Please don't think that I don't care about Black History. During the month of February I adorn myself in a dashiki and march into the streets every day yelling "Harambee!" at the top of my lungs. While I'm sure that my efforts would garner more credence if I wasn't drunk and half naked, it's merely a token of my support for the cultural traditions of African-Americans. Also, on rainy afternoons I listen to Roberta Flack and cry.
Anyway, the point of this is that recent efforts to earn support for The Black Archives have depicted the issue as a referendum on the value of Black History rather than the prospect of this town supporting yet another financially unsound attraction that nobody visits (i.e. Union Station, Liberty Memorial, The Zoo, the rest of 18th and Vine etc., etc.). For the number of people who would visit The Black Archives in Kansas City, Steven Penn would be better off building an addition to his garage to house the project rather than whining for the people of KC to fund the white elephant.
Thankfully, I have a solution. Let's put the Black Archives in a strip club. This town has always had a passion for jamming dollar bills up the asses of women in spite of the tacky decor most strip clubs offer. If the Black Archives hosted pole dances and a $10 cover the institution would be financially viable within a matter of months. Additionally, I'm sure the strippers wouldn't mind dancing to jazz so there might be an opportunity to get the American Jazz Museum off of KC's dole was well. Besides, strippers dancing to jazz might "class the place up" a little bit and anything is better than the horrible music that strippers prefer (read: Southern Rap).
There you have it, I'm part of the solution now and not just a sissified columnist who believes that everything Black should be on welfare.
Word!
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