DY - NO - MYTE ! ! !

I've actually been sitting on this one for a while, what with the survey results laying bare my inherent disdain for anyone who doesn't have to coat themselves in SPF 30 before walking through the dappled sunlight in their own living room. But thanks to this movie trailer, I've realized I'm just being a jive honkey.

Yes, you read that right: I've reached an existential turning point. No more will I and my white brothers (probably not the right noun in this context, come to think of it) destroy urban communities by selling drugs to, what appears to be, a nine year old boy. No more will I use my insidious contacts to hire egregious stereotypes of Chinese kung fu masters and, confusingly, ninja to assassinate the glorious, play-by-his-own-rules-with-an-afro-that-won't-quit protagonist who seeks to thwart my dastardly Caucasian plans. No more will I....

I'm going to practice a shred of self restraint and stop right there, but trust me when I say I could have gone on a lot longer than that (not something I'm able to say in other areas of my social life). Besides, nothing I say could speak nearly so eloquently as the blacksploitation satire Black Dynamite, or at least, the red-band trailer for said opus. Be warned, there are boobies and egregious racial stereotypes in here, but as it's all conspicuously self-aware, I'm told that makes it okay. Did I mention I was self-aware when I failed that racism test?




This post is dedicated to Anthony "Pudding" Alvarez, who, if boiled down to his liquid essence and then injected into the tear duct of a talented filmmaker, would invariably create a movie exactly like this one. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised to see his name in the credits somewhere. Okay, actually, I would; he's a mattress salesman and spends all his time with degenerates, so yes, I would be surprised if he somehow was involved in a major motion picture.