Love is in the air, friends!
To make this Valentine’s Day special, I decided to take my beautiful Liberal voting wife to the community theatre. What a gift! Three hours in the dark where she didn’t have to listen to me talk about clown world Trans, WEF, and what Justin Trudeau will do after we vote him out later this year.
Thing is, when I went to the box office to purchase a ticket I was informed that the night I wanted to go to was a Black-only night. Meaning I had to identify as Black in order to attend, according to the Asian pink haired boy-girl behind the counter.
Well, I looked around expecting a film team of practical jokers to jump out of the bushes and say, “Gotcha!” When that didn’t happen I figured I must’ve mistakenly stepped on the set of a remake of Driving Miss Daisy. Whatever was going on, I politely laughed and then repeated my request, which I was then informed again that I could not attend a Black-only performance.
Black at Home
When I arrived home, I told Greta—making sure not to reveal my true intention for being at the theatre—about the insane racism I had just become a victim of.
“Toby,” she piped, “Black people have been oppressed for 300 years. Personally I think there should be more Black-only events.”
“Well, I wonder how they’d feel if we decided to put on a bunch of White-only events.”
“That would be racist,” she said, “and besides there are plenty of White-only events: golf tournaments, tennis matches, and then there’s all-you-can-eat pizza dinners at East Side Mario’s.
“Bada bing,” I muttered as I left the room dejected.
When did everyone go insane from the Pfizer vaccine? (Yes, I know the answer, suddenly.) I fired up my Lenovo Thinkpad and telegrammed Get Woke Up! scribe AD Washbro. He told me this had first come to light after a racist playwright in New York decided to first try it. Check out his recent exposé on it. Since then, woke left arts organizations have been riding the same Hershey highway, and, of course, nobody ever questions it. In fact, some companies will hire people to educate White folks who try to enter a Black-only night.
When I was only a young Toby P. Gelman growing up in Joburg, SA, I saw first-hand what apartheid could do to a nation. To think that a great country like Canada also wanted to enact a similar system was beyond my wildest and racist dreams.
BLM (Boomer Lives Matter)
After scanning the Reddit message news board r/Boomer, I found that there were other middle-aged white men who felt the same way. We all agreed that we weren’t racist because we all had at least two Black friends, and so why should we be left out. At one point, we discussed throwing a White-only party, but, like my Liberal wife said, that would be considered a hate crime. Later, the online discussion moved to more age appropriate topics like the woke nonsense created by Toronto Star cartoonist Theo Moudakis.
With the thought of a special Valentine’s Day present now a distant memory, I persisted in the idea of a White-only event, but decided to organize it for everyone who felt oppressed, felt like they had no say, and were being pushed out of society. My event wouldn’t be based on the colour of your skin, because I’m not racist. I focussed on the people who can’t keep up with tech, still subscribe to newspapers, and remember a time when there were only two genders. I marched back to the theatre, walked past the pink-haired ticket seller and found the manager.
Brimley Says It’s the Right Thing To Do
At first, he looked at me like I was nuts, but then after a while his woke brain couldn’t differentiate between a Black-only night and Toby P. Gelman’s Boomer-only night, so he said fine. I was over the moon! Two days later, I sat in the theatre with Greta and waited for the hundreds of r/Boomer to join us for the director’s cut of Cocoon. But by the time Wilford Brimley decided that he didn’t want to leave with the aliens, nobody had shown up to my Boomerpaloza-only night.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered to Greta. “Why would no one want to come to Boomer night?”
“Boomers typically go to matinees,” she said. “I wouldn’t take it personally.”
We waited until the credits rolled and then as we were heading home, Greta surprised me with a late dinner at East Side Mario’s.
“Bada Boom… er!”
