What is it about mudsharks and their dullards of choice that makes them so compatible?

I can tell you that this question was the last thing on my mind this past Monday morning when I went to visit my grandson’s kindergarten class in a nice, distant suburb of Baltimore.

First, let me describe the school, a total feminine feel-good matrix of collective delusion and group nesting—a place no boy should be bound within, a place my grandson calls “that death place.”

The class room was in three sections, an area for work table seating where projects were pursued, a library in the form of a miniature den complete with an easy chair and girly parasol and a group hug rug before a giant computer monitor that permitted touch-screen participation of the collective. Nothing was done alone, everything was done as a group. The room had its own bathroom and also a water fountain/sink counter. The teacher was a spritely mid-twenties and very attuned to mechanical development. The teacher’s aid was a pleasingly curved dish in her mid thirties who was good at reinforcement and surpassed the teacher in discussing the subtext of the picture books the children read.

After calendar and math work on the board, two books were read.

The reading of The Little Red Hen was an activity with the grandparents, in which the subtext was not discussed. The theme of The Little Red Hen is that she who works should enjoy the fruits of her labor, not the lazy cat, lazy hound and other shiftless critter she shared her house with.

The main study unit was Mrs. Wishy-Washy, a story of a goose, a pig and a cow who get tired of obeying their owner and run away to the city, only to be locked away in animal prison. All ends happily when the animals return to their owner and obey her who provides all.

If I would have written the story it would have included the cow having her son taken and tortured for veal, then getting milked dry and then murdered for ground beef, the pig getting slaughtered and the goose drifting into depression as all of her children were taken from her by good old Mrs. Wishy-Washy.

Not only did I get a two-book illustration of how American ethics have been completely reversed in three generations, I discovered the secret of the mudsharks!

Yes, most mudsharks are fat, and since brothers are used to all that, there is a harmony there.

There is also the penis size issue.

But these are just about attraction, not compatibility and black men stay with mudshark mates more often [still rare] and for longer than they do with sistas. So why are they so compatible?

Having spent many hours in eateries, sports venues and at official functions and government buildings with black men, I have discovered that they are generally unable to keep their mouth shut, must cut ahead in line and have little or no impulse control.

This is exactly what I noticed among the grandmothers and great grandmothers of this paleface den of sissy indoctrination.

As soon as I stepped through the door a fat, loud bitch immediately cut in front of me, proclaimed her business loudly to the world and then went over to the snack table greedily harvesting cookies.

In the classroom there were myself and two older men. The two older men took notes. I kept my eye on the teacher’s aid in case she had any trouble straightening back up after all of the times she bent over those little tables. As Hesoid taught, good works must ever abound in the heart of a good man!

All of the grandmothers ran their mouths, almost constantly. One of the other men had to tell his old lady to be quiet and she still started up again. Anything cute had to be noted or discussed. Related things that came into their heads must be immediately discussed while the teacher was speaking. I could not hear the lesson for half the class.

Middle-aged suburban white women demonstrate almost identical verbalization and courtesy patterns as black boys and young men from the ghetto—a perfect match.