A Bold New Level of Stupid: Why the Island Boys are the Future

1,285 words / 9:45

I’ve spent my entire life thinking I’ve found the lowest common denominator, only to find a denominator even lower and more common than the previous denominator. But I think I’ve finally found it — THE lowest common denominator. Actually, two lowest common denominators, because as John Donne famously said, “No boy is an island.”

As my tough luck would have it, I stumbled across a little one-minute video from October 2021 of two imbeciles in a pool crooning with fake Jamaican accents in that awful whiny style of pussy-whipped “singing” that has disgraced the Urban Mating Song genre for at least a generation now. The song was called “Island Boy.” That video became an online sensation, which allowed the pair of poolside cretins to record a pro version of the tune that 24 million people have watched so far.

This Island Boy song is so bad but so catchy at the same time 😒 pic.twitter.com/1GgwajmdIs

— Matty Thompson (@m7hompson) November 4, 2021

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D3UZO7vhMPM

Say hello to the Island Boys. They aren’t literally Island Boys. They hail from Coral Springs, Florida, a town that doesn’t even have a shoreline. Each of them is the height and weight of a string bean.

Audio version: To listen in a player, use the one below or click here. To download the mp3, right-click here and choose “save link/target as.”

They wear diamond-encrusted mouth guards and are smothered in tattoos from their skinny dumb necks all the way down to their stupid little toes. But the first things that leaps out at you upon seeing them are the ill-advised dreadlock/stalagmite monstrosities sprouting from their heads that look like either the coronavirus or miniature palm trees or giraffe horns (technically known as “ossicones”). My immediate reaction upon seeing them was, “Why? What is to be gained by these disconcerting hairstyles?” I don’t know if it’d be better or worse if that actually was their hair, but it’s not. They both have short, dark hair that they cover during most public appearances with elaborate head-hugging sock/wig contraptions.

The Island Boys are 22-year-old twin brothers named Alex and Franky Venegas. (It’s a Spanish surname.) Alex’s stage name is “Flyysoulja,” which he is thought to have appropriated from a legitimately black Southern rapper who goes by “Soulja Boy,” whereas Franky’s handle is “Kodiyakredd,” which, as a miracle of coincidence would have it, sounds a lot like “Kodak Black,” another legitimately black rapper who at one point allegedly tried to sign the Island Boys. Alex has the number “17” tattooed between his eyebrows, while Franky has some sort of winged creature tattooed between his eyebrows. Otherwise, I can’t tell them apart because they’re identically moronic.

They are “influencers” — a term which, without exception, denotes someone who is influencing the world to be dumber. They have massive followings on some of the more egregiously vapid social-media sites such as TikTok.

The Island Boys claim Cuban ancestry, but since Cuba is such a nest of miscegenation, it’d take a DNA test to suss out exactly what they have lurking in the woodpile regarding racial ancestry. Despite their mannerisms, behavior, and sorely constrained cognitive ability, they are clearly not black. Their noses alone account for half of their body weight. Their skin tone varies from copper to baked yam, but this could be the result of tanning beds and cosmetic creams rather than natural pigmentation. As a white man, my better instincts compel me to resist claiming them as white.

The Island Boys say that their biological father died when they were preschoolers and that they started getting into trouble with the law by the time they reached double digits. They say their mom permanently booted them out of the house at age 18 due to their criminal incorrigibility, but I think a case could be made that they are simply too annoying even for a mother to love, and 18 years with those twins was 36 years too many for ol’ mamacita.

Maybe they have no mother or father. Maybe they aren’t human at all. Maybe amid the South Florida humidity, they spontaneously generated one day through some form of wigger mitosis.

The biological twins have a habit of recording themselves kissing each other — on the lips, on the mouth, on the neck, and sometimes using tongue — way more times than anyone in the world ever needed to think about, much less see. Then, for reasons which will forever be a mystery to me, they go on podcasts not only flat-out denying that they’ve ever kissed each other, they also flipped out Jack Murphy-style on an interviewer who asked them about it. The interviewer was bigger than the twins combined, yet they seemed utterly unaware he could easily kill either one of them with one punch.

Having lost most of their initial clout due to that 2021 song, all they seem to do these days besides making out on camera is pick fights with podcast hosts who could beat their scrawny asses to death without breaking a sweat.

How could so much stupidity fit in such tiny bodies? You can’t pretend to be this stupid. This is an organic strain of unforced stupidity purer than Himalayan salt. As Alex/Flyysoulja once said to podcaster Bryce Hall, “You’re the most dumbest person in the world.” The Island Boys are the two most dumbest peoples in the world.

It’s fun to laugh at people being vain and stupid while utterly blind to their vanity and stupidity, but it doesn’t take long before it gets so annoying you wouldn’t mind if they were suddenly forced to endure unimaginable levels of pain. I strain to think of any possible scenario in which my immediate compulsion isn’t to wish pain upon the Island Boys. And not an ordinary pain, either: a complicated, sophisticated, and rarefied pain that matches the magnitude of their stupidity.

If I said I wanted to hurt them, I believe that may cross some kind of legal line. I think it’s definitely a crime if I said I intended to hurt them, so I won’t say that. I sit momentarily stunned at my keyboard, desperately trying to figure out all the legal ways I can say that I wouldn’t be upset if they were to be hurt without actively encouraging someone to hurt them.

Let’s put it this way: If they decided to get lippy with the wrong cop on a city street and were shot to death and left to bleed out during a livestreamed podcast, would anyone riot?

Black culture has made America incalculably dumber, and even a cursory glance at TV ads and the music charts would establish that modern American pop culture is black culture. But what is the main difference between genetic blackness and the Island Boys’ brand of acquired blackness? Do natural-born blacks at least have the advantage — and excuse — of authenticity?

I see no evidence that the world is getting smarter. I also suspect that one day soon, artificial intelligence will do most of the heavy thinking for us and most human brains will atrophy into useless vestigial organs the size and texture of dried beet chips.

This is where we are: mass enstupidation on an industrial scale. Even worse, this is where we are going.

After witnessing an electrifying live performance in 1974, Rolling Stone critic Jon Landau famously wrote that he’d seen rock ’n’ roll’s future, and its name was Bruce Springsteen.

After exposing myself to the musical stylings and social-media antics of two wigger morons from South Florida, I have seen the future of humanity, and its name is the Island Boys.

If you want a picture of the future, imagine the Island Boys bungling your drive-thru fast-food order — forever.