I Love Being A Racist

     I love being a racist. No, really. When you count the time you spend trying to justify everything you've ever  said, believed in, or has been impugned upon you, subtract what really matters, and what  you have left is huge amounts of time, less stress, and interaction with people whom you could care less about anyway. And I've found, that after I got older, cut my hair, grew a beard, and stopped trying to hide my Texas drawl, I actually looked and SOUNDED like a racist! It's so cool. 

     You don't have to keep up with what to call different races, you don't have to listen to music you don't like, eat food that makes you puke i.e. snails and such. And you get those delicious moments when some liberal accuses you of being a racist and you can  say, "Yep!" You give a big ol' Texas grin and you get to see them stand there with their faces hanging out. Marvelous! Most of all, you can stop trying to be something that you're not, which is a radical, liberal, Norté, ashamed of yourself who wouldn't know what a set of testicles were if they were served up, sautéed in butter! 

     You can actually laugh at jokes without looking around. You can actually say what you really THINK about Obama! And when some thug attacks a cop and gets shot, you can actually move onto the next news story, something that matters, and makes sense . . . like the Florence, Texas Corn Festival! And liberals are so stupid they'll never realize that you're NOT a racist. You're just facing life squarely, as it is, without allowing some guilt ridden idiot put a race card in your mouth every time you open it.