Tag Archives: racist

As plain as black and white

A stray comment from the next table caught my ear this morning.

“I don’t want this to sound racist, but”

And I swear, I almost laughed out loud.

The reason for my barely controlled outburst is that, when someone starts a sentence with that phrase, you KNOW that the following sentence will be racist as hell.

This morning, the second half of that sentence was…

“That black guy has complete advantage in this heat.”

Backtrack for a second. The questionably racist millennials at the next table, are dumb, being in their early 20’s thats a given, but they are also white and insecure.

They have an expensively grunge look to them.

So we know that they come from money, but have issues with that.

It is hot out.

Southern California in late September can be a bitch.

When the two Twitterheads walked in, they mentioned the two homeless guys out front.

I didn’t think much at the time, but now that is a key point here.

The two homeless guys are your usual homeless, dirty and smell like piss, by coincidence, they happen to be black and white.

So to put the story together, they feel that the black guy has an advantage in the heat.

Here is the simple facts.

It doesn’t matter what color they are, the fact is they are both drug addled as to be wearing several layers of clothing and that sitting in the blistering sun without shade to beg for change makes sense.

No matter what color you are, its a bad idea.

For a $1.15, they could get a small coffee and sit in the air conditioning for several hours.

However, that would take $1.15 away from their drug of choice. (This comes from the professionals that work with the homeless. You have good intentions, but you are dumb and don’t know.)

Back to our young and dumb kids.

I would call them racists except they are too dumb to get it.

And I don’t have the time.

Every second I would spend trying to belittle and educate them would take away from amusing myself and quite frankly, I am more selfish than I am socially conscious.

With the exception of my kin, the youth of today are a sadly misguided bunch, raised by retards and fed the kind of silly shit that makes Bernie sound like a good idea.

Its like the whole ethanal debate. (Its a joke, and a dumb one at that.)

So, as I watch the two kids and sip my coffee, a question pops into my head.

Should I get another cup of coffee?

I mean, this one is almost empty and I am really not feeling that twitchy edge of caffeine that I like.

If you have enough caffeine, there is a natural twitch bordering on tourettes that, in my case, causes me to type horrible things, often against my will.

But it is important to have a hobby.

In the end, there is nothing to be done about the dipshits.

The are young and part of what they think is a much more accepting culture.

They will protest that they meant nothing by it.

Like Louis Armstrong said, “Some people, if they don’t know, you can’t tell them.”

Smart guy, played a wicked horn.

All that, and here is another reason to hate these kids.

Who the hell comes to Starbucks and gets a $5 juice packet.

You are in a legal crack house, kiddies.

So buy some goddam crack.

There is only one thing to do.

Get another cup of coffee.

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Posted by on September 30, 2016 in Uncategorized


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Always with coffee involved…

Dateline: Bishop, CA.

At the Shell station on the outskirts of town, we gassed up. Deb obsessively scrubbed a dead bug off of the windshield that had been in her vision path for the last 250 miles.

Its morning, and my primary mission once gas is pumped, is to secure some java. With the pure intentions of the caffeine addicted, I went into the mini market.

The coffee appeared to be a premium brand that I had not heard of before. Since I am not one to fuss when I am in need, I grabbed a 24 ounce cup and waited for the older guy, 70’s or so, to finish his pour.

“Looks like you enjoy your caffeine.” I realized he was talking to me when he stopped pouring and gestured to my cup with the pot. He looked like a relative of mine from down South around Atlanta.

“You could say that.” I smiled and held out my cup.

After he topped me off, he finished his and put the pot back. He didn’t touch the cream and sugar, which didn’t shock me. That generation was big on having their coffee “Fighter pilot” black.

I creamed and sugared my trough of joe as the old guy paid for his coffee.

“Morning, Bob.” The guy behind the counter looked to be roughly the same age, and obviously knew him.

“Morning, Len.” The old guy put his coffee down and made a show of digging out his wallet.

“Len, can you tell me what in THE hell is wrong with the meskins in this town?”

I hadn’t heard the word “meskins” since I spent my last summer down in Georgia with my daddy’s family. His resemblence to one of my relatives was getting stronger by the minute.

Len chuckled and took the offered bill for the coffee. “What now?”

“I about had to kill one of the meskins that works for me Friday.” Bob sighed, pocketing his change.

“Thats the whole damned problem, Len. All of ’em, illegal as hell and high as a kite.”

Bob saluted with his coffee and walked out to his pick up truck and drove off.

Something about coffee just brings out the best in people.


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Posted by on July 7, 2011 in Uncategorized


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