Comfortable and Furious

Black History Month Special: How you duuurrrn!– a black man in a dress is not the bellwether of conspiracy…unless it is.

Publicity still from Wypipo Tryna Roto-rooter Mama’s Back-do’ on the Down-low: Madea’s Colonoscopy scheduled for release Summer ’25.

Okay, so Hollywood is choked with faegelen who creepily ogle black men like they would a turquoise broach once worn by Bette Davis. Okay, so what if Hollywood is run by Jews whose reputation for a) a willful disdain of gender roles b) toxic resentment of all those who more typically represent the masculine skill set c) having a high, as previously mentioned, ‘faegelen quotient’ and d) possessing an almost Napoleonic need to humiliate and debase those who intimidate them.

Moving on, Hollywood writers are the ‘otherwise unemployable’ adult mediocrities whose lives are a desperate game of ‘dodge the repo man’ and whose hopes of seeing their name written on that screen are as distant as their dreams of snagging a solid-nine who falls in love with their inner poet. They are lazy, they are dumb, they are besotted with themselves in a narcissistic denial of the fact that no one is besotted with them at all.

All these things are easily said, and some are beyond rebuttal—BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN A BLACK DUDE IN A DRESS ISN’T FUNNY.

And the reason why it’s funny is the most punk reason possible—because it is, according to the klaxxon in our souls—weird. Juxtaposition, said Chaplin, was the key to comedy: big guy, tiny hat; tiny guy, big hat; 90-year-old, black toupee; muscle-man, plays the piccolo; toddler with a moustache—get the point? A Black man in a dress, hell, any man in a dress, pings our algorithm, it registers as wildly out-of-form and causes a laugh, almost by instinct.

Yes, Dave Chapelle, it is hackneyed, yes, Chris Rock, it does seem suspicious that at some point a black actor will go to his trailer and –like muthafuqn clockwork!– a purple prom dress with cap-sleeves is just waitin’ there, like it was invited—yes! Yes, Mos Def, the Jews seem especially keen on making black men effeminate, and sure, Kat Williams, there does seem to be a disproportionate number of ‘man-rape’ scenarios when it comes to black comedians. BUT A BLACK GUY IN A DRESS IS STILL FUNNY!

Let’s take all your suspicions as writ: a cabal of cock-sucking Hebrews conspire to use their gatekeeper’s power to feminize and humiliate a specific group of men that they not only want to have sexual relations with but then aggrandize themselves in comparison to the men they sexualized (that seeming contradiction, in German, is called Qveer-machen-aber-shtup-laffen—…[pause] those Germans, man, [chews lip], you ever get the feeling they’re a little too observant? Is it me?) in a vast multi-decade pan-cultural campaign to invent social leverage that didn’t exist before. Take it, it’s yours, you got it.


Firstly, I don’t doubt there is a secret society of goo-gobblers who actively antagonize gender norms. I know they exist. Queers, in general, are contrarians by virtue of the mere spiritual carnage they endured becoming queer, they used to be called, euphemistically, ‘tortured souls’, but that isn’t torture brought on by society, as the rainbow-flag-fascists would force you to believe, nor, in some cases, is it necessarily a 24-hour demonic dick-taunt, like the Church suggests, wherein the thoughts and emotions are created for you and delivered inwardly by third-party actors.

The truth lies in the middle: social isolation and loss of fraternity can make one resentful, and a cloud of gay imagery and provocation circling your head from childhood could easily be classified as mental violence, this may result in a corrosion of virtue, a lack of empathy and hatred for the unafflicted—but being bracketed by vindictive destroyers of social normalcy doesn’t change the fact that A BLACK GUY IN A DRESS IS STILL FUNNY!

As far as I can analyze, two things are at work in this complaint 1) three generations of black men have grown up fatherless, leading to a general feeling of ‘unmanliness’–what? You don’t think those things conflate? Ask Tupac Shakur, who charged that his early gloats of violence and law breaking were a coping mechanism for the common black male reality of ‘endemic unmanliness’ which, he said, develops as a result of being raised by women, then add to that 2) the black historical narrative is one of getting horse-whipped for eye-ballin’ Miss Maybelle all ‘familiar-like’, and forcibly inhaling hose water after windmilling away from the jaws of a German shepherd.

Not the manliest of origin stories. So, inside they feel fey and outside they don’t enjoy the face-saving crutch of having told whitey to stick it, in any significant way.

How would you react when that same whitey, who actually remembers playing catch with his father, presents you with pink hot pants and ballerina shoes? [sound of tires screeching to a halt]

Author has stunning realization that counteracts his whole argument, he leaves keyboard to think, he returns to keyboard with sandwich] Chapelle, Rock, Williams all had fathers and pretty stable fathers, at that—of course Katt’s dad was a religious tyrant who kicked the shit out of him on the suspicion he had sex with his cousin.

Katt claimed he was still a virgin and this unjustified beatdown caused him to run away to Florida never to speak to him again—but that’s still a father. Could it just be the Black American meta-narrative? Is that enough? I never saw Roots, is there something in Roots…?

Okay. Whatever. There is a definite hypersensitivity going on in black men as it pertains to their image. Yet, and there’s no denying it, A BLACK MAN IN A DRESS IS STILL FUNNY.

So, then, Bart, you’re saying a black man in a dress is always funny.

The hell I am. It’s plenty unfunny when it’s actually done for the dark-meat-daydream/ ‘delegitimize other ding-dongs’ motivation, as was done here:

“Too Wrong Crew. One went to jail, one lost everything in a divorce and the third is dead–I hated to do it, but Pat Swayze was a hero of mine.”

The criminal fetishization of black men by white (read: Jewish) queers (Us Pale Chads are totally separating ourselves from this one, brutha—we’re just over here tryin’ to bang Asian ladies and figure out Bitcoin) is the Number Two topic of conversation amongst black actors, the Number One topic is how to navigate this Me.

Too shit with a medicine cabinet full of Rohypnol (Disclaimer: I’m not saying that it was black men who did all the ‘Weinstein-ing’, also my comments about Jews or blacks or black hypersensitivity, or the gatekeeping cabal of Jewish ‘Ass Pirates’ or ‘Blowers of the Skin-Shofar’ or the givers of a ‘Corn-shoot Shalom’ or any other crude notion should be taken in the spirit in which they were written:…

As a libelous, unflattering comparison between them and us, my people, the White Male Vaguely-Protestant Anglo-Saxon Heterosexual whom, we can all agree, are spotless in the eye of history, weightless of personal sin and undeserving of all reproach for all time, by all peoples. Thank you.)


I have a friend who’s an actor, he tells me men have to dodge a gauntlet of dicks just as much as women, given this reality I can understand why, coming from where they do, the family situation that (may or may not) aggravate it, the historical perspective that offers no example other than being bitch-made in front of the world, that there’s a reason certain dots make certain connections when certain prom dresses appear alongside certain pairs of certainly fashionable size-16 pumps. I get it.

But a black guy, in a dress, is certainly still funny.

And that’s where your problem is Dave, Kat, Chris. At some point, you have to settle on the idea that your profession has certain un-excisable features to which you must (minimally)adapt. I’m not talking about sucking anybody’s dick–some Jew offers you a foot-long you send him home with a pig-in-a-blanket—I’m talking about the fact that a black guy in a dress is still funny, and those things that are still funny IS YOUR JOB. Doctors don’t like to stick their fingers in the anus of corpses, but they do it, because it’s their job. I still don’t know why any man goes into gynecology, my enthusiasm for that part of a woman’s anatomy comes from the fact that I don’t know, nor care to know, what goes on in it when I’m not around. The loss of that excitement would be paradigm-shifting, life would be New Coke everywhere I looked. But men do it, because the job requires it and they recognize it’s important to do the work right.

White men don’t have the hang up, but get asked as much to don a flirty spagehtti-strap as do black guys, and they do it because it’s funny. So, this leads us to the inevitable question, is everything that’s funny, desirable to do.

Sasha Baron Cohen answered this question. The answer is: almost.

Shitting in a bag and offering it to your dinner host is painfully funny. The joke is king, the joke is God. The joke is why ice cream falls and children sob. The ‘ big joke’. The ‘cosmic source joke’ from which all smaller jokes descend. A comedian’s job is as cartographer, mapping out the borders of this undiscovered country. In its baseness the job is noble. In its crudity it is refined. In its abstraction it becomes as linear and perfect as a crystal lattice. So, do the joke, wear the dress, but wear it, if and only if, there’s no better joke.

Get the biggest laugh, that is what’s desirable to do—heavy cringe is not a laugh, so getting ass-pounded in the bathroom during a Christmas party when you’re a 5’3” pimp dressed like leprechaun on mescaline is not, Katt Williams proved, the biggest laugh he could get when he rewrote that scene. It was indeed better for him to finish the movie holding a pair of locking pliers on the scrotum of Terry Crews as he pipes orders in preparation for his escape–

But if it is the biggest laugh, and you’ll know when that is, wear the dress, there’s no shame and even manly praise in it. Because, amongst the unchanging and timeless truths we seek out daily, one is an obvious and undeniable pillar of our collective character:









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