Surely the 95 percent of normal black people have been as disgusted this week as I at witnessing 200 gruesomely disfigured black kids, all school dropouts I would wager, romp about Ferguson as if their minders were on vacation.
Drugs, booze and a lifetime lack of love at home have smushed their minds into mushroom salad.
If these kids didn’t have out-of-town agitators serving as their new-fangled GPSs each day, when they step off the porch of wherever they spent the night, they would not know whether to turn left, right or duck into a musty alley for a drug refill.
Did you hear one of these racial embarrassments – proud products of single-mom homes – distinguish between “We was” and “we were”? They have been trained by fouled men and women to believe education is a white man’s commitment and that for racist reasons they have been reduced to cleaning t-o-i-l-e-t-s, a tough word none can spell. They have been schooled to embrace trash-talking as a wending stairway to maturity.
What deserved dreary futures they face. We know where to find all 200 during the coming 30 years – cleaning stinky toilets or sneaking into line at their favorite neighborhood welfare offices.
Except for known personalities such as Dr. Ben Carson and Jason Riley of the Wall Street Journal (who has been brilliant and brave in his reasoning), I have not seen a single courageous normal black person publicly acknowledge the soundness of the grand jury decision.
Fertilized Ferguson is America’s Gaza Strip, a smoky human wasteland. Nary a single good person remains who is heroic enough to go public with a morally honest opinion of the verdict. Only the vapidity of the oily drilled converts to racial victimhood, America’s version of ISIS.
All of the good Ferguson people must have committed suicide or fled.
Happy Turkey Day. All 200 are.
