“teach me how to dougie,” or, my upwardly mobile very important black person thoughts on what’s bringing down the black community….cause something’s always bringing down the black community.

An upwardly mobile black person has but few responsibilities in this world.

This declarative, of course, necessarily excludes those obligations that make possible the continued existence of afore-referenced upward mobility—i.e. fiscal accountability, willingness to stay on the right side of the law, pro-activity in educational advancement—you get the point.

Outside of these things, however, our requirements are relatively clear-cut. Simple, even.

We are implicitly duty-bound by our Community to affect the following:

-have good, wholesome, upwardly mobile black families, and produce similarly good, wholesome, potentially upwardly mobile little black babies (for the sake of efficiency, you may abbreviate “upwardly mobile little black babies” to “Barack Obamas”);

-remain gainfully employed by jobs that our mothers and grandmothers can boast about, under the guise of giving a “testimony” at 10:15 service;

-and publicly behave in such a manner that facilitates a peaceful and calm environment for Whites, that they might be assured of our comparable intellect and therefore be compelled to eradicate all traces of Flavor Flav, O.J. Simpson, and any other negative-stereotype affirming members of our population from their  collective consciousness (even though they ultimately won’t).

There is, however, one remaining tenet of black upward mobility that supercedes all of the foregoing;  among the chieftains of superblackdom, it is, indeed, the single most practiced and perfected tenet:

At least once a month, at either a casual or formal convening of similarly situated superblacks, the upwardly mobile black must espouse his/her thoughts on what factors are contributing to the demise/devastation/downfall of the black community.


You ain’t SHIT in the superblack world unless you have a readily accessible, and comprehensive opinion  about what’s ruining the black community—the community you dominate on the regular on account of your awesomely awesome upward mobility.

Now, this opinion doesn’t have to be housed in a particularly relevant or accurate body of facts. Whatever one reads in “Sister 2 Sister” whilst patiently awaiting the Red Line will do.

In past, many superblacks have relied on the tried and true villains of our race. A reasonably articulated discussion on the usual suspects of absentee fathers, teenage pregnancy, spread of venereal disease, systemic racism, and persistent poverty are more than enough to merit the Tavis Smiley stamp of superblack approval at your successfulblackpeoplemeetup happy hour or emo/blipster/revolutionary/enlightenedblackpeople-post-spoken-word-performance-late-night-coffee- gathering at Busboys.

Make mention of any of those topics, and they’ll easily get you through the front door of these conversations with your superblack peers.

Now, me, myself—

I’ve never been particularly big on the tried and true.

I’m a renegade.

I’m a firestarter.

But I want to be an upwardly mobile black, too!

I wanna drive an import, wear soft beaten leather driving moccasins sans socks, and concern myself with golf and what fancy leafy green is featured in my summer salad.

So, I’ve taken the liberty of comprising a list, to be shared at my next successfulblackpeoplemeetup happy hour or emo/blipster/revolutionary/enlightenedblackpeople-post-spoken-word-performance-late-night-coffee- gathering at Busboys.

Feel free to utilize any of the following in your similar superblack pursuits.

 Fooler’s Thoughts on What Factors are Contributing to the Demise/Devastation/Downfall of the Black Community:

  1. Ugly names.

Black people—what is this death-like vice grip that the propounding of ugly names has on our community? I need to know.

Note how I said “propounding of.”

As in: We just make shit up.


Like, we can’t even content ourselves with the whole HOST of already-established ugly names that abound throughout the universe (see Beulah or Melvin).

We want our shit to be unique in its ugliness.

And you know what ugly names breed, don’t you?


That’s right.


You think anyone wants to kick a soccer ball around with Ya’Majesty? You think anyone wants to eat the cupcakes Oranjello’s mama brings to school for his birthday?

Hell no.

So Ya’Majesty and Oranjello have to go hard from the start. They have to establish reputations for being nothing to fuck with early on, just so they can make it through the day without ridicule. They rough up a classmate here, steal some lunch money there, and before you know it, batta boom, batta bing—slangin’ yay with La’Creteriareisha and Lamontelldre, the ugly-name-havin’ cake bosses.

Permit me an A Time to Kill exercise, if you will.

Everyone close your eyes for a moment. Imagine a little boy at home playing with a chemistry set. Now, think about that little boy smiling brightly, raising his hand in class and participating freely. Imagine him as a star baseball player on the varsity team in high school. Picture him whizzing through his SATs, and dutifully filling out college applications. Think of him now, aged 30, as a nuclear physicist, wearing a lab coat and protective-eye spectacles, with a mechanical pencil tucked squarely behind his left ear. Look at the name plate outside of his office door that reads, “Dr. John Washington.”

Now scratch out “John” and put in “Ya’ Majesty.”

  1. Menacing dogs.

Okay, black people. I’m going to say a few words, and after you read them I want you to pause, and take a moment to see if any of them register; if any of them seem even remotely familiar.

Ready? Okay.

Schnauzer. SCHNAU-ZER.

Bichon Frise. BI-CHON FRI-SE.

Sharpei. SHAR-PEI.

Labrador Retriever. LA-BRA-DOR RE-TRIEV-ER.

Beagle. BEA-GLE.

Black people, the aforementioned aren’t simply words. They’re names of dogs. Dogs. While I’ve only named five, I have it on good authority that there are a few hundred different breeds out there.

Does everyone know what that means?



I don’t give a fuck about your pit’s periwinkle blue eyes. I don’t give a damn about his fancy tiger coloring. I’m not impressed by the fact that you refer to him as a “Staffordshire Terrier.”


If you go out and buy five feet of chain link to be secured via padlock around your dog’s neck, you’re not trying to own a family pet. You’re trying to show the world at large how big your balls are.





Our love affair with pit bulls has given birth to DMX and Michael Vick. Haven’t our people had enough?

Come on, y’all. Free yourselves. Say it with me: “Weimaraner.“

  1. Wigs.


I need someone to tell me exactly when wigs stopped being the exclusive province of headlining celebrity R&B and Country Western singers, your old ass bald ass grandmothers, and chemotherapy patients.

I need someone to tell me when this changed. I demand to know when the edict on wig liberty was signed so that every black bitch in America could go cash her check on the second and fourth Friday of each month and find a new scalp carpet.

When I was a child it was humiliating if your perfectly healthy, full head of hair having mother even suggested she purchase a wig.

But now, little fifteen year old girls are waking up and wasting a solid twenty to thirty minutes each morning trying to determine whether an elevated bob or Farrah waves better compliment her skinny jeans and knockoff bag.


And some of you bitches are forgetting that they’re wigs. Some of you bitches are living in an elaborate wig fantasy involving the Joe Dirt-style fusion of wig lacing to actual scalp. You bitches are sleeping in your wigs, running track in your wigs, fucking in your wigs, whipping your wigs around as your equally wiggy-coiffed friends teach you how to Dougie at the food court in the mall—

And you know what? It shows.

On top of looking simply ridiculous, y’all bitches now have grit in your wigs.

You’ve got wig grit.

I’m seeing q-tips and pine cones and shards of broken glass and chewing gum and every manner of evil all stuck up in your wig on account of your elaborate I’m-starting-to-feel-like-this-shit-is-my-real-hair wiggy fantasy.



Now, if none of these work for you, feel free to pull out one of my go-to Factors that are Contributing to the Demise/Devastation/Downfall of the Black Community honorable mention standbys:

-Skinny jeans that somehow still sag

-Purchasing lottery tickets

-Cashing your whole check on payday

-and last, but not least:

                -Saying “Nigga” outside where White people can hear you.

Shoot for the moon, my people!!!


7 Responses to ““teach me how to dougie,” or, my upwardly mobile very important black person thoughts on what’s bringing down the black community….cause something’s always bringing down the black community.”

  1. 1 sourpatchkid
    June 18, 2010 at 1:49 pm

    oh my damn. this shit was hilarious.

    “Ya’Magesty Washington” though? and “q-tips and pine cones and shards of broken glass” in the wigs? bwahaaaha.

    a few more to add:

    -dancing to any beyonce song in your bedroom/kitchen/bathroom and posting it on youtube
    -starting twitter trending topics that involve any combination of #nigga/#blackppl/#youknowyoughettowhen


  2. 2 Jiro
    June 18, 2010 at 2:59 pm

    “Ugly names.” Check: see Latarian Milton aka LaMilton (thanks Boondocks!)

    “-Skinny jeans that somehow still sag” Check: Oh hell yeahs, such a pet peeve of mine. Skinny jeans are bad enough, but when they sag too, Satan kills a kitten in celebration.

  3. 3 Se_deuce1906
    June 18, 2010 at 4:51 pm

    Sadly, I need to add the Chrysler 300 to this list. Specifically, thinking that you are driving a Bentley vs. the Chrysler that you actually are driving. It is particularly foolish when you pull up to a light and a real Bentley pulls up the light next to you. THE. REST. OF. THE. WORLD. KNOWS. YOU. ARE. DRIVING. A. CHRYSLER.

    A few months ago I was watching and episode of “Family Feud” and rooting for the black family, for no other reason than the fact that they were black. The family make up was as follows: Father, Mother, Older son that appeared to be in his mid to late 30’s (the parents probably had him before they decided to get married)a Daughter who appeared to be a college student (somewhere between the ages of 19 and 23) and a Son (18, that the father introduced as a star bastketball player at his school.)

    The question that was posed to the family was “Name a car that most people will only dream about ever being able to own.” As they went down the line (starting from the father) answers like “Lamborgini” (spelling??) “Porche”, “Mercedes”, “Corvette”, “Rolls Royce”, etc… were spewed out and ultimately, the family ended up with 2 strikes and 1 answer left to be uncovered. It was the 18 year old son’s turn to give an answer (and save the team). His EXACT words have never left me and they were “That new Chrysler”.

    Young Black men: 1) you most certainly can own a Chrysler if you put your mind to it. 2) I cant think of any reason why you would place a Chrysler 300 in the same category as other exotic and expensive cars other than the fact that you think it looks like a Bentley, therefore =’s a Bently. It doesnt. I’m sorry.

  4. June 18, 2010 at 5:44 pm

    Teehee@ fucking in your wig…Fooler I want to add the evolution of the Nickname/middlename/ alter ego combo that has overtaken social websites like facebook i.e Shayla Missimdoinmyownthingrespectmyhussle Jones, the tomfoolery never stops! lol

  5. 5 Surly Scarab
    June 21, 2010 at 4:42 pm

    Excellent analysis. I’d just have one question… Wouldn’t putting that “leafy green” on your salads belong more toward the “bringing down the community” end of the spectrum? It doesn’t really work. It’s just a sad waste of good, leafy green and, by extension, money. Being that fiscal accountability is agreed to be one of the base obligations of a superblack, I would submit that trying to get slightly high off of ones salad actually has an adverse effect on upward mobility.

  6. 6 gannsberg
    June 22, 2010 at 5:03 am

    The tomfoolery abounds in the Nation’s Capital, de’andre and dangelo…I firmly ascribe to the theory of radio killing the people.

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