Wednesday, August 28, 2013

I Had A Dream, Too

As an urban warrior straight outta Compton, one who just happens to be gay, it was an honor to be invited to speak on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington D.C. on the 50th anniversary of Doctor Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I Have A Dream" speech.
If you missed it, here it is:

     Ladies and gentlemen, my fellow Americans, the King Family, Michael Richards, President Carter, President Clinton, President Bu..
     Wait a minute, where's President Bush?
     He wasn't invited?
     Why not?
     Because he's a Republican?
     Aw, man, that's messed up. And I wanted to collect that five dollars he owes me, too.
     What's that?
     What about President Obama?
     Man, you don't even know what time it is. Of course I was going to mention President Obama. I was going in order, muthafatha.
     Shoot, now you made me lose my place.
     ...President Obama, the lovely Michelle. How you doin' baby? We'll go out for some ribs later.
     I... had a dream, too. And in that dream I was taking a nap. Yeah, that was a good dream. Not as good as the dream Doctor King had, but it left me well rested.
     Who knew, my brothers and sisters, that fifty years after Doctor King gave that famous speech we'd be worse off than we were before. More of us are unemployed. More of us are on welfare. More of us are born out of wedlock. More of us have our fathers walk out on us. Uh, sorry Barry. There is more black on black crime. More young black men killing other young black men.
     We've been voting Democrat going on fifty years now, and what has it gotten us? Food stamps? Abortions on demand? Government cheese? Shoot, when George Bush turns out to be the president who's appointed more black men and women to various positions in his administration and in the government, you know something's wrong.
     Did anybody here see The Butler? Shoot, the only difference between him and the slaves of the old south is he got paid.
     I'm sure you remember the season where Top Chef went to Washington D.C. The one where they had that fancy-dancy dinner with Leon Panetta as the guest of honor. Shoot, Leon didn't even acknowledge the black men who were serving him. You can't even give the black man a proper thank you, can you, you cracker-ass ass cracker? I guess not with your white Top Chef friends there, eh, Leon?
     Can I get an amen?
     It reminds me of something another civil rights legend, Rodney King, once said: "Ow! That hurts!"
     It does hurt, Leon. It does hurt. And I can't help but notice you didn't make it here today.
     But the hurt I feel seeing my brothers and sisters in servitude to Washington D.C. politicians, is nothing compared to the hurt I felt on that horrible day when Doctor King was felled by an assassin's bullet. I was blessed to be the one to be there to cradle him in my arms and comfort him as he lay dying.
     I remember yelling out for someone to call an ambulance when Jesse Jackson came up and roughly pushed me out of the way.
     "This is my photo op, hunkamunka!" he spat at me.
     It wasn't until later that I discovered my wallet was missing.
     That's as true a story as I could make up.
     What do you mean get off the stage?

American Chimpanzee

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