proud to be 'murrican

Here's an actual conversation I had at a bar on Easter Sunday. I'd stopped there after the Easter party, because I had to drop of RBF and my ex-roommate's boyfriend at the poker club a few doors down. They were drunk, I wasn't, and I figured since I was there anyway, I may as well grab a couple beers before I wandered to my lonely home all by my lonesome. Plus a bar open on Easter Sunday just had to be ripe for people watching. I found out that it was even riper for stimulating conversation.

The principal players are Me (me), A Rube (a rube) and A Large Rube (upsized version and friend of A Rube).

Me: [sitting at the bar, mindlessly sipping Pabst Blue Ribbon from a can, watching a basketball game rerun, day dreaming of hot moms]

A Rube and A Large Rube: [downing their shots of whisky, chasing with Budweiser, eyeing me suspiciously and murmuring to each other loud enough to stir me from fantasy world]

Me: [now looking at the Rubes] What? [flat tone, slightly perturbed]

A Rube: You E-Racki?

Me: Excuse me?

A Rube: Are you Iraqi?

Me: Iraqi? No. I'm Sicilian. [The inner gorilla grunts. If I were Iraqi, I'd have no problem saying so, but I knew why they were asking. I opted for righteous indignation, not that they knew what that was.]

A Large Rube: That's pretty close, isn't it? [He eyed me like he wanted a fight. I saw them say shit to this other group of dudes earlier.]

Me: [Shortly] Yeah, it is. [I was speaking geographically. Sicily is a lot closer to Iraq than bumbfuck California, anyway. I turned back to the game and figured that since I knew the bartenders, I wouldn't have much of a problem with these guys if they wanted a problem.]

A Rube: Are you white?

Me: [only here in crackerville could I possibly pass for anything other than a honkey] Yeah, I guess so. [but really what I meant was "isn't it obvious? Now stop talking to me, you racist fuck."]

A Rube: Good answer.

If/when Jesus does come back, most of his followers will probably be looking to lynch him.