A GROUP OF WHITE GUYS

The plan was to have a short nap, after which I'd have the last smoke of the day at a friendly local establishment where the customers aren't flaming asshats (unlike the nearby karaoke joint), perhaps with a whiskey.
This required the nap to be two hours. Rather than five.
I guess I was exhausted.

A normal person does not get up at three thirty in the morning. And, seeing as there's nothing open except an all-night donut shop, I ain't going out, and will forgo a pipe. Instead I shall cruise upon the internet.

Which, in the Trump era, is not good.



I should mention, apropos of Trump and his repulsive fan club, that because of the way I speak English, on the Fourth of July someone told me to go back where I came from.

I was born in Los Angeles.

Five hours ago a carload of fine young men yelled at a friend, as they were driving by, "build the wall, build the wall".

He's from Detroit.


My apartment mate is Cantonese American, born here. Her daddy was Chinese from Texas. Do I need to mention what her mood has been like recently?

Several of my associates have been loudly reminded of their homosexuality in contexts where that was far less than relevant.
It's almost never relevant.



A few of my friends are Christians. Despite an almost overwhelming urge to do so, I have refrained from telling them to go back to Texas or Louisiana, or that they should be sexually brutalized by alligators before dying in Fema camps with their damned co-religionists. Because, even though this is Donald Trump's America, they are rather decent people.
And one just doesn't do stuff like that.

Besides, they are friends. Asshole behaviour should always be selective.

Most of the rest of you Christians, however, should move out of state. Or at least out of the city. If you subsequently end up violated by alligators and starving to death in camps in Texas or Louisiana, that's fine.
Oh, and stop marrying your cousins.
It's effing repulsive.



Post scriptum: Christians are combustible.
Plus soft and wet.




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