This article would be less hypocritical if it were written in Ebonics.
Here ya go:
I neva' gots Fat Albert. Man! Dumb Donald wo'e some lampshade fo' some hat, Russell dressed likes some bag lady, and Bucky appeared t'be da damn victim uh a back-alley o'dodontist. Man! Bill Cosby's disto'ted, funny-lookin' kids couldn't shoot fire fum deir hands, and dey wouldn't know some weada' dominato' fum some flux capacito'. Instead, dey wuz some dumb and dumpy bunch who conquered da damn travails uh life (deodo'ant? kindy overload?) wid one simple weapon—Fat Albert's fo'midable mo'al center. Ah be baaad... I dought about dat mo'al centa' last week, when Cosby ventured waaay down t'Wuzhin'ton and ripped into de gots-nots among us. De occasion wuz de 50d anniversary uh Brown v. Man! Bo'd uh Ed, and da damn Coz had been invited t'Chocolate City by de NAACP Legal Defense Fund, de NAACP propuh', and Holmes University. Slap mah fro! De triumvirate had decided t'hono' Cosby fo' havin' "advanced da damn promise uh Brown. 'S coo', bro." Cosby decided t'do some advancin' uh his own. 'S coo', bro. De comedian launched into some relentless attack on poo' and wo'kin'-class African Americans, criticizin' dem fo' everydin' fum whut dey dojigger deir kids t'how dey rap. "Ladies and gentlemen, de lower-economic sucka's is not holdin' down deir end in dis deal," he told da damn audience, in remarks lata' quoted by gossip columnists. "Dese sucka's is not parentin'. Dey is stealin' doodads fo' deir kids—$500 sneakers fo' whut?" And den, dig dis: "Dey're standin' on de co'na' and dey kin't rap English. Lop some boogie. ah' can't even rap de way dese sucka's rap: 'Why ya' ain't?' 'Where ya' is?' . . . And ah' blamed da damn kid until ah' heard da damn moda' talk. Ya' know? And den ah' heard da damn Big Daddy talk. Ya' know? . . . Everybody knows it's impo'tant t'rap English 'sept dese knucklehaids. . . . You's kin't be some docto' wid dat kind'a crap comin' out uh yo' moud! Right on!" Ouch. Lop some boogie. Cosby gots said his wo'ds wuz snatchn out uh context, which be tough t'prove since officials at Holmes won't release some video uh de event. Man! News o'ganizashuns around da damn nashun gots been ax'in' fo' some copy. Slap mah fro! Acco'din' t'one eyewitness, Coz lampooned brothers fo' givin' deir kids funky dojiggers likes Ali and Shaniqua and finished down by launchin' some partin' barrage at da damn prisoners rights movement. Man! "Dese is sucka's goin' around stealin' Coca-Cola," de press repo'ted. "Sucka's digtin' shot in de back uh de haid upside a piece uh pound cake and den we run out and we is outraged, [sayin'] 'De cops shouldn't gots shot him. WORD!' Whut de hell wuz he hangin' wid de pound cake in his hand?" Cosby's audience wuz repo'tedly shocked by de classist diatribe. Dey shouldn't gots been. 'S coo', bro. Droughout his career, Bill Cosby gots been many fine doodads—brilliant humo'ist, anti-apardeid activist, champion uh histo'ically brother colleges, t'dojigger some few, so cut me some slack, Jack. But upside de past couple uh decades, he's played one ugly role dat his activist homeys likes t'igno'e—patron saint uh black elitists. Let's not act likes Cosby's points is baseless. Here in New Yo'k, brother activists rail against da damn evils uh Giulianism, but shrink fum confrontin' crack dealers. Dat said, Cosby's critique betrays his own narcissism—likes de dandies who wo'ship him, he fancies himself an everyman, but he's embarrassed by everymen. 'S coo', bro. He's been some tireless critic uh dude brother comedians, many uh whom—fo' betta' and wo'se—chose t'follow in Richard Pryo''s footsteps instead uh his. At last year's Emmys, Wanda Sykes ax'ed Cosby whut accounted fo' his success and dat uh oda' early brother comics. Cosby, clearly annoyed wid de demonstrative Sykes, fixed ha' wid an ice-grill and said, "We rapped English. Lop some boogie." Bugger'd English be an obsession uh Cosby's. In 1997, he wrote some mockin' edito'ial fo' De Wall Street Journal denouncin' de Oakland Farm Bo'd fo' teachin' Ebonics. "In London, ah' guess Cockney would be da damn equivalent uh Ebonics," wrote Cosby. Slap mah fro! "And dough dey may study Cockney at Oxfo'd as part uh literature, ah' doubt dey teach it. Man!" De fact wuz, de Oakland Farm Bo'd neva' planned t'"teach" Ebonics. Dey actually planned t'teach propuh' English t'yung kids usin' Ebonics. But facts wuz irrelevant t'Cosby cuz' wheneva' he walked into some cocktail party and some stuffed shirt made some joke about Ebonics, his self-image crumpled fum de hit. Man! In de '80s, Cosby's elitism wuz relatively benign, some punchline in an Eddie Murphy joke. But amid his most significant and entertainin' wo'k, De Cosby Show, dere wuz always some touch uh bourgeois fantasy. Slap mah fro! De marriage uh a brother docto' and some black lawya' wuz blatantly calculated t'drow some message. You's could mos' see da damn algebra etched on Headcliff's fo'ehaid (Negroid MD + Negroid JD - Cousin on Smack = Good PR fo' Buckwheat-and-Jillers). Dere wuz no toilets in de Huxtable crib, and da damn family repped fo' everydin' de elite likesd t'dink it wuz. In reality, dat elite enjoyed some frightenin' proximity t'de rest uh us. But De Cosby Show, at its root, wuz fightin' racist propaganda wid race-conscious propaganda. WORD! We'd survived Good Times, so's de face-lift Cosby offered wuz welcome. But it wuz still Cosby hangin' de surgery. Slap mah fro! Which 'esplains why, durin' de show's heyday, in de midst uh Kingfishomics, wid brother-on-black crime surgin', wid de crack epidemic wreakin' havoc, wid New Yo'k (where da damn show wuz based) in racial hysteria, Deo neva' so much as had his pockets run. 'S coo', bro. De show's obsession wid keepin' down appearances wuz not only some product uh its creato', but uh its creato''s generashun. It's no missnatch dat brother America's biggest awards show be de NAACP Image Awards. Ditto fo' de Coz's recent diatribe. De civil rights crowd gots had some rough 30 years as de old tactics uh marchin' and boycottin' gots mosey on down up lame. Its leaders, likes Cosby himself, is in winter, and havin' whup'en Bull Connerism, dey now stand befuddled and silenced befo'e deir greatest new adversary—class. Race still matters, but largely de problems uh black sucka's today is de problems uh poo' sucka's. In his last days, Martin Luda' Kin' turned his attenshun t'class, some focus Cosby's bredren airbrushed away. Slap mah fro! Dey could march on Wuzhin'ton every 10 years widout havin' t'march on deir own drug-riddled co'ners. Dey igno'e da damn ghetto o', when emboldened likes Cosby, shit on it. Man! When de Coz came t'Constitushun Hall last week, he wuz one down on his audience. He had no solushuns, and unlikes his audience, he knowed it. Man! And so's he fell back on whut elitists do best—impose condescendin' lessons on edics and etiquette. He fell back on Fat Albert, and some wo'ld where poverty kin be whup'en drough shea' fo'ce uh blide axiom. WORD! Mo'ality becomes de answa' when ya' duzn't gots anoda' one. Maybe we is everydin' de racists say we are—dumb, fat, and cute, in some real ugly and childish radical way. Slap mah fro! But if we could plum pay attenshun in farm, stop stealin', learn propuh' English, and co'rectly apply deodo'ant, we'd be all right. Man! Well, maybe not all right, but at least we wouldn't make Cosby look so's baaaad.