Today I boarded the bus behind a 400 pound white woman with a baggie of change, who took 5 minutes to pay her fare. There I stood before a bus load of blacks, Hispanics and an Asian—who had obviously lost his way—waiting for the other representative of my regressive-genotribe, as she spent three seconds per cent to pay her fare. Surely it took Archimedes less effort to engineer the water-screw.

It was not a proud day to be of the same ancestry as the great men who once ruled this nation.

The driver was moving a bit fast to make up time so I chose a seat next to a pair of pre-deployed chocolate airbags that would surely cushion me in the event of a wreck. Still too embarrassed about my European confraternal to say good morning, I spared a glance at the exposed airbags at the next traffic light to determine if there was an earthquake or Martian walker in the vicinity.

Not a giggle until the bus rolled off.

Now assured that I was safe from fracking and alien invasion I looked straight ahead, and all of a sudden felt better about my pale prospects!

Behind the computer housing that backs the driver’s seat, facing us, was the latest public service poster.

Call for yourself, a family member, or a friend

The bottom of the ad is a photo arrangement of four individuals who I presume represent the gambling population of Harm City.

A moderately brown-skinned—okay Akira, milk chocolate—middle-aged female executive in a traditional conservative dress looks clear-eyed at the camera. This lady is mayor material, a states attorney at least.

An extremely light skinned man, perhaps an octoroon, in a laborer’s working clothes, of perhaps 35 years, smiles at the camera like he is the guilty one.

A dark brown middle-aged man—not dark chocolate Akira, and not milk either, I’m thinking more like hazelnut spread—dressed as a business leader looks confidently at the camera. It is quite obvious that this man can cut deals in the backrooms of the State House, fund high rise office buildings, and qualify for an ambassadorship in some nation where Hillary has not armed an Islamist terrorist cell. Unfortunately, he appears to be helpless before the lotto machine at the local liquor mart where he buys his peanuts, pork rinds, and Colt 45 40 ounce after work. Brother, if this dude can get sucked into the Whiteman’s casino scam, you can too!

The older sister of the lady up front, who apparently had to settle for a middle management job, looks seriously at the camera. She is an attractive ‘redbone’ lady and could have been the mother of the laborer, if she got knocked up by a Swedish dude.

I realize that most of my readers are white, and are not even from the Baltimore area, and probably have little understanding of the internal color politics of America’s so-called ‘black’ urban community. This poster was targeted at the black community, and was structured as a visual lie. You see, in the ‘black’ community lighter-skinned people are generally favored for management, politics, and promotions. If you look at the guys riding the back of the trash truck they are all much darker than the darkest figure in this poster. [That goes for winter too Akira, so don’t even tell me it’s a sun tan.]

This poster is an attempt to brainwash Harm City Dwellers into believing that they live in some kind of colorblind utopia. You whites might think you are the only objects of this type of government/media brain-screw, but you are not. If you want a clue as to the local ethnic agenda of your municipality start looking at these focus-group generated collections of professional models.

If BaltimoreGambler was a national initiative the NAACP would be all over this poster for implying that only blacks had gambling problems. Baltimore is 35% non-black and I see many of those poor white people dumping $100 a pop into the scratch-off machine. I know one white trash couple who sunk $65,000 into one lottery machine in six weeks, squandering their entire inheritance. The government wants its citizens to gamble! The ad represents a conscious desire on the part of the state to forge African Americans into a voting block with a homogenized sense of victimization.

Whatever advertising firm put this together did an excellent job. I just wish I could have been a fly on the wall when our hazelnut mayor—who I find quite attractive—walked into that room and, pointed at the models that had been photographed by the gay white hipster photographer, and said, “Get the dark-skinned brother out of the overalls and into the suit, and get that pale-ass milk dud out of the suit and into the overalls—and he better be smiling!”