Kim Kardashian and Kanye West attend the Manus x Machina: Fashion In an Age of Technology Costume Institute Gala at Metropolitan Museum of Art on May 2, 2016, in New York City.
Photo: Mike Coppola (Getty Images)

I’ve never watched an episode of Keeping Up With the Kardashians, Khloé & Lamar, I Am Cait, Kylie and Kendall Go Black-Boy Fishing or any of the other iterations of the Kardashian shows. In fact, I think they’re untalented hacks who have made a fortune swallowing blackness and puking it back out because vomit spilling out of a white woman’s mouth is more sellable to the masses than undigested blackness.

So when I heard that Kanye West joined the Kardashian clan for a taping of Celebrity Family Feud, I asked 100 people named Michael Harriot if they would watch the Kardashian-Wests compete against the Kardashian-Jenners on the game show when it airs. “You’re damn right” was the No. 1 answer.

But it’s only because I was immediately intrigued when I saw Kim Kardashian’s tweet (no, I don’t follow her) with Yeezy in the background, his zombielike stare pleading with us, seemingly wishing for the camera to flash and eject him from the sunken place.

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Again, like many people, I have no interest in Kim Kardashian. I think she and her entire family are so desperate for attention that they intentionally court controversy by shitting out putrid, late-night Taco Bell dollar-menu turds of black culture.

The incredibly talented Michaela Coel put it best when she said that Kim Kardashian is “sippin on gin & juice cackling away @ ur flailing tweets; she is bored with life, & trying to incite irrational outrage in black women is her entertainment/way of coping.”

In fact, I’m following Coel’s (who I believe is a Russian bot. There’s no way anyone can be that beautiful, talented and funny. Nah, she’s a computer algorithm) advice:

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I know what you’re thinking: But Michaela Coel advised us not to tweet about Kim Kardashian in a tweet about Kim Kardashian. But Coel’s oxymoronic example exemplifies our hate-hate relationship with the entire Kardashian-West-Jenner phenomenon.

We can’t help it.

I know most Caucasians have the rhythm and agility of a beheaded giraffe calf, which is exactly why my second-favorite pastime is watching white people dance. (My favorite pastime is hate-watching Donald Trump drink water as he reads a teleprompter.)

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We all groan at the Kardashian family’s desperate Snapchat thirst traps, but we’ve all seen them. They are superstars for the same reason we are always stuck in traffic: The more horrific the car crash, the more people will slow down to see what happened. I call it “the Omarosa Conundrum.”

Don’t tell me you’re not the least bit curious to see how many times Steve Harvey’s mustache messes up and refers to the patriarch of the family as “Mr. Caitlyn.” I wouldn’t know Kylie or Kendall if they walked into my living room wearing nothing but name tags that said, “Hello, my name is Kylie,” but I’m going to watch the fuck out of them play the “Fast Money” round.

I could tell you that it’s part of my job to watch Khloé’s apparently surgically enhanced brow furrow when she can’t figure out why “butt implants” isn’t one of the five most popular plants, but I’d be lying. I’m really doing a wellness check on Yeezus because I miss the old Kanye. Plus, it’s going to be hilarious when he goes apeshit the first time he earns a strike, grabs the mic from Steve and says: “Imma let you finish, but Press Your Luck is one of the greatest game shows of all time! Big bucks, no Whammies!”

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So, yes, I’m going to watch Kanye on Family Feud, the same way I’d love to see Donald Trump on Jeopardy. And if you tell me you’re not going to watch the hell out of it, survey says:

You’re lying.