T-13

Ladies and gentlemen, kids of all ages, there is rain and rumors of rain. If you’re counting, it’s been 44 days since our last measurable precipitation here in El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles de Porciúncula, the previous nomenclature inserted at the suggestion of the marketing guys who dare to suggest that my show is a little too Anglo. Ay caramba! Coming up tomorrow, an entire show done in a pidgin patois of Arabic, Tagalog, Lao, Amharic, and Hindi. A ratings bonanza, 24 hours from right now. Don’t. Miss. It. I might even get a brown person to do it for me. Oh, wait. I’m a brown person. Aaaaahhhh, I need to get in touch with my inner sacred lost brown language that united my people in the face of their oppression and suffering. Nobody speaks nigger anymore, by which I mean everyone does. Damn you, Whitey! Thirty years ago you got Obamafied and now what’s an honest American of African extraction to do? I was all behind the multicultural society, but look what it got me. I have to tell you that my ancestors come from a Land Over the Sea, and were brought here in the Bonds of Slavery. You wouldn’t know otherwise. Bandwidth is color-blind, but at some point I have to come out into the light of day. Then I am seen.