If white people had their own publication, it would be Wired magazine. From top to bottom, this is a uniquely Caucasian experience:  from the white readers, to the white advertisers, to the white employees, to the white town where it is headquartered, to the white subject matter of high tech, to the white owners at Conde Nast, which also owns just about every other magazine on the planet not named Jet or Ebony or Black anything.

Of the 80 people pictured on the masthead of Wired, only two are black.

That is why I was a bit surprised to see Wired magazine recently appoint itself as the arbiter of all things black. Even more surprised at the white writer taking the point position in this crusade on behalf of her absent black brothas and sistahs. 

And finally even more surprised at the target of all this elevated racial consciousness: Me.

The occasion was earlier this month, when Ms. Pippa Biddle of Wired got a burr under her Connecticut estate saddle about the music I use on my videos on YouTube. And she did not care too much for the articles I write for American Thinker either. She said they both were “hate speech.”

She started out well -- if awkwardly -- enough: “Colin Flaherty is a prolific YouTuber and writer who chronicles violence by African Americans, which, he claims, is a much greater social problem than violence against African Americans.”

We call that the greatest lie of our lifetimes: the hoax of black victimization. All laid out in that scintillating bestseller, Don’t Make the Black Kids Angry.

On YouTube, we document that every day. Several times a day. Even in San Francisco, the home of Wired. 

Pippa’s “claim” is pretty much it -- if you are looking for something to back up her story that telling the truth about black criminality is really just hate speech. On her way to defaming me, she just forgot to provide any examples of hate speech, or show what was wrong in saying black crime and denial is at epidemic proportions.

Funny how often that happens.

Pippa Biddle, though still just a few years out of one of the most exclusive (read expensive) boarding schools in America, Miss Porter’s School for girls in Connecticut, has never been afraid to take on the tough topics.

Her article about shaming people who eat donuts is required reading for people who like reading about Pippa eating donuts.

Pippa and her pals used to take vacations to some deprived corner of the world, spread a little whiteness around, pronounce the natives better for it, and go back home to, in her case, to captain the ski team at Miss Porter’s.

During one of her trips of “Volun-tourism,” Pippa and her pals were building some kind of school or nuclear power plant or whatever white people build in third world hellholes, which is almost always pieced out and sold off before their departing flights leave the runway. She later found out that the locals had to come in at night and tear down everything they had built that day based on a faulty foundation. Then they rebuilt it. Turns out that building a wall is a lot more complicated than the ladies at Miss Porter’s school realized: you need a level to make sure the wall is… well, level.

Pippa made a bit of splash in the New York Times when she declared that all the white people traveling to help black people were racist and wrongheaded and harmful. 

It could have been called Don’t Make the Entitled White Rich Girls Angry.

And Pippa was not going to stand for that anymore. Not on her watch.

Instead, Pippa decided to make a living out of writing fairy tales of hate speech the same way she built a wall: without foundation, without expertise, without anything except an overweening whiteness that allowed her to appoint herself as guardian of all things black.

With nothing on the level.

Thanks, Pippa, we got it from here: We are going to continue to document how black crime and violence is wildly out of proportion, and how reporters and public officials and trust fund babies are in denial, deceit, and delusion about it. People like you, Pippa.

But next time you accuse someone of hate speech, it would probably be worth it to provide more proof than just you saying ‘trust me. I was the captain of the ski team at Miss Porter’s.’

I don’t want to be boring, but it’s a lawyer thing called “defamation.” 

It would probably be like someone accusing you of being a pedophile, or Miss Porter being a lousy skier, or one of your rich parents being middle class.

It simply isn’t done. Even if someone else has to come in with lawyers to straighten out your crooked fantasies.

When not educating old-line Connecticut families about the realities of black violence, Colin Flaherty has a heck of a YouTube channel and lots of books that you can buy for less than pennies per word.