Racist Prude Fearing For Sanity.

As the very enlightening title of this post suggests, I am a racist prude fearing for my sanity.

I wasn't a racist. No sir, I was a people loving child, believing Martin Luther King's speeches and flower power and peace and all that crap. I even dismissed all the bad quality rap/hip hop ( and believe you me, it's hard to dissmiss) as freedom of expression. So what if someone wants to express themselves using half naked oily women with overly large rear ends? To each his own, i thought. Innocently unaware of the looming horrors awaiting my virgin mind and eyes. But no. Not anymore, not after THIS. I am no longer ignorant. Or innocent. I thank this book for being such an eye opener.

And how, you wonder, did it open my previously shut eyes?

I will be more than delighted to put the curious cat to rest.

You see, I am by nature a curious person. It's genetic, and I am not to blame. I also tend to be rather silly, and think of the world in terms of rose tinted shades. Everything is pink and pretty, and storks deliver babies. Of course, I was subjected, or at least introduced to the theoretical explanations of life's great truth(s), i.e sex. But I am the type who insists on leading a delusional existence. Happy Child with a Happy Bubble.

Ok, fine. Who the hell am I kidding? There's enough evidence on my blog to point out that I am hardly living off Barney and Teletubby reruns. Regardless.

The point of this post is, you should NOT, (And i reiterate, NOT) pick up a book without reading what is on the back cover. It doesn't matter if you're in a hurry. Because, if you make the grave mistake I did, you will pay for it, and quite dearly too.


There I was, oblivious to the horrors this book contained, all happy happy, thinking I was picking up some parody of Desperate Housewives to read. ( And yes, I love that show), everything on the cover pointed out to it being an amusing tale of DHW in a black world. Even the writers' names sounded funny. I mean, who on God's green earth would willingly inflict upon their poor children names like Meesha Mink and De'neesha Diamond. MM and DD? No, seriously. MM AND DD? I thought it was amusing, I was certain it was deliberate.

Anyhow, last night ( at the ungodly hour of 3 am), I opened this book. All went well, for the first 2 pages. And then it began. Began, and scarred me for life. I will never be the same person.

It. Was. Not. The. Parody. I. Thought. It. Would. Be.

It was some skanky ghetto trash about ghetto yo mammas whoring around and "gettin' wit" any and every black guy with a "massive blue black cock". No, I kid you not. Those were the exact words in the book. So much for subtlety. So much for good, clean literature. So much for amusement (my idea of amusement not being descriptions of black men having the ability to make their penises jump in their pants). And to put the cherry on the sundae ( which I'm sure is not even an expression), I have been blessed with an over active imagination. And over active imagination is all cool. Nothing wrong with it. Quite peachy, very pleasant.

When you're reading Harry Potter.

So I read about 20 pages of this book. It was like reading a behind-the-scenes-making of one of the aforementioned videos with oily, half naked women and weird, ugly black men. And of course, their "baby daddies". How could I forget. I do not wish to think about black people getting it on. Please excuse the rudeness, I generally do not wish to think about any people getting it on, but black people...oh my dear Lord.

I do not blame Oprah and Condi for trying to be like them white people. I APPLAUD the effort.

Needless to say, I did not read further. I did not wish to inflict further damage upon my dainty mind. I did not, and have no intention whatsoever, to finish this piece of trash which has been called (oh,the audacity of it!) a book. This atrocity. A book. It is NOT a book. It will NEVER be a book. It is a product of the extremely warped thought processes belonging to MM and DD.

I was very tempted to tear it up, and flush individual pieces down the toilet. I could have told the library people I did them a favour. But no, one must think with one's head. Had I flushed it down the toilet, this rubbish might have clogged the poor toilet. And no toilet deserves a fate as horrible as that. And I would have had to pay the library 600 rupees. 600 Rupees of my own hard earned money.

No. Frikkin. Way.

So here I am. Warning everyone.

Racism is fun.

Yeah.

You know what I did instead? I picked up another book. This one. Written by a WHITE woman.
You read? WHITE. *waves book around*

And it's NICE. It is a delightful collection of short stories, beautifully written with plenty of wit, humour, and randomness.

And life, once again, started moving. The birds chirped, the breeze blew, yada yada yada. The works.
And thank God for that.

Thank YOU Miss Kate Atkinson. I am forever indebted to you.

Ok y'all. Show's over.