Over the weekend, I received a quite kind email from a man named “Jake” with a series of screenshots from articles I’ve written about white people attached to it. The subject of the email read “Your a Confirmed Black Racist.” I was immediately compelled to thank Jake for gathering so much of my work in one place—he practically made me a personal clipbook—but decided against it and brushed my teeth instead.
I have always wanted to be a confirmed black racist. I’ve attempted, for at least the last decade—and possibly the last 39 years—to speak and act this status into existence, and I’m honored and humbled that my efforts have finally been recognized (by Jake). That in mind, I know some of you all are sitting somewhere reading this and wondering “Damon, what are the 10 best things about being a confirmed black racist, because I’m considering trying to be one myself?” I have the answers.
1. If I’m a confirmed black racist, this means I’m a) black and b) racist, which are two things it was impossible to be at the same time.
I remember, as a kid, thinking that no one could possibly drink an entire Hennessy fifth in one sitting. And then Xzibit came out and said “well actually, I can drink a whole Hennessy fifth” and proved the world wrong.
My point is that being the first do to a thing no one thought could be done is fucking awesome.
Perhaps it’s fear. Perhaps it’s guilt. Perhaps it’s sheer awe. I don’t know. What I do know is that since I’m a known and confirmed black racist, when white people see me coming, they tend to say things like “Here comes that confirmed black racist. Maybe I should buy him some couscous.” And then, boom! Free couscous. It’s a fucking couscous party. I have to rent a storage bin just to hold all my damn couscous.
This may not seem like an important distinction, but once confirmed, you don’t want people going around thinking you’re still a fucking student. Nah, bitch. I got racist confirmation receipts.
It brings tears to my eyes and chills to my spine just thinking about the thousands of young people out there, all aspiring to be confirmed black racists, spitting in white people’s frappuccinos and living their best, young, racist lives.
It got a nigga verklempt.
Perhaps the most underrated perk of this confirmed black racist thing is the speaking engagement side hustle. When CNN maybe needs a confirmed black racist to speak for five minutes about gravitational time dilation or the racial politics of Domino sugar, they hit me up. And then boom, more visibility, more engagements and more cash to buy water guns to squirt Frank’s Hot Sauce at white joggers.
I didn’t even know this until I went to New Orleans last week. Who said confirmed black racism didn’t come with valuable perks?
Before I became a confirmed black racist, if white people crossed the street to avoid me, I took it as an insult. How dare they assume I’m going to mug or just mean-mug them? But now, they do it out of respect and fear. But not fear that I’ll rob them, but fear that I’ll screenshot one of their tweets.
Even if not interested in being a confirmed black racist, if you ever want to be a more efficient racist, I suggest you enroll in these courses as well. They just really help streamline your hate for whites.
When you become a confirmed black racist, you also automatically become the cousin to literally every black person in America. (I thought I already was that, actually, but apparently I wasn’t.) And with that status comes cookout privileges in perpetuity.
Of course, if you’re a person who enjoys this sort of thing, never having to engage in droning and inane small talk again might make you sad. But if you’re tired of random, white people asking you about yield signs and yoga moves, being a confirmed black racist is that deal. The things they’ll say to you now are “I’m sorry ... for everything.” and “What’s your PayPal address?”