Captain African America: The Winter Mistress, Pt. 1

S.C.A.N. scene 1
Image by Jada Prather

Warning: For the uninitiated unfamiliar with the old SCAN series on the Snob Blog, this is a satirical post that is long as hell (I had to break it into three parts). So, um, if you’re not into that sort of thing, sorry, BUT THIS IS FOR THE FANS!

The Secret Council of American Negroes

Vol. 2, Episode 1

And now the poor guy’s girlfriend (undoubtedly ex-girlfriend now) is on tape cajoling him into revealing his racism. Man, what a winding road she led him down to get all of that out. She was like a sexy nanny playing “pin the fried chicken on the Sambo.” She blindfolded him and spun him around until he was just blathering all sorts of incoherent racist sound bites that had the news media peeing themselves with glee.”

— Basketball legend, activist and writer, Kareem Abdul Jabbar on the saga of LA Clippers owner Donald Sterling and the former mistress who got him on tape being racist

Little did Kareem know how close he was to the truth.

A former agent of the Secret Council of American Negroes himself, the basketball legend knew the signs of a SCAN black ops mission when he saw one. The desire to cough *bullshit* under his breath every time the Donald Sterling saga came on the news was overwhelming.

“So sloppy. So obvious,” the former Laker center would say while watching endless CNN chatter about Sterling and his half-black, half-Mexican American “girlfriend.”

“SCAN’s getting reckless,” he muttered to no one in particular.

Even though he’d been the fight for more than 30 years he hadn’t really thought about the Secret Council in two decades, not since he left, or was forced out … no one knows for certain. He hadn’t thought about it in ages.

Not until now.

Yet, he would never publicly out the organization behind everything. The one he put his soul and life into. The place where Black America secretively took a vote and decided the fate of the Black race everyday.

The Secret Council made the tough decisions no one wanted to make. They took on the missions on one else could do. Not the NAACP. Not the Urban League. Not the National Action Network. Not any of the storied black organizations who fought out in the open, risking ridicule and defunding. No, there needed to be a covert organization to do the dirty work they couldn’t do. And that’s why the Secret Council, aka SCAN, was born.

Yes, they are the organization your white friends keep asking about. Yes, they are the ones they are referencing when they say all black people are “in” on something, that we all “think alike.” And it’s because, yes, black people do get together and secretly have votes to decide things. It’s a real thing.

Solidarity, MFers.

Operation Real David Palmer, aka the election of Barack Obama? SCAN did that. Converting failed presidential candidate Mitt Romney into a double agent so he would take a dive against Barack Obama? You think Romney was that bad of a candidate on purpose? OPEN YOUR EYES. SCAN did that. Getting the Jolie-Pitts to help rebuild New Orleans? SCAN. All SCAN.

And the fall of legendary bigot and Los Angeles Clippers owner Donald Sterling? Well, that’s a mission 199 years in the making. Here’s the story — the real story — no one is talking about because if they did, they’d have to kill you. But I’m telling you because I don’t give a rip anymore. SCAN went too far and now … now I’m on the run.

My code name is “Brofucious.” It’s like I’m Confucius, but I’m a brother. Get it?

Fine. Don’t laugh. But I’m Agent Brofucious, level six. Or, maybe I’m just Gary now. And this is my story.

Captain African America:

The First Avenger …

America won’t tell you about because it’s racist.

(Really racist. Like for real.)

The first time I met him, I couldn’t believe he was real.

I thought he was a myth. But there he was. Six-foot-eight. Two hundred and fifty pounds. And the most dangerous man in the world with a basketball — Captain African America, aka “LeBron James.”

“Sup,” he said.

This was when he’d just been drafted by the Cavaliers. He had a public reputation for being a monster on the court, but an overly-sensitive, giant man baby off it. But it was all a lie. Do you really think Bruce Wayne was a playboy? No. He was the gotdamn Batman, suckers. And LeBron was a superhero pretending to be an NBA future Hall-of-Famer.

It was a tough job. But he was up for it. In fact, he was built for it.

“So, you my new contact? My last handler didn’t make it, so I’m looking for a new wingman. Preferably someone who can play some D.

“I wish,” said to Captain African America. “I’m stuck on the Muppet Babies unit.”

“What’s that?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I need new wingman tho,” said Lebron. “Or at least to approved for a damn relocation. We was getting straight murdered out there last night. I mean, I’m good, but I can’t win EVERY GAME, yo. It would blow my cover.”

SCAN Rule #210: Don’t look too competent,” I recited, remembering my training. LeBron, not missing a beat, finished the popular SCAN phrase.

“… Because nobody knows, trusts or understands a competent black man,” he said shaking his head. “You know they’re telling me to wait to marry my girl because I need to look more ‘basic?'”

“Covert ops are some bullshit, man,” I said, just giddy to be near him.

“She’s the mother of my child! I didn’t have a father. I just wanna be married, man. Have a family! But … sigh, Rule #210,” he said. “I can’t wait until it’s time to release the beast, yo. I’m gonna get married. Stop going to parties. Save my money. Stand up for injustice, Democracy and freedom and shit. Fuck racism.”

“You’re more amazing than I could have imagined,” I said.

“Revolution time, brother. I’m committed.”

Feeling emboldened, I actually dared to make a suggestion to the Captain.

“You should try to recruit a wingman on your own, without SCAN. I bet you could get Dwayne Wade, shit, event Chris Bosh to be down for the cause.”

“Word, Brofucious? You think they’d approve that? I mean, that would blow up rule #210. We can’t LOOK like we know what we’re doing, yo. That would make me look self-actualized and in charge of my own destiny. Those are violations. I’m supposed to put on some Tyler Perry drag and just act like I’m happy to finally eat the big piece of the chicken, yo. Grandmama, style.”

“Not if you do it right,” I said. “I mean, if you can flip Bosh and Wade to the SCAN team, I think, you know, as long as you do it in the most self-aggrandizing, obnoxious, insulting way possible, you can get around Rule #210. Nobody will suspect anything. They’ll be too busy hating.”

Captain African America gave me a long, thoughtful look.

“You know …? But where would I go? I really love Ohio, man. It’s where I’m from. I couldn’t do it. Not to my people.”

“But what about the Black People? The ones you took a vow to protect? You love the movement more, Cap, and YOU KNOW IT,” I said, my heart swelling with revolutionary Negro pride. “Take your talents to South Beach, Captain African America. With a move that ego-filled and rude, they’ll never see it coming.”

No one in SCAN would give me credit for helping LeBron not blow his cover at a time when he was wanting to go soft and be as exceptional in public as he was in private. SCAN’s political like that. I was a lowly agent known for having long debriefings over a Playskool phone with the black babies of white celebrities. So, naturally, my supervisors took all the credit while I languished trying to convince Louis Bullock to just TRY to smile a photo. (News flash: He wouldn’t.) But for the record, and I’m sure even LeBron would back me on this, it was I, Brofucious, who convinced him to double down on seeming like a massive dick just a little bit longer in order to buy us, to buy SCAN, the time it needed.

In an organization like SCAN, people as exceptional like LeBron aren’t born. They’re made. Once a regular kid from Akron, SCAN discovered him when he was in the fourth grade. He was skinny, kind of weak, but with a heart of gold for a good ol’ game of baskets and balls. It wasn’t hard for coach and SCAN agent Frank Walker to convince his mother that he should be our recruit. Once we painted the bigger, broader picture, she was happy to hand him over to SCAN operatives Mae Jemison and Neil Degrasse Tyson for their “experiments.”

Little LeBron grew two whole feet in one year. Nobody had ever seen anything like it. The experiment went much better than expected. We’d created the ultimate weapon — on and off the court. When he’s not dunking on you fools, LeBron James is running covert missions for SCAN. He’s our muscle. Our enforcer. Our defender. He takes on the tough nuts you can’t crack and he recruits and trains people you’d think would be impossible for SCAN to control.

But at least LeBron had a choice. Sort of.

V. Stiviano on the other hand was a whole other story.

To Be Continued …

Image art: Jada Prather

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