Posted on 03/06/2012 6:16:12 PM PST by Weedle
The Tar Baby - a Political Fable
This was flagged on You Tube as Hate Speech! Almost a word for word adaptation of the John Chandler Harris story. Unbelievable!
Comrade, you forgot that conservative speech is hate speech.
The term “Tar baby” is apparently racist now as well.
We used to eat at Sambo’s when I was a kid. The decor was all like that photo.
That was one of my favorite books as a kid, I wish I still had it.
If I recall, Little Black Sambo was Indian which explains how he made Tiger butter. (Tigers are an asian cat)
Banning it for being the tar-baby story is stupid, but this adaptation does have Ann Coulter pondering hanging a black man, that’s going to be a no-no on youtube, obviously.
Darn good pancakes at Sambo’s!
Today’s race police are leftist extremists who haven’t bothered to learn or who ignore actual American history.
The Uncle Remus folklore was from the Black slaves and Joel Chandler Harris (a white) preserved them by writing down what he heard living in the old South.
Brer Rabit was a trickster who survived by outwitting his enemies, Brer Fox & Bear. The slaves survived by outwitting their masters and over seers too. The stories were sort of code on survival, use your wits when confronted by power you cannot defeat.
Whites said a touch or tar meant one had a black ancestor Blacks used the tar baby story of a figure made of sticky tar as an example of Brer Rabbit to show a way he fooled his enemies. Not a bad thing in that context.
A few years back we had a fight over whether Huck Finn should be allowed in some school here in Michigan.
Somebody didn’t like the use of the name Nigger Jim. The name is a specific necessary part of the story in the fact that by the end of the story his name is just “Jim”. There was a moral that couldn’t be taught without it.
From the sick, demented mind of the late Michael O’Donoghue - From Saturday Night Live:
Mr. Mike Meets Uncle Remus
Announcer: “Mr. Mike’s Least Loved Bedtime Tales” will not be seen tonight, so that NBC may present the following special program.
[ open on interior, Uncle Remus’ log cabin from “Song of the South” ]
[ hear sound of car door opening and closing, followed by second car door opening ]
Mr. Mike: [ outside ] I’ll just be a minute, driver.. [ hear door close, as he enters the log cabin ] Hey, Uncle Remus, how are you? Good to see you.
Uncle Remus: I’se mighty hpapy to make yo’ acquaintance, Mr. Mike. Y’all come in an’ make yo’self to home.
Mr. Mike: Here? Not likely. [ sits down ] Listen, I just dropped by to tell you one of my Least-Loved Bedtime Tales. It’s about your old buddy, Brer Rabbit.
Uncle Remus: Brer Rabbit? Why, ah loves dat floppy-eared rascal, Mr. Mike! An’ if ah knows Brer Rabbit, he’s a-cookin’ up some devilment, ain’t he?
Mr. Mike: He sure is, Uncle Remus. He’s off to trick somebody out of their chickens or something - God knows what - going down the road, hppity-hoppity, hippity-hoppity..
Uncle Remus: An’, an’ den he sees dis here Tarbaby, right, Mr. Mike? An’ Brer Rabbit, dat ole scalywag.. he done up an’ wallop him one an’ gits hisself all stuck in de tar, an’ den..
Mr. Mike: Excuse me. Excuse me, Uncle Remus. There is no Tarbaby. In my story, the Tarbaby was used to repair a pothole. No, you see, Brer Rabbit is going down the road, hippity-hoppity, hippity-hoppity, when he’s caught by Brer Fox and Brer Bear.
Uncle Remus: Oh, ah knows, Mr. Mike. An’ den they threaten to skin him alive but dat ole crafty rabbit, he say: “Skin me alive; do anything you want, but don’t throw me in de briar patch!” So dey throws him in de briar patch an’ he gits away! [ laughs ]
Mr. Mike: No, not quite, Uncle Remus. In my story, they respect his wishes and skin him alive. I mean, it’s all very amusing to talk about being skinned alive in some children’s book, but can you imagine it actually going down? Toward the end, when they were cutting the ears away from the side of the skull, he was screaming: “Throw me in the briar patchl throw me in the molten glass furnace; anything but this!”
Uncle Remus: Oh, dat’s just terrible, Mr. Mike. An’ den what happen?
Mr. Mike: He died and they ate him.
Uncle Remus: Dey ate Brer Rabbit?!! Oh, Lawdy!
Mr. Mike: Yeah, and sold his feet for lucky charms. The end.
Uncle Remus: “De end?!” But, but, Mr. Mike, what am de moral of your fable?
Mr. Mike: There’s no moral, Uncle Remus, just random acts of meaningless violence.
Uncle Remus: Ah doan think I likes dat. Ah doan thinks ah likes dat one bit.
Mr. Mike: [ getting up to leave ] Oh, by the way, I found this dead bluebird outside your shack. [ holds up bloody and decomposed dead bluebird ]
Uncle Remus: Why, Mr. Mike, it’s de bluebird of happiness!
Mr. Mike: Yeah, and from the looks of it, it’s been there two or three weeks. Put that on your shoulder, pal. [ puts dead bluebird on Uncle Remus’ shoulder, then exits the log cabin. Hear sound of car door opening. ] Regine’s, and step on it.
[ hear door closing and car driving away, as Uncle Remus stares despondently at the bluebird ]
[ Music Out: “Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah” ]
[ fade ]
Ahhh yes! I loved those pancakes because they were thin
and small, not thick and cakey as to sit like a rock in
your stomach the rest of the day!
I also loved the days when everything didn’t offend everybody. Things are really going downhill much FASTER
than i ever anticipated.
AKA, "horse blankets"...more descriptive that the usual "flannel cakes".
Sambo's was the only place I actually ordered cakes, and enjoyed eating them.
I was raised on thin cakes: buttermilk or sourdough; and, in a pinch, even 'sweet' milk.
A real art to having the batter just the right consistency & the griddle the right temperature. I still cook ours on my parents' Guardian Ware griddle, made from WWII surplus aluminum billets.
“We used to eat at Sambo’s when I was a kid.”
It was a good place for a quick stack of pancakes. Later on, Sambo’s was where the pimps hung out and kept an eye on their ladies. out of business soon after.
I found my copy of Little Black Sambo in my parents’ attic. Feeling lucky! Now I want to get my hands on Disney’s Song of the South.
We ate at Sambos. I remember the pancakes. That was in the 60s and 70s.
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