Black History Month

My college roommate is still one of my best friends, but I knew that our love was real the first February of our friendship during our freshman year. She decided that during Black History Month, (“BHM”)  that she would decide to be nice and stop making my life a daily torturous hell. On February 1st, she left a hand decorated bottle of Jergen’s Body Lotion at my door to keep my ashy skin moisturized and warm my ice cold heart. In retrospect, one would think that was totally racist, but I used that whole bottle of lotion so I guess I’m pretty grateful. She’s still kind of a bitch though.

Lisa Turtle. The head token betch in charge.

People sometimes ask me what its like to be black. Usually I respond with a blank stare and glazed over eyes because out of all the subjects I am an expert at, this is one I know nothing about. If you haven’t guessed it, I’m not that good at being black. Some call it being an oreo, but I call it just being me. So fucking what, I like the Jonas Brothers, yoga, crying over stupid shit, MTV, and not having a bunch of full grown fetuses ruining my life? So what if I like dayglow, country music, lox cream cheese, Twilight, watching JShore, and boning white dudes?  Pretty sure all anacondas feel the same in the dark so who cares if I like mine vanilla in flavor? I’m pretty sure they’re less calories than chocolate so get off me.

But really, I guess I should take a hard reflection on my life and answer the question, what is it like to be black? Well, let me debunk some myths for you. I can sunburn. I learned this shit the hard way – but 4 hours on the beach and many 3rd degree seeping burns on my body later, I realized considering my luck, I’m a prime candidate for skin cancer. I know my dad. He’s nice and rich and I like him for that. I think Tyler Perry is annoying too. Not much more needs to be said on that.

But I mean, being black overall is pretty cool. I think affirmative action has worked in my favor, I can make people uncomfortable pretty quickly by declaring things are racist (example, Friend: Hey TB, do you like vanilla or chocolate ice cream? Me: WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU ASK THAT YOU RACIST BITCH, but no I prefer strawberry, thanks), I never have to go tanning, and I’m generally the only black betch around. I like being novel. And of course, with every perk, there’s a downside. Flesh toned band-aids are never my flesh tone, getting my hair done takes forever, black dudes think I’m a stuck up bitch (true), and not liking basketball is like an offense to my race.

So what’s the moral of this story? Absolutely nothing. Like obviously BHM is for people to talk and learn about slavery, Rosa Parks, the underground railroad, Aunt Jemima, MLK, Nelson Mandela and all those bonerjams that changed history and made America a better place for all my toasted almond brethren roaming the earth. So, to celebrate the mocha chocolata in your life give this video a looksie and do everything in it…because a token black betch is only as good as the white betch she’s friends with.

Happy Black History Month!



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