Ch. 17: A Faker’s Dozens
My ability to throw shade is about on par with my breakdancing
Author’s note: this is the 17th chapter in the satirical memoir “Dungeons ’n’ Durags: One Black Nerd’s Epic Quest of Self-discovery, Racial Identity, and Crisis of Faith in Trump’s America.” Although many of the chapters work perfectly fine autonomously, some are best experienced with context. This is one such chapter.
If you’re all caught up, you can skip the “Previously on” intro. If you want to catch up before reading, start here.
Previously, on Dungeons ’n’ Durags…
My name is Ron. I’m a black man who has lived my entire adult life in a white world.
Up until November 2016, that was fine. Then the 2016 presidential election threw me for a loop. The once nice, apolitical, Christian, “white safe” Ron had become the proverbial “angry black man,” calling white people on their privilege, fellow Christians on their hypocrisy, and causing a ruckus.
Miraculously, an angel dressed as Sam Jackson’s character Jules from “Pulp Fiction” has come to help me “be more black.” It’s quite possible he’s actually a devil. The jury is still out on that. I say this because he always sticks his jheri curl-drippin’ ass in my business right when things are going pretty well for me, and then proceeds to rob me of my joy.
Like now. I just finished telling the story of how I got a standing ovation at my predominantly white high school for my breakdance routine. But my elation was short-lived when I went to an inner-city school wrestling tournament where during one of the breaks, I was hit with a huge dose of reality-infused humble pie. I wasn’t nearly as good as the b-boys at the school. I was right in the middle of telling you fine people this when he showed up…again.
And that’s where our story picks up.
Sam: Now that is some funny shit.Why does it seem like whenever I’m having a special memory moment, Sam shows up to make fun of me?
Me: Sam. Geeze. You startled me.Sam: Sorry brutha. Or should I say, “Boogaloo Shrimp.” Tell me, did you honestly think you were that good?Me: Yes, Sam. I did. It’s not like I had a lot of competition to compare.Sam: Yeah, but you could watch TV and movies muthafucka. You mean to tell me, you looked at those cats in “Beat Street” and thought to yourself, “Oh gee, gollywillickers, I can do that too. Garsh darn.”Me: Ha. Ha. Very funny. I don’t sound like that.Sam: Oh, really?Me: Well, what’s your point?Sam: My point is this is some Steve Jobs-like reality distortion field shit you created for yourself about your relative breakdance abilities. The fact that you could look at the dudes in that movie, who seemed to literally defy gravity and physics, and come away thinking you were just as good.Me: It’s not that I thought I was just as good. I knew I wasn’t that good. The movie inspired me. The same way “Wall Street” inspired me to one day be a New York investment banking tycoon.Sam: As Dr. Phil would say, ‘“How did that work out for ya?” I don’t see you buying 2-million dollar paintings, ballin’ in a penthouse in Dumbo, or working in 2000-square-foot offices. How many more dreams as a kid did you have that fell utterly to the wayside. Me: Wow. You are just a veritable Tony Robbins aren’t you? I had the impression you were here to help me better come in contact with my inner black man.Sam laughs.
Sam: What do you think this is muthafucka? Are you just gonna stand there and let me disrespect you like that? Ain’t you got no kind of comeback and shit?Me: Excuse me?Sam: Jesus man. Do I have to spell it out for you? You never heard of the dozens?Me: Oh yes. Of course. I was never particularly good at it though.Sam: No shit.At this moment I hear the Voice of Morgan Freeman again.
VOMF: Ron. How you doin’ son?Sam: Ahh, shit. Not this fool again.Me: Hey there Morgan. Good to hear from you again. I take it that your presence suggests I’m at another blaxsistential crisis point.VOMF: I’m here just to provide another voice son. Another possibility to consider.Sam looks to the sky to address the Voice of Morgan Freeman.
Sam: No, actually, you’re not here at all. Why don’t you come down instead of playing “God.” This is like some Sauron-level voodoo shit where we never see you but always hear your ass.Me: I think it’s kinda cool we can’t see him. It’s like my life is narrated by Morgan Freeman. Who wouldn’t want that?Sam: Nigga. What? You think this is a movie? Life is not a movie Ronald.Me: Ronaldo.Sam: Excuse me?Me: I’ve told you a few times now, my middle name is actually Ronaldo, with an “O.” Sam: Do I look like the kind of person who gives a fuck?! As I was saying, RONALD. Life is not a movie. There is some real shit going down in this country that’s not going to have some Hollywood, John Hughes ending where black folk and other people of color rise up against the racial injustices of this country with some witty dialog, a rebel yell, and a fist pump as we walk into the fucking sunset. We need bruthas and sistas who are down for the cause, focused, and don’t have their fucking heads in the clouds. And here you are, fucking reminiscing about the day you put on a lame-ass b-boy routine.I don’t know what it is—maybe it was the smirk on his face, or the way he cocked his head when he said it. But something in me just snapped.
Me: You’re the last person to be talkin’ about witty dialogue and fist-pumping, you Quentin Tarantino lovin', saying Nigga every other word, jive-ass, full of shit, think he’s the coolest brutha on the planet, one-eye patch wearing, lightsaber-wielding, gun-toting, frost-blast blowing, motherfucker. Why don’t you take that fake ass out-dated, Soul Glo drippin’, wannabe Michael Jackson in Thriller looking jheri curl and go fucking walk da ert?! Bitch ass, judgmental asshole.Sam laughs and starts to applaud.
Sam: My nigga! Now THAT’S what I’m fuckin’ talking about! You got some fire in your belly after all. You might not be so hopeless as I thought.Me: Huh? What? Wow. Did you just fucking Miyagi me?Sam smiles and gives me a wink.
Sam: Correctomundo.VOMF: Actually, Ron. I think a better analogy would be the Emperor in Return of the Jedi when he got Luke to go off on Vader, then starts to clap right when Luke cuts off Vader’s hand.Sam: Shut the fuck up! No one asked you a goddamn thing Voice of Morgan Freeman!Sam turns back to me.
Sam: Now listen. I’ve got some business to attend to. I think we’ve made some real progress here Ronald. I’ll catch you later.And with that. He’s gone.
VOMF: How did you feel when you went off on him like that?Me: Oh. I didn’t know you were still there Morgan.VOMF: Yep. I’m still here. That was quite a performance you put on.Me: Yeah. I don’t know what got into me. I fucking LOVE Sam Jackson. His are some of my favorite roles in cinema. It’s weird that I would say those things. I’m glad he took it in stride. I hope I didn’t hurt his feelings.VOMF: I’m pretty sure you could not hurt Samuel L. Jackson’s feelings, son. He’ll be okay. But how are you doing?Me: I don’t know. I’m not quite sure how I feel about what I did. It did feel sort of freeing saying those things. And was kind of fun. I never had the ability to go off like that when I was a kid. It did make me feel more, I hate to say it, but…black.VOMF: That’s interesting. What makes you say that?Me: Well, you know. Playing the dozens is like a significant part of the African-American experience. I never used to do anything like that growing up. Mainly because I never hung out with black people that much, and that kind of thing is not what goes down during junior high school lunches playing Dungeons & Dragons with your three Asian friends. It also wasn’t on the agenda of any of the business fraternity meetings at Cal. I liked the fact that I could hold my own, you know what I mean?VOMF: I think I may have some idea. So, do you think if you play the dozens, at your current age, that other black people will somehow respect you more?Me: No. Yes. I don’t know. I think if they know I can do it, then like I’ll have some street cred or something.VOMF: Is there something happening in the streets where your “cred” is needed?Me: You know what I mean. I just think that I will be taken more seriously and respected by my people if…VOMF: If what?Me: If I can throw shade with the best of them.VOMF: So, let me get this right. If you excel at insulting and throwing shade at black folk, they’ll respect you more?Me: Well, when you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous. But, I think it’s a kind of black paradox, you know?VOMF: I can’t say that I do. What I can say is that it would seem to me that the real measure of a man, any man, is his ability to earn the respect and love of his fellow man through integrity and being his true self.Me: I don’t know that I can honestly argue with that. I’m really confused now.VOMF: Well, just think on it. Let it sit with you for a while. Marinate on it.Me: Okay. I will, Voice of Morgan Freeman.VOMF: In the meantime, if I’m not mistaken, you were going somewhere with your breakdance story, correct?Me: Oh shoot. Yes! Yes, I was. Thank you for reminding me.VOMF: My pleasure son. I’ll be seeing you again soon.Me: Yeah. And I’ll be, um, hearing you soon I guess.VOMF: Heh, heh, heh… Yes you will.And with that, the voice of Morgan Freeman faded into the distance.
My personal After-School Special
Despite my utter failure at the break-off at the wrestling tournament at the urban high school, back in the land of South Pas suburbia, my performance at the talent show created somewhat of a name for myself. Kids were talking about it. I was being noticed in a way I never thought of. The “cool” kids were talking to me. I know how cliché that sounds, but I’m totally serious. I by no means metamorphosed into a black Jake Ryan or anything, but my climb up that proverbial high school caste system was put into overdrive with that one performance.
I was now ready to capitalize on my tag-along status with Chris. Whereas before I was more like an Oxpecker to his rhino, with the Freak-a-zoids performance under my belt, I could now kinda morph into a full-blown rhino myself (or at least a baby one).
We’d go to football games and all the girls would hug Chris. Then I’d hug all the girls that just hugged Chris. “Oh, this is that cute little sophomore that did that cool dance with you. Nice.” Hey, I’d take any excuse for a hug from a Junior girl.
At the after-game dances, I’d strut my mediocre breakdance stuff and bring the house down. During lunches on “the quad,” I was seen by fellow sophomores hangin’ with the older juniors. (More cred.)
This new-found confidence and subsequent “fame,” led me to run for junior class president. And after losing every class presidency I ran for at South Pasadena from the 8th to the 10th grades, I finally won. And I would go on to become senior class president as well.
The end of my high school days was very much like an after-school special highlighting the possibilities of every young boy or girl to gain friends and become popular, with just a little bit of charm, the ability to walk backward while looking like you’re stepping forward, and being able to make 2 to 3.5 revolutions spinning on your back.
I had garnered this level of affection from them in a way I never quite did from black people.
I share my high school experience with you because I believe it sets the stage for the rest of my life in a way whose effects I feel (both negative and positive) today.
I was loved, appreciated, and in some cases adored by white people (and a fair amount of Asians). I had garnered this level of affection from them in a way I never quite did from black people. Is there any wonder then why I wouldn’t naturally gravitate towards them? In the music I listened to, the movies I watched, the restaurants I frequented, and naturally, the women I dated? In my mind and heart, I was just as good and worthy as a white or Asian person. And in some ways, that’s a good thing. I never had any issues navigating the white world in which I predominantly lived.
But, there was a downside too. One which became heart-breakingly painful once I went to college.
Be sure to follow this publication to be notified when the next chapter goes online and gain insights into its writing. Visit Dungeons-n-Durags.com to learn more about the book and ways in which you can get early access to future chapters, and some of the same insights.
Next chapter
Previous chapter
