Al Sharpton was outraged that the teen sought for questioning in the Boston bombing was referred to as “dark-skinned.” The use of such a term was “coded, offensive language.” It was “shameful.” It was “useless information that borders on inflammatory.”
Reverend Al is never afraid to call it as he sees it, and as usual he’s absolutely right. This fellow is not dark-skinned.
If you saw him with this other guy, the only way you could tell them apart would be by counting their microphones.
I understand how the kid feels. That kind of shit happens to cockroaches all the time. Last summer I was in the yard.
This is me. (Not my best shot, but not bad.)
I was hanging out with this guy. We’re not really friends. It’s more of a casual thing, like: “How’s it going?” “Good. You?” “Good.” “Cool.” It’s hard to be around him, he’s so ugly. Eyes like a moldy potato.
The human couple walks out the back door. The guy has a can of Raid in his hand. Always looking for something to kill. The woman looks over and says, Spray him! He says, Which one? She says, The dark one!
And without explaining anything to me, without asking me a single question, he spits out a stream of poison that just missed me. Greenie thought it was hilarious. I could hear him laughing as I ran.
It was a goddamned, useless, inflammatory descriptor, that’s what it was. I wouldn’t have minded so much if the Homo sapiens had said, Shoot the Blattella germanica!
But to call me dark? It’s just not right.