By now the world has become aware of the Darth Becky fuckshit that occurred last week courtesy of Faux Femme Fatale, Lena Dunham, and her dull, cream-colored, average-comic friend, Amy Schumer. If Taylor Swift is the Darth Vader of the Evil White Girl Empire, Dunham is most certainly its Jaba The Hutt. This has nothing to do with her being fat, or chubby, or a little thick. Personally, I love women with curves. (Shout out to GabiFresh, Ashley Graham, and the lovely Jill Scott. Y’all make my heart melt.) It’s more about her being utterly inept, talentless, and non-threatening, yet somehow commanding power and drawing a following from fellow Abigail Fishers and misguided feminists who are only feminist when it comes to white women.
Anywho, if you haven’t heard by now, Ms. Dunham vomited her insecurities and imprudent sense of humor when reflecting on her interaction with New York Giant’s ramen noodle haired receiver Odell Beckham Jr. at this year’s Met Gala. Lena said Odell didn’t interact with her much, choosing instead to be consumed by his phone, because he deemed her an inadequate sexual object. Basically, he was guilty of eliciting White fragility for not sexually objectifying a pasty, white girl in a tuxedo, because he has a misogynistic mindset about attractiveness.
Note, this is all coming from Lena’s ‘I think I’m important but not really’ privileged mind since, you know, Odell never said this shit. As if our country doesn’t have enough of a shameful history regarding the over-sexualization and vilification of Black males courtesy of fabricated stories from the moronic brains of devious, unvictimized, White women. (See Emmett Till, The Destruction of Black Wall Street, and the Rosewood Massacre for reference.) Hence, as you would expect, Lena was appropriately dragged by the social guardian that is Black Twitter.
Since then, Dunham has issued a (somewhat decent) apology, and Girls is still canceled, so all is right in the world. However, one key piece of this story is missing: what exactly was Odell thinking that night? Did he really ignore her because she was “a marshmallow” dressed in a tuxedo? Or was he sliding in someone’s DMs and needed to remain focused on the ‘gram? Up until now, it has been a mystery. As I said before, Odell NEVER said any of this shit. Also, since news of Dunham’s slow-witted debacle broke to the masses, he has responded to requests from reporters with a sterile, “I Have to Learn More About the Situation” and “I’m focused on the Cowboys.” (Note: The Cowboys fucking suck!)
But we’re in luck. If Key & Peele’s comedic gospel taught us anything, we know that Black men have the ability to communicate with each other telepathically through a process know as Shining. Thus, because I’m a Black man, I can use my Magical Negro powers to Shine the official transcript of Odell’s thought process that fateful night. Alas, I give you, the Negro Shining of Odell.
OBJ: Hey, Wiz, you good fam? I heard you fell down the stairs.
Wiz: Nah, gotdammit, that wasn’t me, bruh. I’m good. That was Jason Derulo. (It wasn’t Jason Derulo either.)
OBJ: Bet. Just checkin’ bruh. Where do I sit? And they better have some fire-ass food. I’m hongry den a bih.
Michael B. Jordan: You gotta plant where they want you. Ain’t no choosing yo’ own seat up in here, fam.
OBJ: Why? That don’t make no damn sense.
MBJ: Ain’t that many of us here. They gotta spread out the melanin.
OBJ: Gotcha. We gotta represent Team No Socks.
MBJ: Yeah, Team No Socks in the building.
Common: Y’all know Calvin Klein wanted y’all to wear socks, right? That shit ain’t cool. Follow the program niggas.
Nas: Chill, Common. They just youngins. Let ’em live.
Melo: Yeezy, is that you? Are you at the wrong party? You dressed like it’s Halloween.
Yeezy: It’s fashion nigga. It’s avant-garde muhfucka.
Melo: That shit corny nigga. You look like a ghetto-ass Walker Texas Ranger. You mus’ be da Southside edition.
Barack Obama: Yeezy, we talked about this. You can’t just be out in these streets looking like a Chicago Vampire. You can’t pop off like that. Feel me?
OBJ: Got ’em!!!!!
Kanye: Man, fuck y’all. That’s why I’m running for President in 2020.
Obama: Naw, fam.
OBJ: Aye, y’all see Beyonce’s fine-ass out here? I’m ’bout to get a pic for the ‘gram.
Jay-Z: Look, nigga, don’t get too close to my woman. I may not be there but, I’m still there. ALWAYS. It’s the Roc.
OBJ: My bad Hov.
Future: I got tha Keys, tha keys, tha k-
OBJ: Ayo, Future, Russell says what’s up?
Future: Man, fuck you, Odell!
Russell Wilson: What’s up, Future?!
Future: Fuck you, Russ!
MBJ: Hey dawg, we gotta focus. We about to be seated. Time to be proper, non-threatening negroes.
OBJ: Bet. Oh shit, I’m sitting next to that chick that was grinding all over you Mike.
MBJ: Really, dawg? I thought she was convulsing or something. That’s why I didn’t move. I didn’t know what to do so I just smiled.
OBJ: Is she drunk? She keeps looking at me for some reason.
MBJ: Man, I dunno. Looking at you how?
OBJ: Like, she just staring at me, giving me this weird-ass grin, bro. It’s creeping me the fuck out. Who is she anyway?
MBJ: Just don’t make eye contact. That’s how she ended up twerking on me like Miley Cyrus.
OBJ: Alright. But who is she?
Nas: I think she works here at the museum, b. She’s probably a curator or something like that.
OBJ: A curator? What the fuck is that?
Common: She’s the one that sets up all the art n’ shit.
OBJ: Oh, word?!
MBJ: Naw, she’s an actress. A writer too, I think. I just know that Judd put her on at HBO.
Donald Glover: Yeah, I was in her show, fam. She digs Black dudes.
OBJ: Who are you?
DG: Donald Glover.
DG: Damn, bruh. It’s Childish Gambino. Remember me? We partied when I did a show at LSU.
OBJ: Oh, y’all the same person. Damn, that’s deep, son.
DG: Nigga, I told you this.
OBJ: Ayo Mike, she still looking at me. What do I do?
MBJ: Just smile, bro.
OBJ: I’m trying. It’s not working. What else you got?
MBJ: Damn, I dunno. Somebody, help em’ out.
Kobe: Mamba at your service. What you’re go-
Melo: NOT YOU KOBE! You not the one. Take that Mamba shit somewhere else.
OBJ: Quick, hurry nigga. She is undressing me with her eyes.
Idris Elba: Calm down young fella. We got you.
OBJ: Idris, is that you?
IE: Yes. I’m looking dead at you. Just stay calm.
MBJ: Ayo, I’m still mad you told the producers to kill me off The Wire. That was fucked up? But it’s all good.
Wood Harris: That was like 15 sum’ years ago. Stop being a lil bitch about it. We basically MADE you, nigga.
MBJ: Whatever, dawg.
OBJ: NIGGA!!!! Help me!!!!!
IE: Hit’em, Denzel.
Denzel Washington: Alright, okay. I assure you brotha, that if you listen to my voice, you well make it out of this unscathed. I guarantee it. Alright?
OBJ: Okay, what do I do?
DW: Just look straight forward.
OBJ: Okay, I’m looking forward.
DW: Who do you see?
OBJ: Zoe Kravitz. Dayum, she fine too.
OBJ: Okay, okay, what do I do now?
DW: Slowly reach into your pocket, and grab your phone.
OBJ: Okay. I got it. What now?
DW: Now just watch some Dave Chappelle skits until this is all over.
DW: Yes. You just gotta hang in there for a little while longer. She’ll be outta your hair quicker than dandruff.
OBJ: Whew! Thanks, OG. ‘Preciate it. Shout out to Head & Shoulders!
Jordan Peele: Hey, y’all do know this ain’t real, right?
OBJ: Wait, what?
Keagan Michael Key: He said this isn’t real. Because it isn’t. We made this shit up because the execs at Comedy Central were on some fuckshit. We needed to scare their asses.
OBJ: Dayum, dawg.
So there you have it, folks. Looks like Odell was just trying to avoid Lena Dunham’s awkward flirting and wandering eyes. Or maybe he was concerned about his personal safety having witnessed the rhythmless, debauchery she unleashed on Michael B. Jordan earlier that evening. Hell, it’s like counting the licks to the middle of a Tootsie Roll Pop. We may never know. Either way, this account is much more believable than anything rambling in Lena Dunham’s simple mind. Because we all know, White women are still prone to lying on niggas. Just ask Kanye.