You know how you can instantly tell that running Alan Keyes against Barack Obama for the Senate in Illinois is nothing more than a cynical ploy to siphon a couple of black votes away from the juggernaut that is Obama (other than the obvious "he's from fucking Maryland")? Check out Keyes' alleged website. These days, any campaign worth its weight in gold-covered shit can quickly throw up a grand, link-filled site in a couple of hours. Keyes' site, as of now, days after his announcement, is the Internet equivalent of the old Cabrini-Green. But the Illinois Republican Party done found themselves a lawn jockey, a porter, a pimp, and a house negro, all rolled up in one batshit insane package. Keyes will throw a few bombs, but Obama is too smart to step close to the explosion. And, fuck, the debates will be interesting as Keyes shucks and jives for his conservative massas, showin' them that he be a good nigga, and smilin' that shine smile as he spouts the same hate the Republicans spout, only with a minstrel face.
But that's the way it is with blacks on the right. Sometimes, though, all the kowtowing to the man destroys them. Did you see the zombie of Condoleeza Rice on the Sunday talk shows? Zombie Condi was a depressing sight on Meet the Press, her hands clenched, her jaw tight, her face a barely moving mask of beyond-the-grave lifelessness as Dr. "Jesus-Christ-I-Was-the-Provost-of-Stanford" Rice spouted the administration's talking points over and over: "Saddam bad," "Bush comfort children, not scared," and "terrorists coming." Only once did the sad, self-aware visage of human Condi attempt to rear itself when the increasingly tomato-shaped-headed Russert asked Zombie Condi if she would stay on if Bush was re-elected. With a quaver in her voice, and a glint of hope in her eye, she said, "Tim, I'm trying to get through the next few weeks. I think we'll cross those bridges when we come to them," which really means, "No fuckin' way. It's gonna take the rest of my life to get over the post-traumatic stress of all the sodomizings I've been subject to." Such is the state of mind of those who are forced to lie for the sins of the masters.
Like Zombie Condi, every once in a while Colin Powell, the Mr. Bojangles of foreign affairs, demonstrates that he still possesses a soul. When he declared that he would not attend (meaning: speak at) the Republican Convention of Doom in New York City this month, it was the slightest bit of payback for being forced to go out and tap dance in front of the U.N. so long ago. Powell's excuse may as well have been, "My dog up and died. He up and died" for all the truth there was to his statements that a secretary should not attend such events. It ain't stoppin' Secretary of Education Rod Paige, the most loyal of the house negros, from speaking in primetime.
Sure, if you wanna be all diplomatic and PC and shit, you could blab on that "Isn't it great that we've come so far on race in this country that black Americans can be loyal Republicans? Isn't it demeaning and cynical to suggest that these African Americans only do this in order to maintain some kind of semblance of power in a system that is geared against them?" Yeah, and back in the plantation days, the massas loved it when some slave from the fields would tell massa about a planned escape or revolt by other slaves. Oh, how massa lavished extra salt pork and beans on that turncoat slave; oh, how massa beat down the ones who would turn against massa.