MORE ABOUT THE BLACKS

(pictured above: ebony and a big mad ivory lad)

So I was chatting to a few of the blacks the other day. A really decent family of blacks that moved in downstairs. It was a great chat, lovely multiculturalism to be had. They seemed to be in a hurry off. They always do. The blacks must be a busy lot, or maybe it’s just this family. I realise that not all blacks are the same. Bob Marley for example would be a very different kind of black to Robert Mugabe, even though they share the same first name.

Well anyway, the chat was going grand and I was mentioning how much I respected Nelson Mandela, Billy Ocean, and Obama and all that. ‘Oh, you get some quality blacks and no mistake’, I said to the black family and they kind of smiled and nodded. ‘Just like yourselves’, I added, ‘there’s never any trouble out of you lot and I’m delighted, only delighted, that you’ve come to stay with us here in the building’. The father black (I didn’t catch his name, probably Robert, Bob or maybe Rob) frowned in concentration and stared at me like he was really listening to what I was saying, which was great because that meant we were really integrating. Ebony and ivory and all that. I actually sang a few bars of that to their little fella in the pram but he made strange with me and started crying a bit so I stopped. ‘He’ll settle in’, I reassured his parents.

I asked the blacks if they enjoyed the Christmas. Then I stopped myself and asked them, ‘actually do blacks have Christmas because when I was little my mam told me Santa didn’t go to the hot countries?’
The father black narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and said, ‘Santa doesn’t exist’.
I put my finger to my lips and indicated to the little fella in the pram. The father said nothing more on the matter and just opened the door and ushered his family outside.

‘Ebony and ivory eh?’, I shouted after them as they rushed off. ‘Living in perfect harmony’, I added and gave them the thumbs up. Then the father stopped and turned and he beckoned me over. So over I went and doesn’t he give me a right slap on the head.
Whack!
Jesus, well, I wasn’t sure what to make of that at all. ‘Ah now', I said rubbing my ear, ‘what was that about? Did I say something to offend you?’
‘No Mister Fugger’, said the father black, ‘but you have posted this kind of thing before and we are growing tired of the repetition on your blog. If you can’t think of anything to write maybe you just shouldn’t post at all.’
‘Yes’, piped up the mother black, ‘it’s no wonder you get a fraction of the hits Twenty Major used get’.
‘Twenty Major, now there was a blogger’, agreed the father and then they went on their way.
‘I’m calling the Immigration Control Platform!’ I roared after them angrily.
‘Call who you like’, the father black shouted back, ‘we moved here from Cork you stupid prick’.

Well, in conclusion, I have to say that I've no recollection of writing about the blacks BEFORE and it was a nasty slap that one gave me but at least I got a blog post out of it so I suppose the blacks aren’t all bad, even when they are from fuckin Cork.

I LOVE THE BLACKS!

I love the blacks. I’ve no problem with them and am not a racist in any way. I really love the blacks and it’s no trouble at all. There is no need to thank me or anything. The blacks are a great shower and I never miss an opportunity to remind them of that. Take the other day, I was going to Aldi and saw a family of the blacks passing me on the opposite side of the road. ‘G’wan the blacks!’ I roared over at them and gave them a double thumbs-up. They looked a bit puzzled to be honest and that just goes to show how rarely they are offered a kind word. Things are so bad the poor blacks are actually confused by friendliness.

I’ve always liked the blacks even before loads of them came over here. I really enjoyed it when Phil Collins teamed up with that black to sing Easy Lover. Do you remember Easy Lover? That was great. A black has moved in next to me and I always sing him a few bars of Easy Lover when I meet him in the corridor. He smiles politely and nods before rushing off to work, which is a sign he enjoys it. Smiling is the international language for enjoyment, unless it’s a gypsy or a traveller that is smiling. If a gypsy or traveller is smiling it’s the international language for ‘I am going to lull you into a false sense of security before I steal your wallet’. But that’s beside the point. Where were we? Oh yes,

She's an easy lover
She'll take your heart but you won't feel it
She's like no other
And I'm just trying to make you see

I’ve no problem with the blacks and am perfectly relaxed with the whole concept of blackness like I am with the gays. The gays are great and I don’t mind what they get up to at all. They can get married and buy houses and all that. As long as I don’t have to join in, the gays can be as disgusting as they want because that’s grand with me. It’s the same with the blacks. If the blacks want to slaughter goats in the garden for dinner that’s fine with me. As long as it isn’t my garden, they can do whatever they like with their goats and I’m sure Voodoo is a lovely religion. I have to say though, it must have been a bit difficult for Phil Collins when that black he sang Easy Lover with started cutting goat throats down the back of the tour bus. Maybe the black had his own bus. I’m sure they worked something out. Multiculturalism and all that.

I’m big into multiculturalism. That’s why I joined Residents Against Racism. That didn’t work out though. It seems I was too un-racist for them. Imagine that! I was going to the meetings and they were discussing things and occasionally I would just shout out ‘G’wan the Blacks’, just to keep our spirits up. Then, all of a sudden, they asked me to leave and never ‘darken’ their door again. Well now, ‘darken’, there’s a telling choice of words. Exactly how un-racist is Residents Against Racism? The lady doth protest too much, me thinks.

Anyway, seeing as R.A.R. didn’t want me, I decided to spend my Wednesday evenings with the local neighbourhood watch. We spent much of the time discussing the suspicious gypsy woman who sells Big Issue magazine outside the local Spar. ‘Gypsies are worse than homosexuals, they should all be air-lifted to a barren island’, said one of the Neighbourhood Watchers. Well, I was all set to defend the gays when I realised the man who made the offending remark was a black. I kept my mouth shut as I didn’t want to appear prejudiced.

To be honest, I sometimes find all this multiculturalism a bit confusing. What does one do in a situation such as the neighbourhood watch one I’ve just described? There should be a brochure on this or something. A government brochure with a league table of bigotry, one that tells you who it is more wrong to discriminate against and if two minorities fall out, which one you should side with. That would clear things up no end. Otherwise, we’ll just have to accept individuals at face value regardless of ethnicity or sexual preference and that would mean relying on our own discretion and that would very time consuming. I haven’t got time for that. I’ve work to do. There’s telly to be watched.

So, for the time being, I’ve made up my own league table. On my league table, the number one wrongest people to discriminate against are the blacks that are gay. They must get a terrible time. Near the bottom of the table are gypsies, because everyone hates them, and below them are travellers because, well, hating them is a tradition. Travellers cause awful trouble and Tommy Tiernan makes jokes about them being unhygienic so it must be OK to discriminate against travellers.

Anyway, that’s me sorted out multicultural wise for a while, until some official publication comes out or something. No flies on me eh? Unlike the travellers that is (ROFL! Nice one Tommy). ‘Gwan, the the Gay Blacks!’