3 days ago. Halloween.
There’s a knock at the door and then, suddenly, the doorbell is being pressed repeatedly. It was getting late for trick ‘r treaters, but perhaps there was an emergency and someone needed help. I opened the door and was greeted by a sight I’d been hoping to avoid: a groidle of negroes.
There were 6 of them. NONE of them were from my neighborhood (we don’t have any). These ones were clearly brought in from somewhere else which is a common strategy because negro hoods don’t hand out candy. These niglets were wearing the worst costumes I had ever seen. One wore an old ratty NFL knit hat and just regular clothes. I suspect if he rolled down the brim of the hat it would’ve had 2 eyeholes cut into it so that his imprisoned baby daddy could see what he was doing whilst knocking off the liquor store last week.
The other niglets appeared to be wearing pieces of plastic and cheap cardboard that they no doubt stole from the dollar store. Haven’t a clue as to what they were supposed to be. But there were 2 adult negroes in the mix. One, a glassy eyed male who reeked of the Evil Weed, was about 5’4” and stood there grinning and swaying - it never spoke a word. But it did have a costume on….his mustache and hair had been painted by what looked like white shoe polish. He had dumped the contents of sugary pixie sticks on his head to add some sparkle.
And then there was the baby mama. It was a big fat black mammy with bulging eyes that were disturbingly akimbo - one was looking at me and the other was staring at the moon as if it was a delicious bucket of KFC. It was swaddled in one of those old down jackets - rust coloured - that she likely got from the Salvation Army and it was so tight it highlighted each of her considerable fat rolls. She did speak…in negro monkey babble. I couldn’t figure out what it was saying and I had no impulse to get a clarification.
But unbeknownst to these shadowy creatures, I was prepared for their unceremonious arrival. Last year there had been TWO different groidles of negroes that darkened my Halloween doorstep. The way they had attacked my innocent candy tray with such feral ferocity had left me shaken and questioning my commitment to ever again celebrate the eve of All Saints’ Day.
But I adapted. I realized that the candy I had on offer last year was too good for the niglets and it triggered a primordial reaction within their tiny stone age brains. This year, I searched for more appropriate fare for the uncultured beasts and I found it. I dove deep into cupboards, I scoured shelves, I searched the depths of the refrigerator and freezer. Instead of Snickers bars, they would get mini packs of very stale oyster crackers (6 years old). Instead of Skittles, they would get small and old and dry boxes of raisins (2.5 years old). Instead of Peanut Butter Cups, they would get very dry and hard off-brand Nutter Butter style cookies (3 years old). And instead of Haribo gummy bears, they would receive small and well aged packs of dehydrated cranberries (4 years old).
I combined those wonderful ‘treats’ into a number of mini plastic sandwich bags. I then placed them on an old rusty hubcap I borrowed from a neighbor (white and asian kids would be served quality treats from a cool skull tray). Then I waited.
So when the niglets invaded my porch a few nights ago, I was indeed initially taken aback and not happy. But as the saying goes, “Proper preparation prevents poor performance.” I quickly recovered, grabbed the hubcap, and offered the malignant souls in front of me the one-of-a-kind delights that they deserved. Suddenly, the chimp babble stopped and a curious murmuring began…”Wat dis?”…”Dat don looks like candee”…”Ware da chokleet bars?”…”Ware be da skeetuls?”…”Aint ya gots sum nerds or sumtin’?”…and the best of all, “Mama, I don like dis sheeit!” as the niglet actually began to tear up.
I just looked at big fat black Mama, shrugged my shoulders, and said “Times are tough. Everything is so expensive. We do the best we can.” The dusky elephantine beast shifted her gigantic girth from side to side as its low 2-digit IQ kicked into gear and it finally realized that my house would not provide the calories it was looking for. She waddled off the porch with the niglets in tow and I could hear their cries of displeasure “Wat da fuck wuz dat?”…”I ain’t see nuffin like dat!”…”Who gon surve crackers and sheeit on da holloweens?”…”Sheeit, dat sum bullshit right dere!!”
And guess what? Despite their complaints, the niglets had grabbed almost all of the special treats off of the hubcap. Why? Because negroes just love free stuff. Their lives are filled with receiving things that they never earned. To them, getting free stuff is their birthright.
There’s a knock at the door and then, suddenly, the doorbell is being pressed repeatedly. It was getting late for trick ‘r treaters, but perhaps there was an emergency and someone needed help. I opened the door and was greeted by a sight I’d been hoping to avoid: a groidle of negroes.
There were 6 of them. NONE of them were from my neighborhood (we don’t have any). These ones were clearly brought in from somewhere else which is a common strategy because negro hoods don’t hand out candy. These niglets were wearing the worst costumes I had ever seen. One wore an old ratty NFL knit hat and just regular clothes. I suspect if he rolled down the brim of the hat it would’ve had 2 eyeholes cut into it so that his imprisoned baby daddy could see what he was doing whilst knocking off the liquor store last week.
The other niglets appeared to be wearing pieces of plastic and cheap cardboard that they no doubt stole from the dollar store. Haven’t a clue as to what they were supposed to be. But there were 2 adult negroes in the mix. One, a glassy eyed male who reeked of the Evil Weed, was about 5’4” and stood there grinning and swaying - it never spoke a word. But it did have a costume on….his mustache and hair had been painted by what looked like white shoe polish. He had dumped the contents of sugary pixie sticks on his head to add some sparkle.
And then there was the baby mama. It was a big fat black mammy with bulging eyes that were disturbingly akimbo - one was looking at me and the other was staring at the moon as if it was a delicious bucket of KFC. It was swaddled in one of those old down jackets - rust coloured - that she likely got from the Salvation Army and it was so tight it highlighted each of her considerable fat rolls. She did speak…in negro monkey babble. I couldn’t figure out what it was saying and I had no impulse to get a clarification.
But unbeknownst to these shadowy creatures, I was prepared for their unceremonious arrival. Last year there had been TWO different groidles of negroes that darkened my Halloween doorstep. The way they had attacked my innocent candy tray with such feral ferocity had left me shaken and questioning my commitment to ever again celebrate the eve of All Saints’ Day.
But I adapted. I realized that the candy I had on offer last year was too good for the niglets and it triggered a primordial reaction within their tiny stone age brains. This year, I searched for more appropriate fare for the uncultured beasts and I found it. I dove deep into cupboards, I scoured shelves, I searched the depths of the refrigerator and freezer. Instead of Snickers bars, they would get mini packs of very stale oyster crackers (6 years old). Instead of Skittles, they would get small and old and dry boxes of raisins (2.5 years old). Instead of Peanut Butter Cups, they would get very dry and hard off-brand Nutter Butter style cookies (3 years old). And instead of Haribo gummy bears, they would receive small and well aged packs of dehydrated cranberries (4 years old).
I combined those wonderful ‘treats’ into a number of mini plastic sandwich bags. I then placed them on an old rusty hubcap I borrowed from a neighbor (white and asian kids would be served quality treats from a cool skull tray). Then I waited.
So when the niglets invaded my porch a few nights ago, I was indeed initially taken aback and not happy. But as the saying goes, “Proper preparation prevents poor performance.” I quickly recovered, grabbed the hubcap, and offered the malignant souls in front of me the one-of-a-kind delights that they deserved. Suddenly, the chimp babble stopped and a curious murmuring began…”Wat dis?”…”Dat don looks like candee”…”Ware da chokleet bars?”…”Ware be da skeetuls?”…”Aint ya gots sum nerds or sumtin’?”…and the best of all, “Mama, I don like dis sheeit!” as the niglet actually began to tear up.
I just looked at big fat black Mama, shrugged my shoulders, and said “Times are tough. Everything is so expensive. We do the best we can.” The dusky elephantine beast shifted her gigantic girth from side to side as its low 2-digit IQ kicked into gear and it finally realized that my house would not provide the calories it was looking for. She waddled off the porch with the niglets in tow and I could hear their cries of displeasure “Wat da fuck wuz dat?”…”I ain’t see nuffin like dat!”…”Who gon surve crackers and sheeit on da holloweens?”…”Sheeit, dat sum bullshit right dere!!”
And guess what? Despite their complaints, the niglets had grabbed almost all of the special treats off of the hubcap. Why? Because negroes just love free stuff. Their lives are filled with receiving things that they never earned. To them, getting free stuff is their birthright.
