Keep reading for my Open Letter to the Fat Republican Trio Giving Me the Ol’ Stink Eye on the L Train Today.
What?
What?! What are you looking at?
Oh, I see. I can tell. You see a skinny white boy who is gay and you don’t like it. You see a skinny white boy who is gay and on his way to the sex toy store that he works in and you don’t like what you see. Your eyes are as red as your swollen faces and they examine with a heated default judgment a specimen that you feel is morally wrong.
I am on my way to my job where I clearly make less money than you. You are all dressed in suits and you have money and you don’t like what you see.
Well here is something you don’t see; my mommy is brown. She has brown skin and black hair and she isn’t white. That’s because she is not white, but rather is Native American. She was born of one Hopi parent and one Cahuilla parent, and chances are you don’t know what that means so I will elaborate.
Before your heritage came to this land, there was a people here. They are commonly referred to as Indians, and my mommy is one of them. I am of my mother, and that makes me a whole half Indian.
Here is something you can’t see anymore; before your heritage came to this land, there was an expanse of trees and earth and there were people who lived upon it, but then your heritage came – fat white republicans – and they took away their land. Well, not their land. My ancestors didn’t invent possession, yours did.
So now here is what you are looking at: a skinny white-looking gay boy who is actually half Indian on his way to work in a store where he sells toys to closeted fat white Republicans who cheat on their wives with male escorts and then rage against things like same-sex marriage. You hate this. You hate, and I am too confident to bother displaying my confidence.
Here’s what I’ll do then, since you want to arm wrestle me with your eyes. Let’s assume you are right. Gay marriage is wrong and immoral and land can be possessed. My ancestors were here first, and that makes the land theirs, and thus 50% of this land – since I am half Indian – is now mine. It is mine to govern and mine to control, and I make 50% of the rules and laws upon which those who trespass must abide by.
I am going to follow you off this train and collect half of your footsteps and demand that you respect my laws on half of the land that you touch. I am going to tell you what is right and what is wrong, and I wont even entertain your notions. I am a half Indian skinny white-looking gay boy who is 50% your boss. I decide what is morally fit upon my land. I will scoop the pavement of the streets and the cement of the sidewalks from under your feet and demand compliance! I will sift the sand between your toes and impose. Half of the land you use is mine. I own it, and you are half wrong.
Of course, I wont do this. Because I can’t do this. And really, I shouldn’t do this, obviously.
Obviously.
