Dear Bubble People

Wanna make sure I never watch your movie or show?

Title it “Dear White People”. 

Scrub away guilt!

I won’t touch it. I don’t respond well to condescension. I could contract full-blown AIDS, “Dear White People” could have the cure, and I’d die happily, blissfully ignorant, broth bowl in hand, tumbling to the linoleum with a smile.

Any white person who would willfully watch something titled “Dear White People” is fearful of people who aren’t white. Period.

They are self-hating white people who want their guilty fears of non-white people gently assuaged. Preferably by real black people. Then they can tell all their white friends how virtuous and modern they are. They can finally feel like “a better person”. They now have a method to harangue other perfectly normal white people. Meanwhile, everyone who isn’t Caucasoid gets a big laugh.

There is no “Dear Black People”. It would be called “racist”. The very idea of talking down to an entire race of people is abhorrent. You could place bets on whether the Daily Kos or the Huffington Post would chime in first about how everyone in the crew is white. If a program called “Dear Black People” caused black people to cancel Netflix in droves, you can guarantee there wouldn’t be a smarmy headline about how the “ignorant darkies just can’t handle the truth”. Netflix would be humbled by such a noble civil rights action, and quietly bury the show.

There is no “Dear Mexican-American People”. There was a march against immigration control a couple weeks ago- The “Day Without An Immigrant”. Also known as “The Quietest and Most Enjoyable Day Matty Ever Spent At The Laundromat”. Maybe if there was a condescending Hollywood documentary, illegal immigrants could understand that they do the same fucking thing we all do; something illegal until we get caught. You get caught, you go directly to jail. Pick up a fucking Monopoly board, if you’re gonna skip our education system entirely. Remember, we get to organize our tax-paying and law-abiding lives around your border-hopping bullshit. Then we take attitude from our white friends about it. Funny thing- times change, but no one ever wants to move to Mexico. Probably because outside of the Mexico City Bubble, it sucks. 

We don’t get to snicker at whomever is “El Presidente” of Mexico this month while he blathers about keeping Americans from crossing his borders. We don’t guffaw about Paris building a wall around the Eiffel Tower. We don’t even get to titter at Saudi Arabia for building their own fancy “anti-terrorist” wall. No, we only get to laugh at safe old white people, because they won’t fight back. To your face, anyway.

In 2016, Hollywood was proven powerless over the American people. Hollywood lost. The liberal elites lost. Now they’re building their little Tinseltown fiefdoms, so they can prove to the little people they’re still big and smart. They didn’t like the way you voted, so they’re going to make the movies and Saturday Night Live a living hell. Until you enter the Bubble. 

That’s where Hollywood is right now. They don’t give a single shit about you or your lives. They only want one thing: their lives to continue as expected. So because you hold opinions different from theirs, you don’t get to exist.

That’s right. Fraternities don’t work like they once did. Connections are now obvious and racial. Why shouldn’t a black woman direct Black Panther? Due to her skin color, she clearly holds the advantage over the material. Can you imagine if a white man directed it? How scandalous! Let’s ignore any existing precedent and safely go with a director the same hue as the cartoon character. Checkmate!

And how about that… the black female director gets a nice big magazine cover. Because that’s all it was ever about. Propping up a human being as a “positive” corporate symbol. We, the makers of rags with long-underwear musclemen printed on them, are the very paragon of modern diversity.

And here we go again!

That’s the way you take a dying, bankrupted comic book company and beef it up into a “multimedia corporation” that can be sold to the Japanese, Chinese, or Arabs, at a profit of billions. That’s why nobody at Marvel ever scratched their way into the Hollywood machine. They never sucked the rainbow of cocks that your average supporting actor did, so they aren’t let in. You can do nothing but draw comic books and masturbate 24 hours a day, and you’d still be a better person than your typical movie actor.

But that doesn’t matter- a high-powered Hollywood executive could swoop in at any time, absorbing me into the grand tapestry of the silver screen. That’s what happens; some poor fuck scribbles out a successful IP for years, barely making a living, and then:


Everything I say is clean, correct, and of the utmost importance!

Suddenly the poor fuck is tasting food like he’s never tasted, in a club he’d never gain admission to, in a million years. The poor fuck sees women with bodies he longs to touch, who can fake love with a single glance. The poor fuck is told that what he does, although it’s his reason for being here, is not as good as what he could have if he signs the deal. 

He always signs the deal.

Unfortunately, the poor fuck created art that was loved by a broad strata of persons. These people felt a legitimate connection with the poor fuck, one that cannot be bought. Now, if they want to maintain that connection, they have to do something unnatural. Donate to a crowd fund, or subscribe to a pay-online network.

If the poor fuck is lucky, his fans enter the Bubble with him. How lucky are poor fucks, in general? How many Hobbit movies did they force out of Peter Jackson? Remember how realistic and amazing Fellowship of the Ring was? Remember Bad Taste? What the fuck happened?

The Bubble happened. 

The Bubble is where people go when they know they can’t win. It’s for people who want to preserve their way of life, in suspended animation, forever. That’s all that matters to them. Sustaining their imagined peak, in perpetuity. That’s why they’re the ones dividing us.

He won’t, but YOU will, Bubble Boy.

Bubble People are the ones who cried hysterically when Hillary Clinton lost in 2016, even after cheating and whining about every possible hiccup. Bubble People make their own movies based on books like Atlas Snored (sorry) Shrugged, invite all their Bubble People friends, and ignore petty things like box office gross and rock-bottom Rotten Tomatoes percentages. Bubble People equate the Obama family with a pantheon of gods, while gleefully recirculating dirty gossip about the Trumps.

Bubble People don’t worry about hypocrisy. They don’t have to. Inside the Bubble, it never comes up as an issue. Everyone is of like minds.

Which would be all well and good, if bubbles were brick. But visible walls are a no-no; the average person can see them. Better to establish something intangible and specific to the Bubble Person, to allow for virtuous public bloviating. This way, the Bubble Person is the ultimate ethical arbiter, ready to judge anyone (white), from world leaders to school children.

Until the Bubble does what bubbles do.


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