Dr. Faustroll Writes the Wrongs

“Attention, shoppers!” David Alan Grier will probably say on the next Chocolate News, “Have you lost your damn minds?

When I was a kid, Black Friday was a character in Daniel Dafoe’s Robinson Crusoe and a movie starring Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi, the Brad Pitt and Robert Downey, Jr., or Vince Vaughn and Jon Favreau of their day. There was none of the horse exhaust about the day after Thanksgiving being the first day that most businesses broke even or anything like tax freedom day. The day after Thanksgiving was the day we all used our Christmas Club money at the five and dime and John’s Bargain stores to buy the tacky gifts we could afford for the family.

Black Monday on the other hand was the day in October where the stock market crashed and people jumped out of windows in Manhattan as if demons were flying planes at them, which is probably where al Qaeda got the idea for 9/11, along with remembering how the CIA helped Salvador Allende commit suicide by self-inflicted airstrikes in 1973.

I can’t remember when Black Friday trumped Black Monday in the minds of the NOMPH, but I’m sure it is offensive to African Americans, no matter how positively the accountants and communications officials attempt to spin it.

Let’s be serious for a moment as we pause and wipe our bums after a bout of Hershey squirts induced by too much rich food and drink and admit that Black Friday has come to mean those days when people in the NOMPH™ do really stupid things, and although many African Americans often do stupid things, there aren’t as many of them as there are white folks, so it only makes sense, going forward, that the day after Thanksgiving be called White Friday or Kermit the Frog Friday or Sarah Palin Friday or anything more in keeping with the true spirit and execution of the day.

Today, for instance, shoppers at a Walmart in Nassau, NY, on Long Island, an area not particularly well-known for being overrun by stupid black people, trampled a store employee to death and injured several others who attempted to come to his aid. When police and store managers asked shoppers to leave so they could tend to the injured and dying in the carnage, shoppers refused, citing their inalienable right to the pursuit of happiness, noting that they had been waiting in line for days for an opportunity to purchase Samsung TVs and camcorders, collectible plastic action figures, upright vacuums with HEPA filtration, digitally autographed posters of the Jonas Brothers, and DVDs of the Incredible Hulk.

These are the kinds of people that make the nation of miserable phucks such a tempting target for actual humans who are just damned tired of being trampled by obese idiots stampeding to be the first in line to add to their credit card debt by buying geegaws and doodads with the life expectancy of the common housefly.

The news accounts I’ve read indicate that the name of the 34-year-old store employee who died because he couldn’t get out of the way of the mindless avarice and gluttony of white holiday celebrants in Nassau was Jdimytai Damour, who lived in Queens, a borough of New York, where I grew up. The guys I grew up with had names like Jimmy, Johnny, Billy, Eddie, Mickey, and Bobby the Plumber. The girl names were Nancy, Joan, Linda, Ruthie, Lorraine, Jeanette, Bernadette, and Phyllis the Hummer. If I had known a Jdimytai, I think I would have remembered. I think he would have gone to Boy’s High or Brooklyn Automotive, and me and my friends would have fought him and his in the lot outside after the game was over.

I don’t want to imply that the rampaging white herd of bargain hunters trampled Jdimytai because they couldn’t pronounce his name and were tired of having to feel inadequate about their language deficiencies. And I have no reason to believe that Jdimytai was not as white as the shoppers crushed him beneath their Nikes and Doc Martens and Adidas and Tom McCanns to get the best early deals of this dismal holiday season, but I kind of doubt it.

Not even a Walmart manager deserves to die while opening the doors to let the rats come pouring through, as Bukowski used to write, which is why I have still not abandoned my keyboard and why I type every day, whether you need it or not.

And don’t forget, you fervent patriots of the NOMPH, there’s only 26 more shopping days until Baby Jesus opens His presents. How about some bloody scraps of Jdimytai’s uniform? I’m sure someone has them for sale. Check eBay or craigslist, where you don’t have to worry about your wonderful neighbors crushing you into the pavement to save a couple a bucks.

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