This holiday season, we’ve all gathered our families together to reminisce about the year gone by, and wish each other well into the coming year. But some amongst us, I won’t say who, but I will pretty much infer it in the most obvious way possible in this next sentence, want us to consider Black Fridays to be more noteworthy, or important, than, say, all the Other Not-Black Fridays. Or Any kind of Fridays why does it have to always be Black I’m just saying? Or Ash Wednesdays for that matter. Is it just because it’s a Black Friday? Is that what I’m obviously alleging? Is this a rhetorical question?
Rebecca Black was quoted to say, “It’s Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday.” She didn’t find herself compelled to make any mention as to the color of the Friday, and SHE was Black. What more proof, if proof be needed, do you need, in the case you need it? None more, I should say. None. Is that racist? You’re racist for thinking that I thought that I didn’t think I was racist. That’s double reverse racism. And that’s worse than being a Nazi. Which the Nazis, being so evil, would’ve Loved. So in fact, you’re a double-reverse-racist Double-Nazi, which automatically means I am not a racist and never can be. Checkmate. And I was the white pieces. (You’re still the racist.)
Look, I started this sentence with “Look,” so you know I’m not going to wholly condescend to you like some woeful curmudgeon completely out of touch with society. I’m Not saying that all the Black Fridays SHOULDN’T matter, of course they do… Just… y’know… don’t forget about all the other Not Black Fridays. Just because those Other Fridays aren’t as glamorous, or interesting, or don’t openly propagate the popular local-news-endorsed opinion that violent and trifling Wal-Mart customers are representatives of the entire black community, doesn’t mean those Fridays don’t matter Just as much, if not Somehow More than Black Fridays, I say, a bizarre lack of self-reflection.
Now suddenly, anything that even has to do with any Friday is considered Black by association. Like the otherwise unrelated 1995 film, “Friday,” in which… Or the popular sequel.. Fuck. Look, I’m starting another sentence with “Look,” already, which tells you I’m getting more crotchety and angry at my own inadequacies and inability to form coherent thoughts, which should tell you everything else about me that you may not have picked up on already throughout this opinion article. I’m tired. Make me my tea, Cynthia. Then go to bed I don’t want to look at your bitter and disappointed face for another loveless night.