For those of you who have not been following the racial tension that's been simmering in my house, my partially-black (1/32nd) girlfriend and her accomplice, my cat Mr. Jangles, have been rioting for the last few days over the death of that retarded felon Freddie-whatever-his-name was in Baltimore.
The police I called the other night to quell the unrest ended up doing nothing after Sissy informed them that she was black, apparently because our mayor feared inciting racial unrest from the 138 black residents living here in Phoenix. By the time the evening was over, my kitchen was looted of every edible morsel, TV and stereo stolen (later found in the back bedroom), sock drawer damaged by a suspicious fire, new golf glove shredded, and somebody had sprayed cat pee all over the hood of my car.
Then, things got worse.
This morning at 8:30 the doorbell rang and I looked out to see the "Reverend" Al Sharpton, his flunkies, and a camera crew on my porch. Just as I decided to not answer the door, Sissy came running past and let him in. She immediately started babbling about being "oppressed" and my "white privilege." Rev. Al pushed past her and walked up to Mr. Afro Jangles who was sitting on the kitchen counter, and attempted to do some kind of jive, soul handshake thing with him. Having never seen a black person, let alone one with a miniature body and humongous head, Mr. Jangles did the only natural thing and puked up a wet hairball into the pretend reverend's tiny hand. Perfect.
Me: He's a cat.
Rev. Al: Damn straight! Bring it in, little brother!
Me: Cat. He's a pussy.
Rev. Al: You call this brother a pussy again, and I'll sue your cracker ass.
Sissy: That what he do to us!
Rev. Al: Who do?
Sissy: He do. To us.
Rev. Al: Who's "us?"
Sissy: We niggas.
Me: Sissy, don't use that word.
Sissy: Quit holdin' us down, muthaf*cka!!
Rev. Al: ???
Anyway, when Al finally realized Mr. Jangles was a cat with a fake afro and that the sister who called him was Sissy, he huddled with me for a second, then rolled out with his entourage.
It's a fact that Al Sharpton doesn't leave anyplace for free, and it cost me $28 and a coupon for a free car wash to get his bobblehead ass out of mine. The good news is his dismissal of Sissy pretty much confirmed she's not black. She put away the signs, removed the scrub pad from Mr. Jangles little head, and made a big bowl of popcorn for us to eat as we watched Dancing With The Stars.
Racial harmony is a wonderful thing.