I realized something about myself today: I am a racist. And I’m not ashamed to admit it. In fact, I’m damn proud that I’m a racist.
The truth of the matter is I’m so proud of my racist beliefs I’m going to teach my two daughters to be racists, just like their racist old daddy. After all, if there’s anything that’s going to save our country from splitting in two, it’s more racists.
There, I said it. The U.S. needs more racists, especially now that we have a black man in the White House and Congress seems poised to grant amnesty to some 11 million illegal immigrants.
Now, you’re probably wondering how I came to the conclusion that I’m a racist. Well, it’s pretty simple.
It all starts with Paula Deen.
Actually, it starts with Roan Garcia-Quintana, a former Nikki Haley campaign chair.
Wait, wait, that isn’t right. It actually starts with SCGOP head Katon Dawson. And Jake E. Knotts. And John McCain. And Rick Perry. And Ron Paul. And Sergio Garcia. And Michael Richards. And Mel Gibson. And Matt Drudge. And Lou Dobbs. And Pat Buchanan. And Don Imus. And Rush Limbaugh. And John Rocker. And Fuzzy Zoeller. And John Mayer’s penis.
All of these people have one thing in common: they are not racists. Nope. Nada. No way. They may have done a few things to make some folks think this, but this rogues gallery is in no way, shape, or form racist. In fact, they don’t have a single racist bone in their non-racist bodies. They believe in a color-blind society. They believe that we are all God’s creatures and that only some of us are lazy and stupid and morally derelict and sexually depraved, but they are not racists.
With this in mind, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve been wrong about the definition of racism all of these years. In fact, it must be the exact opposite of what I’ve thought it always meant. After all, if Paula Deen isn’t a racist, then who is? Me, apparently.
I’ve never hired African American servers to pose as slaves. I’ve never told a racist joke. I’ve never called anyone a nigger. I’ve never belonged to an organization that doesn’t believe in “race mixing.” I’ve never called anyone a “raghead.” I’ve never belonged to an all-white country club. I’ve never posted an image of our president eating a bucket of fried chicken. I’ve never owned a cabin in the sticks called “Niggerhead Ranch.” I’ve never bemoaned the fact that our nation is losing its white Anglo-Saxon Protestant heritage. I’ve never called anyone a “nappy headed ho.” I’ve never adhered to the tenets of the cult of white victimhood. I’ve never published a newsletter with racist content and courted anti-Semities and white nationalists to my nascent presidential campaign. I’ve never argued that the 14th amendment is unconstitutional. I’ve never argued that blacks have benefited from slavery.
And so City Paper readers, I’ve come to you today to admit this truth. I’m a racist. And I’m not going to apologize for it. So all of you non-racist assholes can take Paula Deen’s entire collection of cookbooks and stick them up your non-racists asses.