This is T-Dawg. Once he was the longest running Black dude on The Walking Dead. Then he died in prison. Well, he’s been resurrected as a meme.

There’s this one…

This one…

You get the point. There were some well written Black characters in the Walking Dead universe. Morgan, for one, managed to convey the crushing weight of that world while at the same time displaying a level on ingenuity that made me palm-slap myself.

Michonne is a force of nature. I don’t know of too many other characters who could stand toe to toe with the most crazily competent men on that side of Georgia, but she did, nostrils flaring, eyes fixed. Remember when Merle shook T-Dawg up so much on the roof that the poor guy dropped the keys to the handcuffs? I do. Do you think Michonne would have done that? No. She would have ended his life right then.

Tyrese… He apologizes too much. His expression reminds me of a child that is about to interrupt two adults who are fighting. Humble. Uncertain. But at least he gets lines.

Not T-Dawg. Chubby, clumsy, quiet T-Dawg. Either the writers intentionally depicted a Black man who had mastered flying under the radar, or they accidentally introduced a character that was such a bland stereotype that they couldn’t be bothered writing lines for him at all. I suspect the latter.

But then I ask myself, who would I be if the zombies came? After all, I live a few miles from Atlanta. So, when I look at the show I wonder, where would I be? Walker? Dead man? Or T-Dawg.

I mean, I’m not big like Tyrese. I’m kind of pudgy… like T-Dawg. And I’m not a bad ass force of nature like Michonne. I can’t track animals like Daryl, and I don’t posses that rugged sense of authority that keeps Rick in a position of leadership despite a string of questionable choices and bouts of insanity. At best I’m a Morgan. But maybe, I’m just a T-Dawg. A regular Black dude, destined to be canon fodder.

That doesn’t sit right with me. That’s what this blog is about. I don’t want to be T-Dawg. Nobody does. So I’m going to change it. I’m going to do the things that he should have done to make him so competent, so bad-ass that he would be the one with the poncho, not Daryl. Picture that.

This is Chad Vs Death. I’m going to show you that the apocalypse don’t have nothing on me.