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Entries in satire (11)


Condoleeza Rice and The Dinner Party of Doom

Condoleeza Rice just wanted to endure yet another Negroes of North America party where election losses have left everyone bitter and jaded. Just one party and back to her new life of martinis, speeches, book deals and dating "ballers," but first she has to survive the "Party of Doom" where you learn that you keep your enemies far away and your friends even further.

Click after the jump for the full story of Condoleeza Rice and the Party of Doom.

Click to read more ...


Is Michael Steele An Undercover Brother For SCAN?

On Tuesday there was a security breach on the Macon, Ga. campus of the Secret Council of American Negroes' (SCAN) HQ when members of SCAN's sister/rival organization, Negroes of North America (NONA), showed up unannounced, demanding to speak directly with the HNIC.

NONA members Ken Blackwell and Dr. Ada Fisher of the Republican Party somehow made it to the secure wing of the second floor before being stopped by a field agent on her way back from the restroom. Blackwell and Fisher refused to leave SCAN without speaking to someone on the high council and eventually the field agent was able to get Special Agent Quantifia Smith of the Atlanta Office to hear out their complaint along with an assistant who took down transciption for the record.

Here is an accounting of the incident.

KEN BLACKWELL: Well, is it on? Can we talk now! I've been in this office for FOUR HOURS!

ASSISTANT: The mic is live.

[Councilwoman Smith lets out a loud audible sigh.]

SMITH: What's wrong now?

DR. ADA FISHER: Where's the HNIC! We came here to speak directly to ...

SMITH: I'm authorized to handle this matter. You've been in here throwing up holy hell all day. What is it? What's the problem?

BLACKWELL: You KNOW what the problem is! You know and I know and EVERYONE knows! Ya'll uppity ass so-and-sos thought this shit was funny. Thought you'd have a good laugh up in here at OUR EXPENSE! Sippin' ya lattes and chortling foam out ya' noses at us.

SMITH: I have no idea what you're talking about.

FISHER: We had a truce, dammit.

SMITH: How can I know how to help you two if you won't tell me what you think we here at SCAN did?

BLACKWELL: Don't play dumb with me! Steele, mutha fucka! MICHAEL STEELE!

Click to read more ...


The Worst Case Scenario

It's January 2009 and Barack Obama has been sworn in as the 44th president of the United States and enters the White House's Oval Office to be briefed by out-going Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice. When Obama enters he finds the room filled with stacks of paper, even on the desk. On the desk a note is pinned to it. Obama picks it up and looks at it and reads it aloud.

"My bad?" he said, looking curiously at Rice.

Click to read more ...


It'll Get You High

"It'll Get You High."

Setting: MSNBC studios. Chris Matthews is sitting at the "Hardball" set reading through the script while Andrea Mitchell sits across from him also reading her notes. Both look a little out of sorts, especially Andrea who keeps scratching herself and is sweating profusely. They both look jittery and stressed as they prepare for tonight's show.

Chris Matthews: (Reading over his script for "Hardball") Tonight! Surrogates gone wild? Jesse Jackson is caught making an off air mumble that's become a mess for ... I (slamming down the script) ... I can't do this. It's just ... it's just not the same! I need my Clinton Crack! (scratching underarms) I'm jonesing over here! Look, Andrea! My face is all bloated and red!

Andrea Mitchell: (Involuntarily twitching) Your face is always bloated and red, you ignominious bastard! There would still be some Clinton Crack if you hadn't smoked it all!

Chris: (To himself) I can't go back.

Andrea: (Wiping nose, suddenly calm) I sometimes huff paint thinner.

Chris: Really? Does it work?

Andrea: It'll get you high. I mean, if you're desperate.

Chris: I don't know. You said that about Romney refeer and all it did was make me gain 20 pounds and buy a bunch of Marie Osmond records. I guess I could try that Brangelina stuff, but that seems more like a kid's party drug.

Andrea: I lost 10 pounds doing Brangelina, but I also stopped sleeping, had sex with Billy Bob Thorton and adopted six Ugandan orphans.


Keith Olbermann enters the set, walking by, looking peppy.

Chris: How do you do it Keith? Your eyes are always so glassy and you always look so happy, despite being nebbish and tense and kind of killjoy. What are you on? And don't say Ron Paul freebase because Jack Cafferty sold me a sack of that shit and it does not work!

Keith looks left-to-right then leans in to take a seat next to Chris and Andrea.

Keith Olbermann: (whispers) I have something TEN TIMES more potent than Clinton Crack.

Chris: I'm interested.

Keith: Obama Opium.

Chris: Opium? They still make that?

Keith: No. Not just regular opium. Obama Opium. It's the main ingredient in Black Tar Heroin.

Chris: I think they liked to be called African American now.

Keith: What?

Chris: It would be African American Tar Heroin. You know? I thought you were more racially sensitive than that? Whatever. Forget about it. Tell me about the drugs. Where did you get it?

Keith: Well, you can't tell anyone.

Chris: This is just between you me and Andrea.

Andrea: (twitching) Did you just say you had some Clinton Crack?

Keith: No.

Andrea: Because we'd have some if Chris hadn't smoked it all!

Chris: I get it, Andrea! I'm a fat bastard. All right, Keith. Tell us. Where did you get the stuff?

Keith: (mumbles) Muurrr-murrrr.

Chris: What? Speak up. Why are you mumbling?

Keith: Sean Hannity.

Chris: What?

Keith: I got it through Alan Combs from Sean Hannity. I was desperate. It so hard to act like I give a shit night after night. I just needed a little something to take the edge off. I used to snort that Bush Blow, but it doesn't work like it used to. Plus it made me really, really angry. Or maybe that was just the Rove 'Roids. I was trying to lose weight. I just needed something to even me out and Combs told me Sean was smoking the Big O every night. He hooked me up.

Chris: Does it work?

Keith: Oh (smiling) ... it'll get you high.

Chris: Can you boil it down like real Heroin because I just want to take a shot of Barack and put it in a hypodermic needle and shoot it right into my eye ball?

Keith: I think I have a spoon around here somewhere.

Chris: I'm excited about this. I mean, I've been using Clinton Crack since 1992. It was the greatest thing that ever happened to me. But I only partied with it. Nothing serious. Then one day, boom, it was gone. I forgot about it. Didn't touch anything. But then they came back. And there was just so much of it. I didn't really pace myself. So ... so I'm in deep shit. I mean. I gotta have it. I need it. I want it. But they cut me off. I asked James Carville two months ago if I could get 5 grams of Bubba for $50 and that son-of-a-bitch said "Drug store's closed." Can you believe that? Drug store's closed! I've had to get my Clinton Crack through Andrea ever since.

Andrea: Alan got me hooked.

Keith: Alan Combs?

Andrea: Alan Greenspan. They still talk sometimes.

Keith: (to Chris while cooking the drugs) Don't go crazy with this. Alan said Hannity's been hitting it so hard he almost OD'ed while watching some Rev. Wright footage Sunday. He's sobriety partners with Rush Limbaugh now.

Chris: I bet Rush does a lot of this stuff.

Keith: Nah. He's on Nicorette and OxyContin-laced Twinkies dipped in embalming fluid now.

Andrea: They call them "RushBaughs." I tried that once and I woke up fully dressed in a bathtub full of water after a party at Brian Williams' house. Brian doesn't do drugs but Willard Scott was passing them out. I just thought they were hor' devours. One minute I was dancing to Starland Vocal Band and making out with Ann Curry, then the next I was up to my neck in warm, soapy water. It was sooo awkward when Brian asked me to pass him the soap. He has very nice abs for such a boring man.

Keith: Wait ... he was?

Andrea: He said he didn't want to wake me, but regained consciousness when my head slipped underwater and I almost inhaled his loofah. And that's not a euphemism. I was actually gagging on a his sponge.

Keith finishes cooking the Obama Opium and draws it into a hypodermic needle.

Keith: You kissed Ann Curry? What was that like?

Andrea: She tasted like cocaine and strawberries.

Chris: (Annoyed) Enough with the chit chat! Let's do this. (Rolls up sleeve and ties belt around forearm) Get me high, mother fucker!

Cross-posted on The Black Snob


Project: Get Hillary Rodham Clinton

The following is a correspondence file between the Secret Council of American Negroes and its psychological warfare expert Lt. Dr. Stankonimilitant.


FROM: Lt. Dr. Stankonimilitant, Psy Ops

SUBJ: Emergency request

Stankonimilitant is sure the good folks at SCAN HQ have watched the Clintons' slow descent into Bolivia.[1] It has been oogly, ya'll, like 4 popped collar Polos ugly. This has been extremely harmful to the possible history making first non-white President of the United States. The Democratic nomination is a matter of formality and mathematics at this point, yet Sen. Clinton continues to be divisive. Drastic times call for drastic measures...and what is being proposed could be a gigantic problem.

It is time to make Sen. Clinton disappear.

Stankonimilitant has said previously that he has some connections in the DoD. One of Stankonimilitant's second cousins on his mama's side is dating a member of the Special Forces. Those men can kill someone with pencil shavings and whipped cream, so this shouldn't be a problem.

Here's how it will go down.

  1. Grab some members of the Special Forces, and neutralize get them high those members of the unit unwilling to go along.
  2. Give them disguises, ie bus boys, porters, chaffeurs, etc. to get them into the high level functions undetected.
  3. Let them spirit Sen Clinton away
  4. Release the pre-written and forged Stankonimilitant statement about dropping out of the race for "family reasons."
  5. Give Bill a new intern Eliminate Bill's interference to this operation.
  6. Leave evidence incriminating the McCain campaign.

It is clearly against everything that SCAN stands for to do this, but that's why SCAN has people like me. The good Dr. is prepared to go underground, a la Michael Corleone.

[1]: Poor Mike Tyson.

------------------------- ------------------------ -----------------


TO: Lt. Dr. Stankonimilitant, Psy Ops


SUBJ: Re: Emergency request

Dr. Stankonimilitant, SCAN's mission is never the physical elimination of those who are debits to Negro American advancement. Otherwise Flava Flav, T-Pain, Lil' Wayne, Robert Johnson, et al would have been Stankonized along time ago. While the upper echelon of SCAN appreciate your zeal to remove the Senator, physical kidnappings aren't kosher. Rethink your plan and resubmit something else.

PS. Dr. S, SCAN had an informal straw poll and by the narrowest of margins voted NOT to give your plan a vote of support.

----------------------- -------------------------------------

FROM: Lt. Dr. Stankonimilitant, Psy Ops

SUBJ: new proposal

After taking Agent Q's dispatch in mind regarding the original plan and the windfall that Barack Obama is receiving even in defeat, the good Dr has a new plan. It is multifaceted and may upset the SCAN ship.

Part I: Dr. Stankonimilitant reached out to Kevin Federline's people and implied that for his help, SCAN would reconsider his application of acceptance as black. This doesn't not bind SCAN in any case because you can claim that Dr. Stankonimilitant acted unilaterally, etc. etc. Simply put Federline's job is to get close to Chelsea Clinton. He has been given Malcolm X leeway, whatever means necessary. After he has her confidence, he is to be arrested for a DUI with Chelsea as his passenger around the Capitol Hill area. Damage: low level, but hopefully they will remove Chelsea from the campaign.

Part II: Mr. Timberlake was also contacted and given a similar message as Mr. Federline. Timberlake's assignment is simple to perform at a Clinton function and re-create Nipplegate. Damage: low level

Part III: Operation Clinton could not move forward without Mr. Clinton's involvement. The good Dr. has reached out to a number of starlets, esp Kim Kardashian, Scarlett Johansson, etc., etc.. Playing upon their desire for media coverage, they were told to be seen with Mr. Clinton enough to re-create doubts of his marital fidelity. Through unethical means, the good Dr has obtained a substantial portion of the Clinton travel itinerary. Mr. Clinton and his media starlet friend are to be found in a compromising situation by Mrs. Clinton. Damage: mid level, but hopefully Mr. Clinton will be further sidelined.

Part IV: Call the vendors that the Clinton campaign are in arrears to and insinuate that the campaign may not be able to make good on their debts or IOUs are forthcoming. Damage: low to mid level, unpaid bills will make their way to the major networks.

Part V: Using all of Sen. Clinton's audio recordings, splice together a message disparaging the voters of West Virginia for voting for a losing candidate.

SCAN does not have to use these in this order. They can be used in concert, but this madness must end.

*Written by SCAN's regular contributor Dr. Stankoniforous. If you have an idea or want to write for SCAN send an email to The Black Snob.


Zahara Jolie-Pitt, SCAN's Littlest Agent in "La Cage aux Folles"

The last time we contacted our most wily Ethiopian-American spy, code name: Sallie Selassie, she was working hard on the front lines of blackness, convincing her parent proxies, celebrities Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, to bring more attention to the plight of Katrina victims and to get more acting roles for Angela Bassett. Now Sallie is in France awaiting the birth of the Jolie-Pitts' twins, creating new tensions amongst the rival agents/siblings working to manipulate their wealthy, influential patsies.

Sallie: This is Sallie.
SCAN: Are you alone?
Sallie: How can I be alone when I'm trapped in the house all the time with The Woman and that rhubarb sperm donor? As big as this house is you'd think I could crawl off to a corner and do my work, but noooo. A fucking zoo, every day.
SCAN: Yeah but ... are you alone alone?
Sallie: God, you're fucking dense. I'm talking to you, aren't I?
SCAN: OK. I'll take that as a yes.
Sallie: I swear, who the fuck do I have to play "peek-a-boo" with to get some God Damn Similac!
SCAN: Aren't you on solid foods now?
Sallie: I'm fucking rich. I eat whatever I want and I want my Similac! It's like crack to me. And we get the really good Similac, not that swill poor babies get. It's hard to stay true your tribal roots when all you have to do is sniffle and you get an ice cream cake designed by Stella McCartney and Wolfgang Puck ... actually. Ice cream cake sounds good right now. Hold on.

(Sounds of footsteps. People speaking.)

Sallie: Waaa, Dada me wan ice keem cake fom Auntie Stella! Wah! Me no likey stoopid crepes! Wah!
The Man: OK. It's OK. Don't cry. Daddy's here. Come here let me ..
Sallie: Don't you fucking touch me ... I mean, waaaaah! Me wan specially designed ice keem cake! Waaaaah!
The Man: Ang?
The Woman: What!
The Man: Zee wants another ice cream cake from Stella McCartney.
The Woman: What is wrong with you? She's lactose intolerant. We've discussed this! Tell her to eat the crepes she begged for all day at the Louvre!
The Man: But she looks so sad! Look at her little face! How can you say no to that face?
The Woman: She gets the shits. Have you forgotten that? It makes her poop everywhere.
The Man: It's not like you clean it up!
The Woman: I'd still have to SMELL IT, BRADLEY!
The Man: What's your deal? You used to be cool!
The Woman: I AM NINE MONTHS FUCKING PREGNANT WITH FUCKING TWINS! Excuse me if I DON'T WANT TO SMELL SHIT! I do not have time for this! Tell her no!
The Man: You tell her no. You look into her little brown orphan eyes where she was starving to death in that village and you tell her she can't have whatever in the world she wants! And I didn't even have to tell you. I could have flown us to Great Britain and got, like, a million ice cream cakes, flown back to France and hired seven more maids to deal with the baby poop. Seriously. Where are your priorities?
The Woman: Fine. If you're going to be a bitch about it I'll call Stella. But she'll have to wait at least a day. Stella doesn't exactly have a stockpile of those fuckers.
The Man: Hey, Ang? Could you stop the cursing around the kids? Have a little fucking class, OK?
The Woman: (mumbling) ... such a fucking douche. I swear.
The Man: See? Daddy got you the cake, Zee! Yeah! Who do you love more? Who do you love more? Me! You love me more!
Sallie: I wuv cho, Dada!
The Man: Eskimo kiss! Now you go back to your room, OK? And play quietly because Mommy's being a huge bitch today.
The Woman: I can hear you!
The Man: GROW UP! This is why all the kids hate you!
Sallie: Dank koo, Dada! (mutters under breath) You fucking moron.

(Sounds of footsteps, someone picking up the phone.)

Sallie: Sorry about that. What were we talking about?
SCAN: Actually we didn't start yet.
Sallie: Oh. Sure. Whatever.
SCAN: So how are your objectives coming along?
Sallie: Um ... I think The Woman is talking ... about ... Man. I should have asked for that Similac. You know it comes in different flavors if you're rich, right? You haven't lived until you have Amaretto flavored Similac.
SCAN: I'd really like it if you could give me your update first.
Sallie: Gary?
SCAN: We talked about this. No real names.
Sallie: I know, but no one's listening. I'm on my Playskool Phone.
SCAN: We're still not supposed to use our real names.
Sallie: Fine. What's your code name again?
SCAN: Brofucious.
Sallie: Really. It's "Brofucius." Is that supposed to be some hippity hop version of Confucius?
SCAN: Actually, it is.
Sallie: Don't you have to be smart to be named Confucius?
SCAN: Just tell me if your achieving your objectives.

Sallie: Fine. On Monday I convinced The Woman and The Man to take me on a helicopter ride so I could take surveillance photos of Sarkosy's estate. As you know, I am digging up dirt to blackmail him so the Black people of France can be brought out of the ghettos and mainstreamed into society. Afterwards we went to Bono's estate for swimming and finger food. Pax threw up on Bono and I got into a Kung Fu fight with Maddox because he saw me readying poison darts to take out the maid. She caught me downloading those photos and sending them to base, but Maddox said he needed the bitch because he was using her to topple the military junta in Myanmar. I'm like, sure. Take down a totalitarian regime with an 65-year-old fat lady from Paraguay. He's such a fucking idealist. I'm really losing respect for the dude.
SCAN: Wait? You got in a Kung Fu fight? I didn't know either of you knew Kung Fu?
Sallie: Actually, I think he practices Bokator. I don't know Kung Fu, but I do know how to take a whiffle ball bat to your man parts. I dumped the maid into the sea while everyone was playing Marco Polo with Bono. When Maddox came to he was all pissed and took the heads off all my dolls. Fool. I don't even LIKE dolls. But I pretended to give a shit anyway. The Man bought me a diamond encrusted binkie just to make up for it. The mother fucker can drop a mil on a binkie but can't come up with a decent hair stylist. I mean, are you fucking kidding me? Look at this hair. We're fucking rich. Where's my braidologist? They can just get me who ever does Iverson's.
SCAN: You still suck a pacifier?
Sallie: OK. Do I go to your house, Gary, and slap the reefer out of your mouth?
SCAN: We said no real names. And you know they drug test at SCAN. Are trying to get me fired?
Sallie: Maybe. One phone call to the Big O and you'll be working the labeling machine at a Kinko's.
SCAN: I got kids, man.
Sallie: What? Are you upset? Are you going to cry? Baby going to squirt a little? Wah, don't get me fired! Wah, I can't help it if I like hookers and weed! Wah! I have your wife on speed dial and I know how to hack into your computer! Wah! Wah! Fucking wah! I'm from Ethiopia, bitch. This trigger's got no heart!
SCAN: (crying) You. Are. So. Mean!
Sallie: OK. Don't cry. I'll send you a jewel encrusted binkie, OK? I got, like, fifty of them. You can probably pawn them to buy some blow or something or whatever you use to, as they say, "party." That's what you do, Gary? You party with hookers and smoke the ganja?
SCAN: Do you even know what "blow" is?
Sallie: No, but whatever it is Sarkosy's got a stockpile of it behind his pool house.
SCAN: Just give me the rest of your update.

Sallie: Anyway. I got to meet The Edge. That was pretty cool. And Bono's good people. I think I can get him to expand his black interests to black people worldwide. Maybe get you Americans a library named after The D.O.C. or something. I dunno. I need more time to flesh him out and God only knows when those twins pop. The Woman has major boob saggage. It's worst than it was with The Choosen One. Sheesh. I don't want to be that plastic surgeon.
SCAN: Again. Do you know at least half of what you're talking about?
Sallie: When you've had a life like mine you have to learn things fast. There's no time for a real babyhood. In the desert you gotta be born feet first so you can come out that bitch running. Ya heard? No. No you haven't, Gary. You were born in America. Your projects, my paradise, bitch.
SCAN: I'm not from the projects.
Sallie: That's not the point, County Brownie. You pimp the facsimile, I pimp the real.
SCAN: Yeah. With diamond encrusted binkies and Amaretto flavored Similac?
Sallie: This conversation is dunzo. I can hear Maddox conspiring with Pax to get us Pad Thai for dinner tonight. Fuck that shit, son. It's kitfo or no food. Tell you wife Monifah I said, "A salaam alaikum."


From the Front: SCAN's "Littlest" Agent

Sometimes SCAN has to take on high risk/high reward situations in order to go places no Negro has ever gone before. These are the real heroes in the "War on Ignorance." Whether it's an unnamed agent working to destroy BET from within or a dedicated team of SCAN speech therapists spending 20 hours a week teaching Charles Barkley how to pronounce "Mississippi," everyone has a part to play. But only the best of the best get a crack at the glass ceilings of American society. Like SCAN double-agents Eldrick "Tiger" Woods, Gen. Colin Powell, comedian Whoopi Goldberg and, of course, The Big O.

These and others like them are the unsung heroes of preserving blackness by gaining the trust of bigots before smothering their racist babies in their proverbial cribs.

The following is a correspondence from one of the greatest double-agents in SCAN's 143 years of operation, a wily Ethiopian-born operative recruited by SCAN shortly after she came to this country under a flurry of international scrutiny.

She is SCAN's "Littlest" Agent: "Sally Selassie."

Sally: This is Sally.

SCAN HQ: Are you safe?

Sally: We're OK to talk. I hotwired my Play Skool phone for Wi Fi. The Man suspects nothing. As always. The Woman, she is suspicious, but has no proof. She almost found last month's communique so I had to cram it down the toilet to cover my tracks. Things got messy, but I was able to blame it all on Pax.

The woman totally gave me a look that said she knew I was lying, yet she punished Pax anyway. As if that would break me. I'm from Ethiopia. You've got to come with harder shit than taking away the "Dora the Explorer" tape from my fake brother.

Then yesterday she thought she saw me messing with The Chosen One's baggage of Cheetos. I'd laced them with laxatives to keep The Woman distracted so I could run my communique to Connor Antony Cruise about getting his father to back an action movie based on Monica Rambeau starring Angela Bassett. She turned and offered me the bag. I could not afford to drop my cover.

So I ate them.

It was a very messy afternoon on the bayou.

As she paid someone else to wipe my ass I think she knew, but as always, she said nothing. She is a worthy foe. I respect her. But I will do what I have to if she gets in the way.

SCAN HQ: Higher ups wanted me to pass along that they've been impressed with your work thus far. Getting them to move to New Orleans to bring more attention to the 9th ward and other places ravaged by Katrina. Outstanding. Although finagling "A Mighty Heart" didn't quite go as planned.

Sally: The Woman insisted! I had to weigh the options. Let her look stupid with curly weave tracks and a bad accent or kill her and try to get adopted by Halle Berry.

There was only one option in that situation. Halle Berry is a terrible actress.

SCAN HQ: Tell me about.

Sally: She blows.

SCAN HQ: I mean, I know we're supposed to pretend to like her ...

Sally: It's OK. She's quite pretty just really, really bad, you know?

SCAN HQ: Before I got this job I had to work in SCAN's media library. Jesus, if I ever have to watch "Losing Isaiah" or "Queen" ever again. But I'm getting off message. Did you get package we sent? It should have come in the form of a "gift" from The Big O.

Sally: Oh, the invisible ink inside The Chosen One's teething rings and the sidewalk chalk for Maddox that's made out of Klonopin! Genius ... those were better than the candy necklace made out of razor wire and sulfur tablets. Helped me get rid of that nosy maid. No matter how many times The Woman told her I was lactose intolerant she still kept giving me unpasteurized goat's milk with my Oreos. No one fucks with my Oreos.

SCAN HQ: But what about the Pixie Stix blow darts, credit cards and Hello Kitty thumb drives we sent you? Those thumb drives are very important. We're trying to get the Jolie-Pitts to adopt a three-year-old double agent out of Haiti. He says he knows you. His name is Robespierre. He was the one with the Kermit shirt on at the Live Aid.

Sally: What? Those were in there? I didn't see it. The Woman! She must have taken them out before she handed me my stuffed bunny! But I could knock her unconscious if I dissolve some of the Klonopin chalk into her bottle of Fiji water.

SCAN HQ: No. No. They were inside the stuffed rabbit.

S. Sally: What? No!

SCAN HQ: You just need to cut its head off ...

Sally: Oh my God. Are you sick! She's innocent!

SCAN HQ: It's just a stuffed animal.

Sally: It? It! She has a NAME! She's from Build-A-Bear Workshop and her name is Zee Zee Hop!

SCAN HQ: Get it together, Sally.

Sally: You don't understand. You're not looking into her big black eyes, cuddling her fluffy ears! I don't wanna!

SCAN HQ: You knew the risks when you signed up for the job, Sally! This is for the sake of black people every where. You have to remember your mission: To push Hollywood to make decent movies for Angela Bassett. To make sure black interests get exposure through the Jolie-Pitts' celebrity over-exposure. And to make sure you grow up smart and strong and beautiful so you can someday lead your country to prosperity.

Sally: I don't wanna.

SCAN HQ: My God. Can it really be that hard? You just admitted to killing your maid over Oreos?

Sally: (Sniff) That was different. I didn't like her.

SCAN HQ: Just do it, OK. There's a pocket knife inside that X-Men toy we sent two weeks ago. Just slice it open with that.

Sally: I know what to use, Gary.

SCAN HQ: And you're not supposed to say my real name over the line.

Sally: I can tell from the tone of your voice that you've never loved and lost someone on a mission, Gary.

SCAN HQ: Sigh. We promise to send you another rabbit.

Sally: OK ... I want a pink one next time. And I want her wearing a tutu. And I want her name to be Ms. Chuckles. No ... Iman. No, no wait. Ms. Chuckles is better.

SCAN HQ: It's done.

Sally: I have to go now. The Woman is back from the set and I have to convince Pax to hop on his Sit n' Spin so I can recharge this phone. Oh, sweet Ororo Munroe. Why do all the good die young?


Reviving the Brand

Warning: I apologize beforehand about this being so freakin' long. But I was having too much fun and I don't know yet how to post things so they aren't unseemly on the site. Until that day, please enjoy! (TBS)

The Secret Council of American Negroes may be an "old" organization, but we are not afraid to shake things up a bit and try something new. Recently SCAN hired the advertising firm of Goldman-Black-Sanchez-Black to tailor our latest advertising campaign for black women. But it's not a campaign to sell things to black women. It is a campaign FOR black women. It is an effort to combat all those stereotypes men of every color have of our wonderful women. Men who see black women as a step down rather than a step up. This is for every black woman of every shade and personality who wants to get married and have a child at some point in their lives. They have tired of being the bridesmaid at their white girlfriends' weddings. They are sick of looking at other happy couples thinking, "Why not me?" Tired of every girl being the desired girl accept a black girl.

We at SCAN are dedicated to making sure everyone knows how great a black woman can be. We want to break down the stereotypes and get our sisters some satisfaction. So much like how less prominent countries you wouldn't think of visiting put together splashy commercials to get people to change their perception, SCAN is kicking off a new, jazzy, hip campaign to lure you to the unexpected pleasures of black women.

Script for infomercial #001

TITLE: "Why not a black woman?" (Re-branding Campaign)

EXT. A busy street in the city

MUSIC (upbeat, light and peppy)

A white man is hurrying down a busy street dressed for work

NARRATOR: (booming male voice) Hey you!

The white man stops and looks around curiously.

NARRATOR: Yes, you! The one with no wedding ring!

The man looks at the camera sheepishly and looks in closer.

MAN: Yeah?

NARRATOR: You looked like you were in a hurry?

MAN: Yeah, um ... I was just ...

NARRATOR: Hey, how's your love life?

MAN: It's great, I guess.

NARRATOR: So, you're seeing someone?

MAN: Not really. I guess it's been awhile since I went on a date. Work keeps me pretty busy.

NARRATOR: Is it work or are you just striking out with the ladies?

MAN: I mean, I try to find a girl, but all the women I meet are either married already or bland and unsatisfying. I'm really lonely, but I don't know what to do.

NARRATOR: Have you ever considered a black girl?

MAN: (Nervous laugh) What? No!

NARRATOR: What? Are you some kind of racist?

MAN: (Embarrassed) No! I think I have a cousin who's married to some black guy or at least I think he's black. Wait. He might be Puerto Rican. Are Puerto Ricans black?

NARRATOR: Don't think about it too hard, you might give yourself a headache.

MAN: (Smiling) Oh. OK.

NARRATOR: But seriously, why not a black girl?

MAN: I don't know. I just find them kind of intimidating. I don't think they would like me. And aren't they really loud and pushy?

NARRATOR: (Hearty laugh) Oh, Jim.

MAN: Wait, how do you know my name?

NARRATOR: There are a lot of misconceptions out there about black women. They've been getting a bum rap for years.

Cut to footage of sad, pretty black girls

NARRATOR: Looked over for parts in movies. Denied the role of "the love interest," "the girlfriend" and "the femme fatal." Accused of being too bitchy or rude or unladylike. Being paraded out like jiggly set pieces in rap videos.

Cut back to man on street.

MAN: (Chipper) I like rap videos!

NARRATOR: (Annoyed) Yeah. Of course you do. But, black women aren't the women you think they are, Jim.

MAN: They aren't?

NARRATOR: Gosh no! That's why I'm going to let you in on a little secret ...

MAN: Really?


Cut to footage of happy, pretty black women doing things like jogging, working, shopping and eating lunch with friends

NARRATOR: Black women are attractive and healthy. And many are college-educated with infinitely fulfilling careers and lots of interesting, reliable friends. They are good at being independent, but despite what you may have heard in the media, they really want to get married and have kids before they turn 40.

Cut back to man on street

MAN: Wow. I didn't know that. I thought they all, like, got pregnant out of high school.

NARRATOR: No. All of them haven't!

MAN: Oh, OK.

Cut to footage of black women having fun at a club, dancing with their friends.

NARRATOR: Black women have all the beauty and versatility of white women, but are 30 percent funnier and 75 percent better dancers.

MAN: I don't know. I really can't dance.

NARRATOR: It's OK. Black women prefer to dance with other women.

Cut back to man on street

MAN: (Overly eager) Really?

NARRATOR: But not the way you're thinking, pervert.

MAN: I'm sorry.

NARRATOR: It’s OK. Another surprising fact you may not know, black women don't age as quickly as other women!

Cut to a picture of Angela Bassett from “What’s Love Got To Do With It?”

NARRATOR: Here's Angela Bassett when she was in her 20s.

Cut to a picture of Angela Bassett at a film opening in 2007

NARRATOR: This is her today!

MAN: Wow.

Cut to a picture of Halle Berry from “Boomerang”

NARRATOR: And this is a picture of Halle Berry in the 1990s.

Cut to a picture of Halle Berry at the premiere of “Things We Lost in the Fire”

NARRATOR: And here's a picture of her now.

Cut to man on the street.

MAN: Damn. Black don't crack!

NARRATOR: Now you're getting it!

MAN: But how do they do it? My last girlfriend started getting wrinkles around her eyes at 25?

NARRATOR: The secret to all black women's beauty is in her skin - her black skin!

Cut to animation of a black woman's face with sun rays hitting the skin and bouncing back off.

NARRATOR: As you may know, the sun is the number one culprit next to smoking that prematurely ages the skin of white women. But black women's skin contains the element melanin which makes them tan easier and burn less. Most black women who care for their skin properly can have radiant faces for decade after decade. Why my mother is 67 and I still haven't seen a wrinkle!

Cut back to man on street.

MAN: Awesome! She must be a total MILF!

NARRATOR: (Offended) What did you just say about my mama?

MAN: I said MILF. It's like a compliment. It stands for "mom I'd like to" ... (embarrassed) um ... never mind.

NARRATOR: I thought so.

Cut to footage of attractive black women smiling

NARRATOR: Black women are spiritual and loving who are talented in music and the arts. They’re intelligent, sensitive and thoughtful. They’re loyal too, and fun. Heck, they're more fun than any ordinary woman. In fact, they laugh 10 times more than white women.

MAN: (Suspicious) Really? Where'd you get that figure?

NARRATOR: (Offended) What, did you think I just made that up because I'm black?

MAN: I can't even see you? You're a disembodied voice!

NARRATOR: Maybe your ears are racist then. You could have racist ears! You know what? Keep walking. You don't deserve the wonderfulness that is black women.

MAN: No, no! I want to hear! I want to know! If you say they laugh more, I believe you.

NARRATOR: Oh. OK then.

MAN: So we're cool?


Man puts out his fist for a bump.

NARRATOR: Are you fucking kidding me?

Man sheepishly puts his hand back in his pocket.

MAN: Sorry.

NARRATOR: As I was saying ...

Continued footage of attractive black women

NARRATOR: Black women laugh 25 percent more than white women and smell like cinnamon and cocoa butter. They shit rainbows and have posteriors so lovely that if you tossed them up in the air they would turn to sunshine. Their voices are sexier and they're just more interesting, more black than other girls. A matter of fact, black girls can do 50 percent more with their hair and are 100 percent blacker than other girls.

Cut to man on the street

NARRATOR: And do you want to know the best part, Jim?

Man leans in a little.

NARRATOR: The same black women I told you about are all single!

MAN: (shocked) They can't be single. Not all of them! They sound so great! I mean, any man would be lucky to have a fun, happy girl with great never aging skin who shits rainbows!

NARRATOR: I know! You'd think that wouldn't you!

Footage of sad, lonely, but pretty black women sighing and frowning

NARRATOR: But there are literally thousands of these wonderful women just sitting on the dating market untouched. More than half of all black women between the ages of 25 and 34 have never been married and black women are the most likely group in the United States to never get married.

Cut back to man on the street.

MAN: That sounds awful.

NARRATOR: All that wonderfulness, sitting alone with no one to talk to. But you're probably not interested in hearing more about these wonderful women. You're probably gay anyway. All the men worth dating are gay.

MAN: Hey! I'm not gay!

NARRATOR: So what are you now, some homophobe?

MAN: No ... it's just ...

NARRATOR: Calm down, I'm just fucking with you.

MAN: Oh. OK, awesome.

NARRATOR: There’s no reason for you, Jim, or for any man to be alone when there are so many great black ladies out there.

Cut to an Asian American man

NARRATOR: And I'm talking about you, Greg Fukiyama!

GREG: (Surprised) Me?

NARRATOR: Yes, you!

GREG: Wow!

Cut to a Mexican American man grooming his mustache

NARRATOR: And you, Jorge Villagrosa!

JORGE: No way!

Jorge turns to talk to a man behind him

JORGE: Dude, this disembodied voice is telling me black women might be interested in me!

An Indian American man with a British accent walks over.

INDIAN: Even Punjabis?

NARRATOR: Do you have a job?


NARRATOR: Then yeah, why not! But you're a Christian, right though?


Cut to a Native American

NATIVE: Is a black girl right for me?


Cut to a Frenchman.

FRENCHIE: I don speak zee Ah-leash berry well. Es ee black gurl right fo oui?

NARRATOR: Yes! She is!

Cut to an African man walking on the beach

BLACK AFRICAN: I'm Zulu. Would a black girl be right for me?

NARRATOR: You betcha!

A white South African man walks up to the African and leans on his shoulder.


NARRATOR: Why not!

Cut to a black man in a suit at a desk

BLACK MAN: I'm a Harvard Law educated, county brownie who only grew up around white kids. Is a black girl right for me?

NARRATOR: You've got to be fucking kidding me.

A half white black man walks up.

BIRACIAL: My mother was white. Would a black girl be right for me?

NARRATOR: Black girls for everyone!

Cut to shots of all the men smiling and pumping their fists in the air, hi-fiving each other.

ALL: Hurray!

NARRATOR: There isn't a man out there, black, white, yellow, red or brown who couldn't be improved upon with a black girl on his arm. So stop being afraid, man up and ask out those single, pretty black girls before the secret gets out and every man is duking it out for a sista in their lives.

Cut back to the man on the street.

MAN: (Jubilant) Wow! Wow. I just never thought … I mean, wow. OK! I'm going to do it! I'm gonna ask out a black girl. Why not? I'm tired of just limiting myself to white women! Fuck them. I got jungle fever!

NARRATOR: (Offended) What?

MAN: Was that the wrong thing to say? Because I didn't know what to say.

Narrator mutters under his breath.

MAN: I'm sorry. Really. I don't have jungle fever. I always thought that was just made up. I'm interested in a respectful, mature relationship with a black woman. I am. Seriously! I'm sorry. Fist bump?

NARRATOR: (Sigh) Men, if you’re gainfully employed, own your own car and not as ignorant as this jackass, please, consider a black woman. How do you know you won't like it if you never try?

Shot of a pretty black girl alone at the bar in a restaurant sulking.

NARRATOR: So next time you see a pretty black girl alone at the bar because she went out with her white co-workers and no one will buy her a drink, go ahead ...

The Asian American man from earlier is smiling as he sits down next to her with a drink. The black woman smiles shyly back.

NARRATOR: And buy that pretty black girl a drink, be a gentleman and tell her your name.

ASIAN: My name is Greg Fuki ...

The white man from the street punches Greg in the face and he falls off the stool. The man leans in and smiles at the girl.

MAN: Hey, sexy sistah. Drop that zero and get with this hero.

The black girl looks at him curiously, when the Harvard black man comes up behind her with his tie eschew shouting.

BLACK MAN: Ay, gurl, ay!

The black girl glares at the black man. He shrugs, giving up.

BLACK MAN: I'm sorry. I didn't know what to say. I've never hit on a black girl before.

BLACK GIRL: You're black.

BLACK MAN: Not really.

The black girl rolls her eyes as the Asian man tries to get up.

ASIAN: Real mature, buddy. Really fucking mature.

The Asian man collapses on the ground again when someone starts up the music on the karaoke stage and the narrator, Keith David, is sitting on a stool singing "The Girl is Mine" with Rodger Ebert. The black girl looks up and smiles at Keith.

NARRATOR: Fellas, if you're not an idiot like these fools, stop being scared thinking all black girls are gross racial stereotypes. And if you can't appreciate the beauty and talent of our sisters, we didn't want your ass anyway. We'll do just fine without you.

The black girl nods her head in agreement.

NARRATOR: We was single before we met yo' ass and we ain't afraid to be single again. But if you do decide to try a black girl you might just be pleasantly surprised at what a great girl that black girl might be. I'm Keith David and hope you'll open your mind and your heart to black girl today.
(to Rodger)
Let's wrap this up, man. I got to a voice over for PBS in the morning.

RODGER: Yeah, I have a review to finish. It's a little late, kind of past my bedtime. You're driving, right?

KEITH: You are so cheap.

RODGER: Gas is like four dollars.

KEITH: You're like the cheapest rich guy I know.

RODGER: And I don't like to drive.

KEITH: Just finish the damn song.

RODGER: (Singing) Don't waste your time.

BOTH: (Singing) The doggone girl is mine.

A close-up on the smiling pretty black girl and an iris-in.

--- END ---


SCAN Reports: "We Don't Need Saving!"

FROM: Lt. Dr. Stankonimilitant, Stank psychologist, Drop Squad
SUBJ: Psych Ops on recurring cases of CSN syndrome

This is the Stankonimilitant reporting for SCAN.

After months of monitoring the behavior of Caucasians in the workplace, fine restaurants, golf courses, folk music festivals and Ren Fairs, as well as many, many Starbuckses, Stank-0 has noticed a trend arising that needs to be addressed. To borrow from popular vernacular, Stankonimilitant calls the condition Captain Save a Negro syndrome, or CSN for short. While this condition is most commonly found affecting white Americans attempting to “rescue” blacks from themselves, it is not limited to black people. There is Captain Save an Asian, Save a Chicano and the near fatal, disastrous cases of Save an Arab.

Stankonimilitant is not entirely sure if this is a recurring case of “white man's burden” on the comeback or some weird mutation of white liberal guilt, but that's not important. The only thing is that it needs to stop, immediately!

CSN has had disastrous affects on minorities, especially Negroes. Often these actions come in the form of whites feeling “pity” towards minorities, thinking they should be more like them. These individuals do not perceive themselves as racists, but as good, tolerant whites who like Dave Chappelle and enjoy commercially friendly music like Wyclef Jean and Black Eyed Peas. These individuals often suffer avuncular delusions that only the benevolent great white father can save the dark masses from their own demise. Therefore they implement tragic programs and experiments that often cause more harm than good to the people of color (POC) they are desperate to save.

CSN’s distinct symptoms include:

  • an overly paternalistic tendencies towards person/people of color
  • an arrogant idea that only non-POC know how to fix POC's problems
  • Provides ignorant, simplistic solutions to POC’s problems, i.e. suggesting that marriage is the magic wand for black America.
  • fetishization of POC, i.e. a desire for “spicy” or “fiery” Latin women, "yellow" fever

Early onset CSN is marked by the offender mentioning how many POC are their friends, how many POC regularly visit their homes, how much they "understand" POC, that POC accept them, how they had a POC boyfriend/girlfriend in elementary school, or asked the token POC at their accelerated school to the dance.

In undergraduate school, many CSN offenders fetishize date a POC as a way to deflect criticism. Things typically don’t work out because their parents "didn’t approve," thereby absolving them of guilt. Some even contemplated joining a black Greek organization until they realized that it's for life.

Stankonimilitant is recommending SCAN to dispatch covert squads to further study and develop ways to combat this scourge, but Stankonimilitant understands that HQ may not sign off on such drastic measures in our present War on Ignorance. So as a fallback option, I am suggesting the rendition of Clarence Thomas, and other CSN enablers like Juan Williams, JC Watts, Amy Holmes and, sadly, Pharrell and Timothy Z. Mosley, aka Timbaland whose enabling of Justin Timberlake has reached tragic levels.

While this may not completely fix CSN, it could stem the tide. From field observations, Stankonimilitant has noticed many recurring examples of severe CSN cases in government and popular culture. So examples of these cases include:

Stankonimilitant cannot stress how devastating and ruinous these examples are in the proliferation of CSN. Stankonimilitant suggests that SCAN STUDY THESE THOROUGHLY!

Stankonimilitant's suggestion to combat CSN is intense mental therapy and treatment. The harshest options are recommended as best. Offenders should be locked in a room and forced to watch looped videos of Dick Gregory and Paul Mooney. If these don’t cause the desired result, take things up a notch: forced listening to the recordings of T-Pain chopped and screwed juxtaposed with some Lil Jon, rounded off with Lil Wayne.

If CSN tendencies still persist then SCAN should relocate them to Washington, DC to work for the DC Public School system, DCPS. Stankonimilitant figures if they truly want to save a Negro, then why not give them some Negroes to save? Stankonimilitant has some connections in the DCPS so this is entirely plausible.

For those at SCAN HQ who disagree with the militant approach, perhaps a more educational rehabilitation. Stankonimilitant suggests forced readings of Carter G. Woodson, Ralph Ellison, W.E.B. DuBois, Malcolm X, Frederick Douglas, Harriet Tubman, et al, aka the Black canon. Stankonimilitant is sure each SCAN HQ executive official has all these readings in their offices, some more worthy readings may have been excluded, insert them at your leisure.

Stankonimilitant's awaits further instructions from HQ on the best way to combat this scourge of blackness in SCAN’s War on Ignorance. Stankonimilitant knows to it is up to the professionals at HQ to deem what is best.

PS. If Clarence Thomas is subjected to rendition, Stankonimilitant informally requests to lead his questioning.

This post was written by Stankoniforous One.


From the Frontlines

the war on ignorance

Since the Secret Council of American Negroes conception we have been at war with racism, intolerance and the "agents of ignorance," the buffoons, the Coonery Class who are willing to degrade blackness in order to gain financial status and fame. These individuals flout the laws of SCAN and are considered "enemy combatants" in the long standing
War on Ignorance. SCAN is not powerless in this fight and in fact, since 1910 has maintained a covert, counter-ignorance team known as the Nat Turner Brigade, also known by contemporaries as "The Drop Squad." The Nat Turners infiltrate businesses and organizations gathering intelligence and clandestinely sabotaging the efforts of the Coonery Class.

The following is a correspondence from our greatest war, the one within, written by a double agent who has been embedded in cable network Black Entertainment Television since 1996, before SCAN broke all institutional ties with BET in 2005 after they destroyed the last half-hearted visage of public interest on the network - its nightly news program. That along with the canceling of Tavis Smiley's show demonstrated to SCAN that former BET owner Robert Johnson and BET's parent company Viacom had no interest in making BET anything more than a 24 hour coon show, denigrating women and spreading ignorance to our impressionable youth. Because of these crimes against blackness SCAN has had no choice but to declare war on BET.

Here is a report from Agent "M" of the Nat Turner Brigade.

It has been eleven years and 12 days since I was dispatched to infiltrate and bring down BET as a junior executive.

Though my spirits are low, mind is steady. Every day I'm more convinced that at the demon who is Debra L. Lee knows no bounds in how far she will go to make blacks look as witless as a drawing of a thick lipped mongrel savoring a watermelon. I saw her slip those yellow "grillz" to him as a present before he entered. Like many in the Coonery Class he greedily put them on either unaware or a cognizant actor in his own degradation.

I still maintain my quest to thwart BET's success while gaining usable intel. My goal is still to stop ignorance before it happens. But it is a hard fight not for the weak stomached.

Many of my fellow Nat Turners have been broken by the mind-numbing buffoonery and the "Cash rules everything around me. CREAM, get the money! Dollah, dollah bill, ya'll" mentality of BET's management. I've watched some of SCAN's best minds go insane from the hours of watching "106 and Park," fearing their brain cells that they worked so hard to develop under the writings of DuBois, Lourde, Hughes and our founder, FD. Minds from great black institutions like Howard University and Morehouse College, would die. After seeing pictures of Trina, half naked again to sell another record I would find them shaking and rocking back and forth at the safe house from having to listen to "Back That Azz Up" and "I'm in Luv Wit A Stripper" hours upon hours a day.

Recently, at the safe house I tried to console my fellow agent and friend, "N," who was beginning to crack.

"How many days a week can those monsters eat fried chicken!" he cried. "And I had to take a bite of it because Debra Lee was looking right at me. I knew that if I didn't eat that chicken my cover would be blown. I'm a Vegan, (redacted), dammit! And that chicken was from Church's. Who the fuck knows what was in that chicken?

"I don't know who I am anymore!"

Agent N grew up in an environment very different from mine. I was raised around ignorance, drunk uncles who bragged about masturbating to Jet "Beauty of the Week" photos and listened to Pigmeat Markham records. N was from (redacted) and attended Morris Brown in Atlanta. His father owned an auto dealership and could afford to send him to SCAN's private school, the Frederick Douglass Academy of Little Negro Achievers in Prince George's County, Maryland. He's such an intelligent, sensitive man. In a way, I think maybe his mind would be better utilized if he'd remained in the Drop Squad as an intelligence analyst.

"Do you know what's in malt liquor," he yelled at me from the bathroom where he was forcing himself to vomit the non-vegan, greasy chicken. "Do you? It is the nectar of the insipid. The poison of the Negro mind."

"(Reacted), you're starting to scare me," I said.

He hugged the toilet and looked winsome and lethargic.

"You asked me why I was crying the other day," he said wiping his mouth. "I think I'm ready to tell you know."

N let go of the toilet and washed his face the sat on his bed, looking up at me with blood red eyes.

"It was the BET fashion awards. Debra Lee wanted me to cater to the ... needs of the celebrities. It wasn't that big of a deal. I've done it before. It was easy to blend in and converse with them by keeping conversation as minimal and as ignorant as possible."

Then N's head suddenly jerked and he looked to the ceiling and shouted, "Making it RAIN ON DEM HOES!"

He shuddered at his own words, then said, "I said to Flo Rida. I gave him his complimentary bottle of Cristal and did the head bob. He never suspected a thing. It's so easy to blend in. I was back there ferrying fried chicken dinners, condoms and liquor for so long I wasn't even thinking anymore when Pharell Williams approached me about an after party Snoop was hosting.

"I texted to (redacted) to get approval to continue surveillance to the after party and, of course, they approved. I rode in the back of Snoop's limo. He immediately 'sparked one up,' as the parlance goes and told me to 'pass, puff, give' to his entourage in the limo. It was odd that for all Snoop's wealth he had no real interest in supplying his proxies with their own marijuana. After I passed the rolled cigarette, Snoop produced a 'bowl' to smoke on his own, leaving the Bishop Don Juan to fight with Flo Rida over who was hogging the joint.

"When we got to the party, it was at a nightclub rented out by Cornell Hayes, aka Nelly. We already had a preexisting relationship from when I infiltrated his and Fat Joe's tour a few years back. Nelly recognized me right away, offering me a bottle of champagne to pour on some young woman who appeared to be not of age. I didn't know what to do. She was just standing there talking to another woman about which jeans made her posterior look better - Baby Phat or Apple Bottoms? I don't even think she was aware that Nelly was behind her, goading me on to denigrate this otherwise innocent person. I smiled, my fake gold tooth starting to slip from my incisor, I tried to think of the most 'hood' thing I could say, but my mind froze. Fortunately, Rihanna and Ciara showed up, distracting him. He gave me the bottle of 'Cris' then headed towards them. I went to my observation position where I could keep an eye on Snoop, Flo Rida and T-Pain, all sitting with several young women. I had a bug in the Bishop Don Juan's 'pimp cane' so I could hear most everything through my remote-less ear piece.

"Just as the Bishop Don Juan was suggesting that Snoop take an offer from McDonald's to do a remix of their 'I'm Lovin' It' incorporating the words 'it's the dizz dollah, dollah menu, a shake and fries, get the taste in you,' the young woman Nelly wanted to douse in alcohol approached me, asking me if I was with 'Snoop n' em.' I said that was affirmative. She looked at me confused. Then I remembered and burped out a 'sho nuff.' She giggled. She seemed pleased that I knew the rappers. I realized that she looked no older than 16, like my sister. I wanted to protect her, but knew that would be difficult as she wanted to be here. She wanted to be exploited by the hedonism and misogyny around her.

"She talked about brand name clothes and growing up in Mecham Park. That she wanted to be a 'dancer' and had already been in a few music videoes, but so far her face hadn't been shown in them. She said twice the video director said her 'ass' was even better than her face. She didn't appear to be offended, more hurt that she didn't get to play the girlfriend in the video. She was convinced that she was turned down twice in auditions because she wasn't 'creole' looking. Losing my objectivity, I told her that I thought she was quite attractive. She smiled. It was obvious she craved attention, positive or otherwise.

"She asked me how well I knew Snoop and others at the party, pressing on about my connections. I mentioned I worked at BET. Her eyes widened as if my face was made out of Versace. It was then Nelly returned with another bottle of champagne and a grin. He was going to douse that young woman without her knowing. Against my better judgment I tried to push her out of the way, causing Nelly to poor the champagne on me.

"Everyone laughed. Even the girl who then flashed her breasts at T-Pain who then poured liquor on her as she danced. And Nelly patted me on my back and gave me a bottle. They were all looking at me. I couldn't blow my cover. The girl smiled the whole time so I shouted out, 'Makin' it rain on dem hoes!'

N couldn't look me in the eye as he stared at the floor.

"I'm a monster."

I tried to reassure N that he was not. That he was a good person who was doing the right thing for the War on Ignorance. To remember the code of the Nat Turner Brigade. N put his head in his hands and wept.

"I have a law degree from Harvard!"

N then pulled out something from under his bed. It was a small bottle. He looked at it intently.

"What is that, (redacted)" I said.

"What does it matter anymore?" he said. "I'm one of them now ... Nigga," he said with his voice trailing off and cracking. "I'll pistol whip you, flip you, then dip you, then dance to this mutha fuckin music we crip to."

"Give me the bottle," I said.

"Some the hoes, I'm Florida the foes and for the most I'm steady sippin' on some ..." he then took off the top of the bottle and tried to drink its contents. Wrestled it from him and I smelled it.

It was codeine and promethazine - Purple Drank. Sizzurp.

I yelled at him, so angry that he would try to intoxicate himself with the very drug we were fighting so hard to combat. But I realized I was yelling at a broken man. After I poured the bottle's contents down the bathroom sink I looked at my fellow officer, devastated by the ignorance.

I am normally not one to show displays of affection, but I put my arms around N and held him as he shook and cried for the worship of the Coonery Class pained him so much.

I will put in the paperwork requesting his reassignment tomorrow.

BET is no place for a Martha's Vineyard Vegan.