Last night's episode of Alias could have been perfect. Sydney disguised herself as a Peace Corps volunteer and transformed her appearance by wearing glasses. See, normally she doesn't wear glasses. But this was a disguise. And she put her hair up, so people were thinking "there's no way that's a CIA agent. She has her hair up and wears glasses."
But, alas, the episode did not achieve perfection. I was very disappointed in the writers, producers, actors, grips and caterers for the show last night. They set the episode in Monteafrican-american. But they didn't use the politically correct term. Instead, the archaic and horribly politically incorrect term was used. When the name of the country flashed upon the screen, it said, "Montenegro". I gasped, threw my veggie chicken nuggets with Heinz Ketchup against the wall, and fought back my tears of anger.
I decided that I had to take action. After I watched the rest of the episode and stayed tuned for scenes from next week's Alias (it looks great!), I pulled out my Powerpuff Girls stationary and dashed off a letter to ABC (Always Broadcast Caucasians). While I was at it, I decided to write the NAACP too.
See, I've always been angry with the NAACP because they use the term "Colored People" instead of the more correct, "Persons of Color". I know the organization has a long history. They have worked for equality since, like, 1980 or something. But, would it be so hard to change the name of the organization to NAAPC"? Are they concerned about the cost of buying new letterhead stationary? I will let them use my Powerpuff Girls stationary while they make the transition. It's no big deal.
On the way to work, I asked my African-American/Native-American housemate, The Math Whiz, what he thought about the situation. First he asked me to stop referring to him as "Nubian", and then he tried to answer my questions.
"Hey Math Whiz," I said, "since you are Nubian - I mean African-American and Native-American, could you tell me what you people want us to call you?"
He replied, "what do you mean 'you people', Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven?"
Exasperated with his kind of people, I replied with patient exasperation, "I mean you people who are not like the rest of us. You different people."
He still seemed to have difficulty understanding my very intelligent questions, and I thought about giving up on him and all his kind of people, but I persevered.
"Let me see if I can clarify this for you. The normal people run everything in this country, and I'm just wondering if you different people are irritated when racist networks set their television shows in racist countries like Monteafrican-american. And does the NAACP piss you off as much as it pisses off us normal people?"
He asked me to let him out of the car so he could walk the rest of the way to work, but I refused to stop. "You will get picked up by the police if they see you walking along the side of the road. They will assume you are a hobo. I can't allow that to happen. Trust me, I know all about the way we normal people think."
I was starting to get upset with The Math Whiz, and I felt short of breath. I could barely drive, because my throat was closing up, and my eyes were filling with tears. When The Math Whiz took his hands from around my throat, I coughed up some blood and asked, "Don't you see that I'm trying to help? I'm an advocate for all the people who are different. I'm like Harriet Tubman. I want to take you north to freedom."
"Is that why we're headed to Seattle instead of my job in Downtown Portland?" he asked. I have always admired his people's sense of humor. It is because of all the injustice experienced by his kind. It has built their character, and they are much wittier than normal people. They are also better dancers and are mostly lactose intolerant, because they are so different from most of us.
See, Martin Luther, who fought for both Lutheran rights and civil rights, wasn't the only one with a dream. I have a dream too. The other night it was a dream that all my cute straight male friends came over to my house for an orgy, but I am talking about a different dream right now. I have a dream that someday even the people who are not like me will magically become more like me. If only they could sound and look more like me, I know things could be better for them.
That is why I work so hard for equal rights. Even for people that are so different from me. They do not have a voice in this country, and even the ones with a voice don't use the proper dialect to be understood.
I could go on and on. The reason I could go on and on is that I sometimes don't know when to shut up. The other reason I could go on and on is that I have a lot of passion about this subject, which is unusual for my people, because we don't have a history of hardship like the people who are different. Hardship makes those people more passionate. Or maybe it is calcium deprivation from the lactose intolerance. Either way, they're more passionate than my people.
Unfortnately, I can't continue my tirade right now, because I'm off to write more letters. First I'm going to write to the country of Nigeria, for obvious reasons. I just hope the Nubian Queen of that Country will listen to my plea for justice.