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“I buy what I think is a beautiful gift for Richard Pryor. It’s a pre-Civil War cigarette and match holder, with a small black child sitting on top of two yellow haystacks smoking a corncob pipe. Right before dinner, I give it to Richard. He takes one look at it and screams, “I fucking hate it!” Shocked, I ask, “Hate it? How can you hate it?” “It’s fucking racist.” "It’s fucking black art; it may have been racist but it’s not now. This is an artistic documentation of those times." Now I’m on a roll. “Open your eyes.” “I’ll open your eyes, bitch.”” — Jennifer Lee
I buy what I think is a beautiful gift for Richard Pryor. It’s a pre-Civil War cigarette and match holder, with a small black child sitting on top of two yellow haystacks smoking a corncob pipe. Right before dinner, I give it to Richard. He takes one look at it and screams, “I fucking hate it!”
Shocked, I ask, “Hate it? How can you hate it?”
“It’s fucking racist.”
"It’s fucking black art; it may have been racist but it’s not now.
This is an artistic documentation of those times." Now I’m on a roll. “Open your eyes.”
“I’ll open your eyes, bitch.”