Spike Lee Hates Everything

This entry was posted on Jan 08 2013

The overhead lights flashed several times, indicating to the remaining patrons of the bar that it would soon be closing time. There weren’t many people left in the bar. There was a couple of regulars getting last minute drinks from the bartender. There was a man mopping the floor. A few vagrants were wrestling in the corner- no, wait… they’re having unprotected sex. The booths were empty except for Spike Lee. He was the lone man left on that side of the room. In his booth, he was nursing his beer and tapping a pen against his head anxiously. Spike Lee was silently furious, a nice change of pace for the rest of the world. He was staring at a small piece of paper in front of him. It was his list of things he hated, and needed to destroy. Spike Lee had spent the last few years knocking things off that list, but there was one item lingering.

He's been very busy over the years...

“Psh, Django Unchained…” muttered Spike Lee. “You call that a movie title?” Spike Lee took out a pack of cigarettes. He tried to light one, but his hand was shaking badly. The bartender noticed him from behind the counter. “Hey uh, Spike. You can’t smoke in here,” said the bartender. Spike Lee stood up angrily. “Why? Because I’m black?” The bartender put up his hands in defense. “Spike, it’s not because you’re black, man. It’s the law,” said the bartender. Spike Lee threw the rest of his beer across the room and the glass shattered against the wall. “Oh, you have a law in this bar says black guys can’t smoke in here?” questioned Spike Lee. The bartender sighed heavily and gave up, going back to wiping down the counter. How many times can he fight with Spike Lee in one week? The bartender was used to Spike Lee making a commotion and calling him a racist. He just didn’t have the energy for it tonight. That being said, Spike Lee finally lit his cigarette and smoked profusely. He couldn’t take his eyes off the list. “You aren’t allowed to make a movie about black guys unless you’re Spike Lee,” he muttered to himself. That’s when he heard a ruckus. Spike Lee hadn’t noticed the large group in the corner booth all night, but there they were. And right in the center of the table was Quentin Tarantino.

Before the Q-Man knew it, Spike Lee was standing in front of his table, foaming at the mouth. Quentin Tarantino’s table was covered in empty beer and shot glasses. With him at the table were six beautiful black girls, all of whom were of age (well, except this one that was pretty questionable). Tarantino had his arms around two of them, and they didn’t seem to be struggling to get away. The table fell silent. Tarantino leaned forward to address the man who had interrupted his good time. “Arrgghhh grulla gah gah froar!” growled Tarantino. Spike Lee just stared him down. Tarantino leaned back. “That’s how I probably sound in your head, right Spike?” asked Tarantino. Spike Lee turned his attention to the black girls at the table. “Why don’t you girls run home and study?” encouraged Spike Lee. The girls scoffed. “No way mister! We gonna stay right here and get our cootchies wrecked by this here movie director!” yelled one of the women. Another one of the women vomited across the table and passed out. Spike Lee became enraged. “Did you drug that girl, Tarantino? You can’t just scoop up slaves from the plantation and fuck them!” screamed Spike Lee. “Holy shit, Spike! Can you calm down?” asked Tarantino. “It’s 2013, bro! We’re not in Montgomery, Alabama right now! These girls are here of their own free will.”

Oh man, Spike Lee is gonna be sour when he hears about this!

Quentin Tarantino never once even came close to saying the N-word, but in Spike Lee’s head, that’s the only thing he heard. Spike Lee took out some business cards and distributed them to the girls who remained conscious, which was now down to three. “This is a really good GED prep course,” Spike Lee began. “There’s still time for you girls to recover from this racist’s brainwashing.” One of the girls began to eat the business cards. Another one looked up at Spike angrily. “Man, I’m in my sophomore year at NYU. Back off! I’m just trying to enjoy my vacation and get my drink on with celebrities!” yelled the girl. Spike Lee dug into his backpack and produced several DVDs. “Here, take these, too,” said Spike Lee. He handed each girl, conscious or not, a DVD of one of his horrible movies. “This is one of my hit Spike Lee joints, Do The Right Thing,” said Spike Lee. “In it, a bunch of black guys keep on doin’ the wrong thing, but then at the end, they start doin’ the right thing.” Spike Lee slid a DVD under the vomit encrusted face of each passed out girl. Quentin Tarantino had had enough. “Mr. Lee, at this point in time I believe you should exit the premises before you embarrass yourself further,” said Tarantino. Spike Lee begins to lose his shit. “I’m not your goddamn Uncle Tom! And don’t call me “boy”!” screamed Spike Lee. Tarantino looked puzzled. “Spike, for the love of God make an appointment to see an audiologist! I fret your hearing might be on the fritz.”

At this point, Spike Lee was writhing on the ground in pain. There was no one within a ten foot radius of his body, but he appeared to think he was being beaten. He muttered several things about Rodney King and then pretended to be thrown into the street by white thugs. One of the girls turned to Quentin. “You ain’t using no condom with me tonight, don’t worry!” she said. Quentin seemed disturbed. “Ew, that’s how diseases are spread.” Quentin checks his watch and grimaces. “Oh boy, I have to be up early tomorrow.” He finishes his beer, counts out some money for the bill, and leaves a generous tip. “Goodnight ladies.” And with that, Quentin was off into the night. One of the girls stole Tarantino’s money, stuffed it into her purse, and fled the scene. Another one of the girls began to snort coke off of the DVD copy of Do The Right Thing.

If you Google "Spike Lee in a good mood", this is the happiest picture that comes up.

During his walk home, Spike Lee came up with a great idea. He would publicly declare that he would never see Django Unchained. Everyone would be shocked. They would think, But you’re black, you have to see it. Spike Lee told himself that he’d denounce the movie as “disrespectful to his ancestors.” If Spike Lee won’t see the movie, then no black person can. That’s just how it goes. A smile finally crawled it’s way across Spike Lee’s smug, self-righteous face. He adjusted his stupid fucking Yankee cap and made his way towards Madison Square Garden for his stupid fucking Knicks game. Spike Lee likes the Yankees and the Knicks. He needs everyone to know this. That’s why he wears the hats and goes to the games.

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