There are certain people…
Knowing them, being friends with them, means it’s sorta compulsory to know a bunch of other people and have some sort of nodding acquaintanceship with them.
So, I know this chick, and for some reason she always knows a good number of
white people Caucasians people who turn red when they are embarrassed. At any given time, she knows at least six. A nirvana-bound hippie tourist. A lone-wolfish expat that’s having trouble sleeping at night. A vet on a $500-a-day vacation in Africa Uganda. An engineer without borders. A do-gooder that’s considering cycling from Cairo to Port Elizabeth to raise money for charity. In addition, an ex-supremacist that’s hell-bent on diluting his Caucasian genes by bedding and subsequently marrying a Negro local.
She is like the True North for
white people Caucasians people who turn red when they are embarrassed. They flock to her, I don’t know why. Perhaps it is because she is like one of those éclairs—dark brown on the outside, but creamy white on the inside. Perhaps it is because she is like Eminem, but with the polarities reversed. I don’t know why, truly.
All I know is that hanging out with her and her friends equals hanging out with a range of [dis]beliefs, [non]proofs and [mis]judgements. Sometimes it’s fun. Sometimes it isn’t. Continue reading