You may or may not know Jessica Stover.
But more important than who she is, her book or even the trailer for her book is the fact that she has got to be the whitest, most vanilla, most jazz-less, soul-less caucasian female on the face of the Earth.
Which means, without question, that I am blacker than Jessica Stover.
Before any of you get all up in arms over this post and tell me I’m a racist or something, or break down each of my upcoming points and throw them into the “stereotype column” let’s just remember that this isn’t about you. This is about me. And how I’m blacker than Jessica Stover. About how, if Jessica and I were both standing in the front row of a Black Eyed Peas concert and Fergie started singing the song ‘Where Is The Love” — I would be singing the lyrics word for word while Stover would be wondering aloud, “But doesn’t Justin Timberlake sing this song?”
Pauly D Black Factor 1, Jessica Stover, 0.
Before any of you tell me that I’m degrading a race by using it as fodder for a post here on WFME, I’d like you to remember one very important thing. When you get into my car and put on the CD changer you’ll hear music by 50 Cent, Miles Davis, Mariah Carey, Gnarls Barkley, Beyonce, Jurassic 5 and Pharrell. But Jessica Stover’s car? You’ll hear music by the Indigo Girls, Wilson Phillips, Bananarama and the Soundtrack CDs to movies like Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter.
White bread? Oh yeah.
But my level of blackness also far surpasses Stover’s blackness quotient when it comes to our everday lexiconical habits. Besides the fact that I’m a much cooler, much more laid back person who will always challenge “the man” at every turn — I often fold a variety of hip phraseology into my conversations. Here, let’s take a look at the same conversation with me at the helm and with Stover at the helm:
Police Officer: “Uh, sir? Do you know how fast you were driving?”
Me: “You pulled me over because I’m blacker than Jessica Stover, didn’t you?”
Police Officer: “Sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about. License and registration, please.”
Me: “This is bullshit.”
Police Officer: “Sir, please get out of the car.”
Police Officer: “Uh, miss? Do you know how fast you were driving?”
Jessica Stover: “Approximately 40 in a 35, sir.”
Police Officer: “Well, as long as you’re aware of that… And if you slow down, I can probably let you off with a warning.”
Jessica Stover: “Oh, Officer. I know you have to do your job. If you have to give me a ticket, I’ll understand. But if you don’t, I’d be happy to give you a signed copy of my new book Aidmheil.”
Police Officer: “Aw, really?”
Do I really have to upload my excel chart at this point in the post to illustrate how when you look at the graph of my blackness factor versus Jessica Stover’s blackness factor that there really is no question whatsoever about who has more soul and angst running through their veins?
Yeah, I didn’t think so.
I watch sports. Stover? Not really. I used to run track. Stover? Gymnastics. I have the bass turned way up in my car. Stover? She thinks bass is a fish. I once was involved in a hit and run accident and I fled the scene of the crime and got off scott free after the witnesses couldn’t identify my face in a driver’s license picture line-up. Stover? She puts money in parking meters on Sundays.
I think the slam down is already in full-effect. (Which is a statement I would say but Stover would never say seeing as though I am blacker than Jessica Stover is.)
Is there a reason for me having to vocalize (or “break down”) my thoughts in this way? Should it really matter that I’m blacker than she is? Does it affect the world, our experiences and how we interact with the general public? Yeah, pretty much. But more importantly, it’s just good to know who’s blacker.
And that’s me.