He Proudly Admitted to being a Racist

I laughed so hard beer came out my nose.

As with all interestingly ludicrous stories, this one starts in a bar. 

I don’t imbibe the way I used to, but I do enjoy tipping back the occasional drink. After a long day of gazing at a blank page, I sometimes build up a desire to have a few. So I do, and who knew it would lead to inspiration.

Last night I sat in my normal booth, at my normal bar, and drank my normal drink. In the booth behind me I could hear the voices of two men. I couldn’t completely understand what was being said. I heard the occasional curse word. The rest was an intoxicated version of what the adults sound like on the Charlie Brown cartoons. 

Out of nowhere I hear, “I am a racist.”

I looked up and there he was, the self-proclaimed “racist”. He was older than me, but not ancient, I’d say fifty-five or so. The racist statement wasn’t what caught me off guard. It was the fact that he was an African-American. Because, when I hear the word “Racist” I immediately picture a bald, sheet wearing white guy with singed eyebrows from his weekly cross burning. So this was a little different but not all together unbelievable. We all know anybody can be a racist. 

“You must be proud” I sarcastically fired back.

“I am proud, nothing makes me prouder.” He said as he left his booth and took a seat in mine. 

“Being a racist is the only thing I have ever wanted to be. When I was a kid my dreams were filled with the life of a racist. I can’t say that it has always ended in victory for me, but for the most part I come out on top. It doesn’t matter who you are, you can go round and round with me and I will win. There was a time, when I was younger, that it didn’t matter what race or who it was, I would beat them down. My dad always taught me to treat people with kindness and respect. But, if you have a passion for something never let anyone take that from you.” He paused and smiled at me expecting some sort of irrationally motivated retort. I nodded my head, smiled and waited for the punch line.

“The kid is a racist too” He started back up. “Not my kid, I call him kid because he is half my age. Come over here!” He barked as he moved over to make room for the “kid”.

Imagine my confusion when a white guy about twenty-three or so walks around the booth and sits down.

“I’m confused” I stuttered.

Without hesitation the man says, “Why because a black man like me is friends with a white man like him? Do you have some sort of problem with a black man and a white man being pals and having a drink together? Is our ‘kind’ not welcome here? Who the hell are you to say that two racist friends can’t have a drink? What kind of establishment is this? It must be one that caters to people like you who have a prejudice against racists.”

Before I could be completely overwhelmed with intimidation, they both started laughing.

racing

“We race,” he said. “We race cars and motorcycles. A guitar player is a guitarist. A person who creates art is an artist. Someone who has nothing better to do with their time than yell at other people is an activist. So, we thought it only logical to call a person who races, a racist.” He smiled and he took a drink.

I am not going to lie, I laughed so hard beer came out my nose. I also learned a lesson.

Never lash out incoherently at others until you’ve heard the whole story. Sometimes the important part or the part you need to hear arrives at the end of the story or conversation. Lashing out like a child forced to eat carrots never ends well. Someone could end up hurt, or private property destroyed. You will end up banned from the only bar within walking distance. Eventually you drive to a bar and end up getting pulled over on your way home. You lose your license and then your job because you can’t drive. This all happens after you get out of jail for assault and destruction of private property.

Never begin an irrational child like tantrum until you’ve heard the entire story. If, at the end, you decide that a violently ignorant tirade is warranted. Then by all means be foolish and create a situation that will get you locked up, banned, and branded a “wack-job”.  

INFO:

I do not condone, promote, or support racism or violence in any way, shape, or form. I do support and condone rational conversations, calm interactions, and peaceful resolutions.  

Do Farmers eat Ranchers?

A cannibalistic sharecropper traversing this world and eating poor helpless ranchers.

“Honey! I’m craving a rancher.” The farmer said.

“Okay dear, I’ll get you a rancher to have with your lunch.” She chirped, in that beautiful voice he loves to hear.

“You are a wonderful wife.” He replied as he kissed her on the cheek. Then continued doing the things that farmers do that make them crave ranchers. 

We all know that the act of making lunch is not what makes a wonderful wife. But, the farmer shows his appreciation for even the little acts like packing his lunch. More importantly, she knows that if he packed his own lunch it would consist of one rancher after another. Sure ranchers taste amazing but you can’t live off ranchers alone. Imagine a diet consisting of one rancher after another, it shouldn’t be done. But, having a tasty rancher with lunch can’t be beat.

Imagine This:

You’re reclining on your tractor with your feet up on the steering wheel. A cool refreshing breeze blows across your skin and makes its way to the leaves dancing in the trees. This is your calm and relaxing time in the midst of a busy day of doing what you do. Your mouth begins to water. It is as if your taste buds are starting a rebellion in your mouth. The only thing that you can do to tame this watery uprising is eat a rancher. You do, and it is amazing. It is all you hoped for and more. 

And We’re Back:

It has been said, a time or two, that you need to cherish precious moments. Imagine having moments like that every day. They wouldn’t be as few and far between as people say. Those precious moments could be anytime you want them. Or, as allowed by those who strictly adhere to healthy lunch packing guidelines. Either way, you have a chance to taste greatness. Why not put all your worries aside, only for a moment, and enjoy the heavenly experience of eating a rancher. 

 If you’ve made it this far you are in one of two mindsets.

  1. You are totally and utterly shocked at the idea of a cannibalistic sharecropper traversing this world and eating poor helpless ranchers.
  2. Your knowledge of the hard candy industry tells you that Ranchers are quite Jolly and extremely tasty.

Either way, wasn’t it wonderful to take a break from the real world and enjoy a  short story about a farmer’s eating habits? At most, you have a burning desire to go out and buy some Jolly Ranchers. At the very least men have learned to appreciate even the little things.  Women have realized that if it weren’t for them, men might eat candy for every meal. It is a win/win situation.

Info:

I am not affiliated with the makers of Jolly Ranchers. I just enjoy the candy and got the idea for this post from looking at a bag of Jolly Ranchers.