervent prayer or political cajoling will alter Hurricane Katrina's violent commoner's sense - your government does not care about you. The poor and the Black and the dead, decomposing underwater, or on public streets, or in alleyways, demand justice no one can provide, because federal authorities (or Karl Rove, or whomever) are not concerned with the public welfare of the American people. Law-abiding, taxpaying Americans were eaten by rats on the streets of New Orleans because the Bush Administration found their economic contributions lax and their racial configuration undesirable. African Americans, reduced to the 'undifferentiated brown stuff' of George Orwell's Marrakech, invisible in plain twenty-four hour news camera sight, are the perfect victims of federal apathy. We hate their dangerous violence. We hate their persistent poverty. We hate their expressive speech and their colorful colloquialisms and their creative music. We hate their minority cultures. We hate their grace, their passion, their strength. We hate their brown skin. We hate the fact they exist.

We hate the poor, the Black, and the dead.



Every time a political pundit or robotic reporter wonders aloud why the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina exposes a race and class dynamic I cringe. There's no big secret - the Bush Administration hates Black people. Well-educated tokens willing to tote the grand old party line past pathetic concerns of reason or reputation or sanity may apply, but the starving Black underclass left indigent and depleted in the post-colonial, post-integration post-apartheid affirmative action environment may as well commit Jonestown mass suicide as far as this Administration is concerned. Our democracy functions because of the tireless efforts of those we don't see. The minimum-wage labor that cooks and cleans and cares for the wealthy and the White only exist as news stories for the general G-8 public. The poor and the Black and the dead materialize as convicts like the Washington sniper John Muhammad or the Atlanta courtroom killer Brian Nichols. The poor and the Black and the dead live as flashing statistics on American national poverty or printed percentages on American teenage pregnancy. The poor and the Black and the dead benefit from our affirmative action benevolence, profit from our Social Security charity. The poor and the Black and the dead deserve incarceration, provoke police brutality, justify capital punishment. The poor and the Black and the dead are social parasites, oily obsidian leeches who drain our scarce American resources from within.

The poor and the Black and the dead are the wretched of the earth. When we choose not to help them, we damn our own souls.

God Bless America.



Update: More on Kanye West's nationally televised pimpslap of President Bush. MSNBC has the Kanye video. C-SPAN.org has video of the Congressional Black Caucus' honorable disgust with the President. Also, check out Michelle Malkin's knee-jerk defense of the worst President in modern American history.

For sanity and reason, hit up Reappropriate.com, Crunk & Disorderly, and Solitaire Redux.