Back when I worked for the United States Information Agency, manning freedomís ramparts in Casablanca during the Vietnam war, I had a poster in my office that read, ďFuck Communism.Ē Those were the days, my friendÖ And in those days, my friend, another popular bumper sticker said, ďFuck Hate.Ē
This rant from todayís BLCKDGRD is along similar lines:
I remember our time in Deale [Maryland], when we had our friends Henry and Donna to the marina house for a weekend, being told the minute they drove out of the parking lot by four cracker boat owners that if I ever let that nigger and his white skank race traitor bitch back theyíd lynch my ass too. I told them to fuck off; my tires were slashed that night.
Itís obvious with my constant cracker this christer that Iím a stone bigot, but Iíve never said I was tolerant. I try to be intolerant to everyone, but Iím not large enough, Iím weak, I havenít a reservoir of endless hate, I havenít endless time to hate, I need to focus what hate I can summon on a few select targets ó Arcade Fire, Raymond Carver, Terry Fucking Vaughn ó that donít affect the quality of anyoneís life but my own, and on a few large targets that affect the quality of my selfish insignificant life as a happily complicit home-owning, tax-paying, law-abiding, bloody-handed cog in capitalís race to ingest everything, and motherfucking crackers nostalgic for 1920ís Alabama and motherfucking christers jonesing for white jeebus, well, itís delicious to hate them, itís delicious to demonize them, itís delicious to organize to keep them out of our schools, out of our state houses, to keep their hands off our wivesí and daughtersí uteruses, to keep them as marginalized and mocked and furious and ugly as possible.
And yes, I know crackers are funded and encouraged to be ugly to keep rubes like me busy hating them rather than hating what needs hating more, to keep me nostalgic for an America that will never be. Iím working to make my hate more copious, more all encompassing.