I really, really, really hate ignorance. Not ‘pet peeve’ hate. More like ‘major psychotic episode’ hate.

Academic ignorance, presidential ignorance, work ignorance, church ignorance, musical ignorance, and gender ignorance. Probably the most common type of ignorance I’ve come across in the last couple of years has been coon-related ignorance (referred to on this site as ‘coonery’). Coonery is easily spotted and identified, even by the untrained eye. You can hear loud coonspeak (essentially conversation that is 85% ‘muuhfuka’ and ‘ya knoowmsayin’ (not to be confused with regular Black people slang and dialect…huge distinction), see the puffery and smell the stifling Black and Mild aroma. Look for quadruple large white t’s and gold fronts on the dudes–and stretch marks, gold fronts, superweaves, and completely inappropriate for anything attire for the girls. These do not necessarily mark Coon from non, but let’s say theres a high probability you’re dealing with an infestation. We had yet another close encounter of the Coon kind last night at the Peanut during their weekly ‘Hiphop and Hotwings‘ deal. Besides grown-ass men break dancing like it’s ‘86(wtf?) and crowding up the dance floor, it’s usually fun.

Miles Bonny was spinning upstairs with his usual greatness and we were just relaxing. We hadn’t been there in a minute, mostly due to the fact that most adults have some sort of work-related responsibility on Mondays. This reasoning, of course, does not apply to Coons.

Much like roaches or sewer rats, Coons have come out of the woodwork and infested what used to be a pretty good weekend hangout with good music. I had inklings beforehand that this takeover was a possibility, based on the facts that the Peanut: plays Hip Hop, is well known for great chicken wings, and serves beer. All three of which provide necessary for the American Coon species to thrive, repopulate the coon ranks, stay perpetually inebriated, and continue to pull the incarceration and murder rates up–and our educational and employment achievement averages down. This is not to say, of course, that all chicken-loving, beer drinking, hip hop lovers are Coons, but they love stuff regular people love as well to try and fit in. Some actually put on a ‘coon costume’ when they go out, in hopes that that they can find a Coon of the opposite sex to get sweaty with in their parent’s house and nine months later refuse to pay child support.

Anyways, Miles started to spin some ‘tear the club up’ themed joints (a rareity..probably by request)–and the Coon reaction was almost immediate. They took over the dance floor, each vying for his or her opportunity to shuck and jive the loudest and the hardest. The Alpha drunkest Coon decided to take his shirt off and dry hump a female Coon so hard that what resembled a huge ugly titty popped out and got felt on–much to all non-Coons’ disgust. He continued to get more and more self-amped, yelling at everyone to ’suck ma dick’ and other random gems. He decided to throw his shirt randomly, which landed on our table and knocked some stuff over. After we figured out what was starting to happen, we decided to leave. By ‘we’ i mean everyone except the Coon Committee who had now hyped themselves up to ‘Boss’ status of the Peanut (i guess), and basically looking for a fight. By the way, Coons never fight by themselves. What they do is  suckerpunch, throw bottles, or they wait to jump one person by committee. They usually flee the scene hanging out of car windows, brandishing .22s in order to……exhibit…superior….something. Who knows.

The thrown shirt was picked up and carried outside (by a thankfully sober yet understandably pissed off party) where yet another fight was narrowly avoided thanks to friends and the proprietor of the Peanut.  I prefer to avoid my life becoming condensed into another 10-second news clip about someone who got shot outside a ‘hiphop club’ for nothing.  Coons can shoot each other all they want, as I’m seriously fed up with these people ruining everything they touch. Kinda like if a roach ran across a plate you were eating off of. Ewww, I’m done..thanks though.

Who the hell gave Coons permission to use the internets to find out about this?

This entry was posted on Monday, June 4th, 2007 at 2:39 pm and is filed under annoyances, dance jig, dance.. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.