Spoiling the gene pool for white America
Dexter was proud as he could ever be crashing through the front door of his domicile.
"Boy, you shoulda seen it!" he gestured incoherently to Derrick, his roommate. "Dem fools was all up an' in it! Had 'em barking like a buncha drunk dogs, I did!"
Dexter displayed the joy of a man newly saved, a validated soul destined for immortality. He glowed with the certainty of a true believer being his own god.
Derrick, sitting on a faded velour couch with his faded velour mustache, took no notice of any of this. To him, Dexter was a clown's clown, incapably serious. No matter how excited Dexter got about anything, Derrick preemptively dismissed it. Secretly, he called him "Jethro Bodine - only more evil."
Vaping on vacuity, Derrick felt obligated to throw the barking dog a bone. "Oh, really, Dexter? Sounds great - like a rusty circumcision."
Dexter was a man who sliced his news to what he would comfortably digest. He heard "Sounds great" and took that as an invitation to share even more of his misadventure.
"Yeah, I know! It's this shirt what got 'em!" Daffy Dexter stretched forth his proud-boy "Black Lives Splatter" shirt portraying the picture of a policeman with a pointed gun standing over the bloodied body of a black man with red drops emanating outward in chorused death.
Derrick never looked up as he had already considered the source of his conversational other. "Yup, shirts'll do that."
Getting no gratification from Derrick, Dexter excitedly seated himself on his own torn leather sofa. He perched himself as if unopened presents sat below him. And in his mind, such was the case as he began to verbally unwrap them.
"Oh, man, was them libs riled up. I pwned them! Couple of 'em even tried ripping my shirt off. And they be trying to tell me I gotta be tolerant and shit? The nerve!" Still no reaction from an unseduced Derrick. Dexter attempted further enticements. "Shoulda seen how red their faces were! Just made me start laughin' and laughin' away. Best I felt in a long time. Fucking libs a buncha losers!"
"True dat. Have to be a real loser to care what you think."
Dexter continued in oblivious splendor. "Got that right! Always on their high horse! Well, I took 'em down a notch today! All is right in the world!"
Dexter meets a new friend!
Taking that as a challenge, the world deemed to have "Dopey Don" (as so monikered by Dexter) knock on the same entry door Dexter had so joyously burst through minutes before. Dopey Don was Dexter's arch enemy in the open wild. "That idiot don't know a whit of shit but always thinks he does. Stupid son-of-a-bitch needs to look in the damn mirror for once!" With this deepest of insight he sought to pluck the splinter from Don's eye.
Don came armed with his own hot take on the day's dueling protests. "Man, what a faggot convention! You see all those MAGA caps? Make America Gay Again. Who the hell puts that on their forehead?"
An upended Dexter boiled in righteous outrage. "It's 'great', you idiot! 'Great' not 'Gay'! You hear me?"
"Dude, you think gay is great, fine by me. Bet your parents real proud of you!"
Dexter had unresolved parental issues just like any right wing lunatic. "Leave my Daddy out of this! Can't you understand anything! It's 'great', not 'gay'!"
"I see your lips moving but I can't hear what you're saying."
"Jesus H Christ, you just hear what you want to hear, don't you? I'm so sick of it. That kind of behavior can't just never be tolerated! How can you not see that? What kind of fool are you??"
Don cupped his hear as if hard of hearing. "I'm sorry: homo says what?"
Derrick, who'd watched the scene as if he were watching an amusing tennis match, let loose a sly grin at the explosion that was Dexter who shot off the sofa.
"I've had enough! Not taking this librul shit no more ever again. When you want to stop bein' a hypocrite and a dern fool let me know! But till then don't talk to me no more! Dang you to hell!"
With a final indignant glare, Dexter slammed his bedroom door and sealed it with sulking fury. Back in the airy living room, Don plopped down on the now-vacated sofa, easing his outstretched arms over the cushions and making himself at home. Then he nonchalantly remarked to no one: "Pwned that bitch..."
