Interview with a racist
Me: Hey, did you see that black girl over there? Baby got back and then some.
Unnamed friend: That girl isn't black. She is just really tan.
Me: No, I am pretty sure she is black, probably bi-racial.
Unnamed friend: Bi-racial? Oh, you mean she is black with an asterisk.
Me: You are my hero.
Unnamed friend: Bemused expression I probably shouldn't have said that.
Me: I will give you a dollar if you say that to her face.
Unnamed friend: No, that is alright.
Me: Silent, hidden racism isn't funny. Oh, I long for the Jim Crow days of yore. I can't get enough of the "you have to be this pink to eat here" signs that littered the South only scant decades ago.
The following didn't happen, exactly. It is a fictional recreation of a conversation with a friend, who is too much of a pussy to own his words, and his creation and subsequent use of the term "black with an asterisk."
Let me perfectly clear here, I am not a racist; I just happened to befriend several dozen of them over the years. I love all peoples: the blacks, the Jews, the Canadians, even the French. Well, I do hate the Mexicans, but doesn't everybody? Ok, I am kidding. I don't like the Jews either.
Go to Hell