Al Sharpton Calls Himself a Racist

 

NEW YORK, NY – Yesterday Al Sharpton went on his radio show to apologize to himself after being called a racist by himself last week. The broadcast was not without its tense moments and bitter exchanges. The interview was set up with Sharpton looking into a mirror to give the face-off all the verisimilitude of a CIA interrogator and a testicle-singed detainee. At one point, he accused himself of not being properly contrite, whereupon he answered by lunging across the broadcast table at the reflected image of himself, and shouting: “Who made you judge, jury and executioner?”

It all started last Monday when Sharpton was out walking his horde of TV cameramen. He was in the middle of scooping up a turd left by an ABC visual technician, when he espied three black teenagers wearing pants roomy enough to accommodate both the pre- and post-gastric bypass Star Jones. The waist lines of the trousers encircled their ankles and thus made their passage across Lenox Avenue a Homeric Odyssey.  Traffic was backed up for three blocks while these bold urban explorers hoped to see land – or the opposite curb – before nightfall.

“Hey,” yelled Sharpton, as he bagged the human poop, a by-product of the ABC buffet table, “would you fools pull up your pants and get your lazy black asses across the street!”

Now the adolescents were dragging their back pockets on the ground behind them like so many empty cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon tied to the bumper of a wedding F-150 truck being pushed by the bride. They stopped in mid-voyage to glare at Sharpton, which set their ETA to the other side of the street back another half-day.

“What are you looking at, punks?”  taunted Sharpton, jutting out his chin and smoothing down his hair.

One of the alleged punks opened up his coat that was once the property of the Colossus of Rhodes and pulled out an AK-47 and shot an old lady and her granddaughter dead on the sidewalk, whereupon the kids hiked up their pants to the dorky level of mid-thigh and finished their trek to the curb in record time before disappearing into a Mickey-D’s.

Sharpton turned to his pet TV camera crew, and launched into a tirade.

“Did you just see those gang-banging assholes shoot that old lady and little girl, and a BLACK old lady and little girl. I saw it with my own eyes. Those murderous hoods should be given the electric chair – an eye of an eye, like in the Bible.”

He went on in this vein for about twenty minutes, accusing the three black teens of everything from homicide to crimes against fashion.

That night the video footage of this outburst made the rounds on TV and the Internet. Sharpton is reported to have sat in his living room and watched his Lenox Avenue performance with mounting outrage.

“Listen to that racist poison. This guy Sharpton sounds like the Grand Dragon of the KKK,” said Sharpton, while eating a Weight Watchers microwave meal.

The next day he called a press conference to denounce himself as a hateful racist.

“I couldn’t believe how Sharpton stereotyped those three unfortunate African-American youths. He ridiculed the way they wore their pants so low that they tied their sneakers with a belt. That’s racial profiling, plain and simple. And what else was it but prejudice for him to have criticized those young men for bringing traffic in New York to a standstill and preventing hard-working people from getting to where they had to go, and all because they didn’t have the ambition to cross a street in the time it takes Whitey to fix the problems between the Israelis and Palestinians? And what racist gall for Sharpton to have then watched the three teens go into a McDonald’s, the stereotypical eatery of black America. It’s despicable.”

A young lady reporter jumped up: “But Mr. Sharpton, you saw one of the men shoot and kill a senior citizen and her granddaughter, both African-Americans. Those teens can’t be all that innocent.”

“Allegedly shot the victims, allegedly.”

“But didn’t you see it with your own eyes? That would make it factually, wouldn’t it?”

“No, wrong, fallacious. That was straight up racist of me to see a young African-American male shoot two African-American females. Only a bigot would notice something like that, and, worse, not understand the social pressures that had been at work in pulling that trigger. It was the slave owners of a hundred and fifty years ago who killed those two young ladies.”

The reporter persisted: “And you were also on camera as espousing capital punishment for the killer.”

“Alleged killer, which to me means no killer at all. You must remember that I still think those white Duke lacrosse players are guilty of raping a black woman that they didn’t touched with a ten-foot condom. Besides, there are too many young African-American men in prison. To put a black killer in prison is equivalent to killing a black person for being black.”

It is understood that, in modern America, to confess one’s racist sins one must go to the confessional booth that is Al Sharpton’s radio show. Michael Richards was just such a sinner when he groveled before Pope Sharpton, kissed the hem of his well tailored garment and begged forgiveness for using the language of hip-hop. Sharpton tapped his head with the gold orb at the end of his staff, dispensed absolution, and declared: “Son, do as we say, not as we do.”

Therefore it was logical that Sharpton should journey to the same confessional to throw himself at the mercy of the Race Court. But Sharpton was less obsequious than Richards on asking for atonement from his reflected image in the mirror. His public apology was closer to the one offered to him by Don Imus, who admitted he was wrong but would not go so far as to compare himself with Adolf Hitler.

Sharpton and Sharpton traded both amicable and contentious words, some of which made all the sense of a Rumsfeld prayer to the Military-Industrial gods. Each infuriated the other with statements made as if they were the ultimate truth, and should be perceived as such, when they were, on closer study, as open-ended as an invitation from one stranger to another that they have coffee some day.

In the end, Sharpton apologized to his mirrored image and to the parents of the three black teens, especially to the mother of the kid whom he had so irresponsibly accused of murder, whereupon Pope Sharpton told himself to go and sin no more.

 

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