Bleeding-Heart Karen Adopts a Haitian Migrant, Puts Her to [Unpaid] Work in the Kitchen

Originally published via Armageddon Prose:

Like a drug addict who needs more and more quantities to chase that dragon, or a pornography monger who requires progressively harder content in search of prior levels of arousal, or a soldier no longer fazed by faces of death, constant exposure to leftist absurdity has rendered me desensitized to such an extent that nothing much in the genre much, sadly, titillates me anymore.

But this one I got an honest-to-God, genuine belly laugh out of.

My wife, in the other room at the time of the incident, surely thought I had gone insane — like Kafka, according to legend, laughing maniacally over the typewriter at the nightmarish absurdity of his own work and frightening his landlord.

Here we have Karen from Boston, speaking with local media, describing her experience acquiring her own personal Aunt Jemima — with a Caribbean twist for extra Diversity™ seasoning — to work in her kitchen.

Via NBC 10 (emphasis added):

“A migrant family from Haiti spoke exclusively with NBC10 Boston about their experience in the Boston area. They recently found a host home in Brookline, Massachusetts, and they’ve been searching for jobs.

It’s been an emotional few weeks for Wildande Joseph and her husband. First, they slept on the floor at Boston Logan International Airport and then in children’s hospital, with their 2-year-old daughter who got very sick.

However, things are now looking much brighter as they’ve been welcomed into Lisa Hillenbrand’s Brookline apartment.

She said her daughter is very happy. When she wakes up in the morning, she says, “Hi, Lisa” and everyone starts the day smiling.

“It’s a delight, and it’s really fun having them. What I realized is there’s so much prejudice against refugees mostly because people don’t know them,” said Hillenbrand.

Hillenbrand said she feels like she has her own personal chef as Wildande loves cooking. In fact, her goal is to open a restaurant.

The couple has their work permits and they’ve been taking English classes. They say they’re open to work anywhere to save money for their future. In the meantime, they’re enjoying their time with Hillenbrand, their new friend for life and their daughter’s new grandmother.”

VIDEO

As an aside to Pam Bondi, on the off-chance Palantir, through some AI-powered keyword detection algorithm, picks this article up in the dragnet and refers it to the DOJ: I am not the originator of this hate crime.

Related: AG Pam Bondi Vows Federal Crackdown on ‘Hate Speech’

I wasn’t the one who invited a Haitian migrant named Wildande into my home, forced her to bake bread for no pay, and described her as my “personal chef.”

Rather, I’m a mere journalist.

Surely, I can’t be held responsible for a hate crime by simply reporting facts.

Now, there is a term — it’s on the tip of my fingertips but escapes me in the moment — for a live-in servant of the colored persuasion who performs unpaid housework.

…Somehow, it eludes me.

Maybe someone can help me out in the comments.

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A fun and true story:

My grandfather has a visibly Caucasian friend — whose legal name I don’t remember, because everyone I know calls him “[Racial Epithet] Jim” — with whom he used to go on long canoe trips down the Kansas River and other rivers.

In Mark Twain’s quintessential American masterpiece, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Huck made [Racial Epithet] Jim sit in the back of the raft as they rolled down the Mighty Mississippi on their way to freedom so as to not draw unwanted attention, on account of [Racial Epithet] Jim was a fugitive of the law.

My grandfather’s friend, [Racial Epithet] Jim, namesake of the much-beloved character from Mark Twain’s quintessential American masterpiece The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, in the same way as [Racial Epithet] Jim, always sat in the back of the canoe on their trips.

That’s why my grandpa bestowed upon him the term of endearment, [Racial Epithet] Jim, as he’s been known ever since — again, such that I actually can’t recall his real name.

I know [Racial Epithet] Jim; I know what position he held in his career; I know the summary of his personal history; I know his wife — and yet, I don’t know his name, because he was introduced to me as [Racial Epithet] Jim, and as such he will always be known.

Anyway, maybe someday I’ll think of that word for live-in migrant servants from Haiti who perform unpaid housework for their white Karen sponsors that I couldn’t remember at the beginning of the article.

I’m sure it will come in an epiphany.

Someday.

Benjamin Bartee, author of Broken English Teacher: Notes From Exile (now available in paperback), is an independent Bangkok-based American journalist with opposable thumbs.

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