now, i'm not just some angry, belittled asian male
but bryan showed me an article written by some kid at colorado, titled If It's War the Asians Want.... at first, i dismissed it as being satirical, but bad. bad satire comes off as racism and doesn't necessarily indicate that real racial boundaries exist, but just a bad execution.
well, the more i thought about it, the more this article really started to irk me. i mean, you can't have that many logical loopholes in a satire piece, right? it's one thing to say, "hey, why aren't there any scholarships devoted to poor white people" and another thing to say "let's round up all the asians and assimilate them into my culture, which includes rock music and beer pong."
my edited "black people" version after the jump, to illustrate how racism against asians is taken more lightly than racism against other cultural groups. every word is intact, with the exception of all instances of "the Asian" replaced by "the black guy", and all "asian stereotypes" replaced by equally farcical "black stereotypes".
Since I transferred to CU last year, I've noticed some tension between the white students and the black students. There's never any outright conflict, but I notice little things. Like, blacks always seem surprised whenever I talk to them. They stare at me for a few seconds as though I must have made some mistake, and once they realize I'm intentionally speaking to them, they aren't always thrilled.
On the other hand, white people are quick to ridicule blacks. They have no problem with making demeaning remarks about their looks, mannerisms, and accents-things they would never say about Jews.
So when a black guy refuses to make eye contact with me or dismisses me with a one-word sentence, I just say to myself, "Max, blacks are not evil cyborgs. They're human, just like you. And if you were a minority student in a sea of walnut-brained business majors and skiers, you'd be crabby, too."
But last week, I had an epiphany.
After my friend and I finished working our abs at the Rec Center, we decided to head upstairs to tighten our buns on the StairMaster. As we walked down the hallway, a rubber ball bounced out of one of the racquetball courts and landed at the feet of a black guy in front of us. He picked up the ball and leaned over the railing of the court nearest to him.
"Hey, that's not ours," I heard a guy call up from the court. The black guy stared down at him for a moment, and then held the ball out to him. "That's not ours," the guy said again.
Then another voice called out from a different court, "Hey, does anyone see a ball up there?"
The black guy looked over, confused.
"I think it goes to that court," I said, pointing to the one nearest to me.
The black guy stared at me blankly for another second, and then he looked back down into the court next to him and offered them the ball again.
"That's not our ball," the guy called up.
"Excuse me," I said. The black guy whipped his head around and scowled at me. "I think it goes to that court."
He paused a few seconds, and then he said, in a perfect American accent, "Okay," and tossed the ball into the court next to me.
That's when it hit me.
The black guy was so jaded by his experiences with the whitebread, brainless tree sloths of CU that even though three people had explained to him that he was trying to return the ball to the wrong court, it was inconceivable to him that we might be right.
And when he looked into my eyes, it wasn't just irritation and disgust that I saw-it was hate. Pure hate.
I'm such a fool for not realizing it sooner. I can't tell you how many times black people have treated me like a retarded weasel and I've forgiven them. But now I know that black people are not just "a product of their environment," and their rudeness is not a "cultural misunderstanding."
They hate us all.
And I say it's time we started hating them back. That's right-no more "tolerance." No more "cultural sensitivity." No more "Mr. Pretend-I'm-Not-Racist."
It's time for war.
But we won't attack their bodies or minds. We will attack their souls.
The first step, or "Phase 1," is to find them all. Anyone who is interested in signing up to volunteer can do so by e-mailing me. Next Sunday at noon, we will all meet at Farrand Field. Each volunteer will be issued an extra-large butterfly net.
The hunt will then begin.
When I blow my whistle, we will scatter in every direction and catch as many blacks as possible. Make sure to pay special attention to the Rec Center, the UMC, the Afrikaana buildings and Popeyes. If you're not sure if someone is black, give them a basketball and point them to a nearby court. If they can do a lay-up, net 'em.
Captured blacks will be dragged to my apartment on the Hill and hog-tied. Once they're all secured in my living room, "Phase 2" will come into effect.
The blacks' reformation will begin with a 100-round beer pong tournament. They will listen to "It's a Small World" on repeat while they play.
When the tournament is finished, the blacks will then be forced to eat bad soul food. When all the cornbread is gone, they will be permitted to sleep for four hours, but the entire time I will shout through a megaphone, over and over, "Why did you trade Shaq?!"
In the morning, the blacks will arrange themselves in rows, if they haven't naturally done so already. I will stand in front of them and hold up a card with the name of an emotion on it such as, "sad," or "surprised." The blacks must then make a facial expression to match the word on the card. Any black who remains deadpan or makes the wrong face will be tickled until they pee. When all blacks make the correct face at the same time, the game will end, but then they will be yelled at for being servile.
The blacks will then be allowed to smoke weed. However, the weed will be fake, so that the blacks will not get high, regardless of how often they smoke.
Any black person who tries to escape will be butterfly-netted and sent back to my apartment for another "Phase 2." Anyone caught speaking any language other than English will be kissed on the lips.
Once the Black Spirit has been broken, "Phase 3" will begin. Before we let the blacks go, we will go to their homes and redecorate them in a traditional American style. We will replace their deep fryers with Crock Pots, their grape Kool-Aid with fried Snickers bars, and their Cadillacs with Tauruses. With no window tint.
When "Phase 3" is complete, the blacks will be released.
Now, I understand that this plan may upset some of you Black readers, but the only other way to make peace would be to expel you. If you're smart, you'll turn yourselves in now, and it will all be over in a few days.
Besides, look on the bright side-we're not going to put you through anything we haven't put ourselves through, and we all turned out fine.
well, the more i thought about it, the more this article really started to irk me. i mean, you can't have that many logical loopholes in a satire piece, right? it's one thing to say, "hey, why aren't there any scholarships devoted to poor white people" and another thing to say "let's round up all the asians and assimilate them into my culture, which includes rock music and beer pong."
my edited "black people" version after the jump, to illustrate how racism against asians is taken more lightly than racism against other cultural groups. every word is intact, with the exception of all instances of "the Asian" replaced by "the black guy", and all "asian stereotypes" replaced by equally farcical "black stereotypes".
Since I transferred to CU last year, I've noticed some tension between the white students and the black students. There's never any outright conflict, but I notice little things. Like, blacks always seem surprised whenever I talk to them. They stare at me for a few seconds as though I must have made some mistake, and once they realize I'm intentionally speaking to them, they aren't always thrilled.
On the other hand, white people are quick to ridicule blacks. They have no problem with making demeaning remarks about their looks, mannerisms, and accents-things they would never say about Jews.
So when a black guy refuses to make eye contact with me or dismisses me with a one-word sentence, I just say to myself, "Max, blacks are not evil cyborgs. They're human, just like you. And if you were a minority student in a sea of walnut-brained business majors and skiers, you'd be crabby, too."
But last week, I had an epiphany.
After my friend and I finished working our abs at the Rec Center, we decided to head upstairs to tighten our buns on the StairMaster. As we walked down the hallway, a rubber ball bounced out of one of the racquetball courts and landed at the feet of a black guy in front of us. He picked up the ball and leaned over the railing of the court nearest to him.
"Hey, that's not ours," I heard a guy call up from the court. The black guy stared down at him for a moment, and then held the ball out to him. "That's not ours," the guy said again.
Then another voice called out from a different court, "Hey, does anyone see a ball up there?"
The black guy looked over, confused.
"I think it goes to that court," I said, pointing to the one nearest to me.
The black guy stared at me blankly for another second, and then he looked back down into the court next to him and offered them the ball again.
"That's not our ball," the guy called up.
"Excuse me," I said. The black guy whipped his head around and scowled at me. "I think it goes to that court."
He paused a few seconds, and then he said, in a perfect American accent, "Okay," and tossed the ball into the court next to me.
That's when it hit me.
The black guy was so jaded by his experiences with the whitebread, brainless tree sloths of CU that even though three people had explained to him that he was trying to return the ball to the wrong court, it was inconceivable to him that we might be right.
And when he looked into my eyes, it wasn't just irritation and disgust that I saw-it was hate. Pure hate.
I'm such a fool for not realizing it sooner. I can't tell you how many times black people have treated me like a retarded weasel and I've forgiven them. But now I know that black people are not just "a product of their environment," and their rudeness is not a "cultural misunderstanding."
They hate us all.
And I say it's time we started hating them back. That's right-no more "tolerance." No more "cultural sensitivity." No more "Mr. Pretend-I'm-Not-Racist."
It's time for war.
But we won't attack their bodies or minds. We will attack their souls.
The first step, or "Phase 1," is to find them all. Anyone who is interested in signing up to volunteer can do so by e-mailing me. Next Sunday at noon, we will all meet at Farrand Field. Each volunteer will be issued an extra-large butterfly net.
The hunt will then begin.
When I blow my whistle, we will scatter in every direction and catch as many blacks as possible. Make sure to pay special attention to the Rec Center, the UMC, the Afrikaana buildings and Popeyes. If you're not sure if someone is black, give them a basketball and point them to a nearby court. If they can do a lay-up, net 'em.
Captured blacks will be dragged to my apartment on the Hill and hog-tied. Once they're all secured in my living room, "Phase 2" will come into effect.
The blacks' reformation will begin with a 100-round beer pong tournament. They will listen to "It's a Small World" on repeat while they play.
When the tournament is finished, the blacks will then be forced to eat bad soul food. When all the cornbread is gone, they will be permitted to sleep for four hours, but the entire time I will shout through a megaphone, over and over, "Why did you trade Shaq?!"
In the morning, the blacks will arrange themselves in rows, if they haven't naturally done so already. I will stand in front of them and hold up a card with the name of an emotion on it such as, "sad," or "surprised." The blacks must then make a facial expression to match the word on the card. Any black who remains deadpan or makes the wrong face will be tickled until they pee. When all blacks make the correct face at the same time, the game will end, but then they will be yelled at for being servile.
The blacks will then be allowed to smoke weed. However, the weed will be fake, so that the blacks will not get high, regardless of how often they smoke.
Any black person who tries to escape will be butterfly-netted and sent back to my apartment for another "Phase 2." Anyone caught speaking any language other than English will be kissed on the lips.
Once the Black Spirit has been broken, "Phase 3" will begin. Before we let the blacks go, we will go to their homes and redecorate them in a traditional American style. We will replace their deep fryers with Crock Pots, their grape Kool-Aid with fried Snickers bars, and their Cadillacs with Tauruses. With no window tint.
When "Phase 3" is complete, the blacks will be released.
Now, I understand that this plan may upset some of you Black readers, but the only other way to make peace would be to expel you. If you're smart, you'll turn yourselves in now, and it will all be over in a few days.
Besides, look on the bright side-we're not going to put you through anything we haven't put ourselves through, and we all turned out fine.