Ye Dwyer sisters have been
accused of witchcraft by the good townspeople
of Black Salem. You shall be judged
by a jury of your peers. Our peers? But there only
be men on this jury. You only think we’re witches because we’re strong
independent women. That’s right. Mm-hmm
No. Then why is there
a literal witch not on trial? Ah, you mean Esmeralda,
that precious, precious, emerald flower.
Leave her be! Townspeople,
present your evidence. Your Honor.
I was out on the main road, whispering secrets
to my horse, Old Carrots, when I noticed the Dwyer sisters
looking quite dour. Naturally this upset me,
so I told them to smile. Instead, the sisters did strike
a supernatural pose to strip me of my masculinity. T’was one hip out
to the side like this, with the pointer finger
of the right hand waving about, like it were a magic wand. Your Honor, it’s not magic
to reprimand a cat-caller. That’s right. Can’t the woman
go from point A to point B without a bunch
o’ men hollerin’ at her? Your Honor,
I have physical proof. The sisters
were selling merchandise with this heretical design. Black girl magic! So there.
I did it. Solved the case. It’s not actual black magic.
It’s not magic at all. Tis just an expression
of empowerment we women like to use. Then why not say
black people magic? Do not all black magics matter? Mm-hmm
(affirmative) Oh, you’re one of those. Excuse me? Look here! Look! I confiscated this from a recent
house call to their cottage. How unnatural to have
amorous feelings for someone
who’s not of your race. Very unnatural. You know that that’s my husband who was trampled to death
by Old Carrots. He’s a bad horse. And clearly there’s
a double standard because you’re hitting
on that witch. Wh- what? Do not talk
about Esmeralda like that. She is a good, green woman. And you just admitted to
marrying this white-faced devil. You a witch. Oh, gimme a break. By the black skin of Jesus! The sassy one’s eyes rolled
far in the back of her head and landed on the side. I am certain this is some
kind of side eye incantation. We must condemn
them immediately! Yeah! Silence!
Silence in my courtroom! Jury. What say ye? Burn them! Damn.
Witch-ass witches. It’s unanimous. I sentence ye Dwyer sisters,
to death by fire. Yeah! Yes. Men of Black Salem, please.
We are not witches. We are your sisters.
Our struggle is your struggle. When black women
are independent and confident, it strengthens us all. If we can just live
with mutual respect we’ll be able to triumph
over everything. I feel you, my sisters. Look inside your hearts. Do you actually believe
that we’re witches? Or is our only crime
that you can’t control us? Damn. Nailed it. Hope all your dicks fall off!
Every single one! Oh, they will. I’m a dick witch. I got a big ol’ cauldron