black people are just naturally loud.

Dear i+i: I was at McDonald's, and this black guy came up and asked me a lot of questions, like my age, name, relationship status, etc. I thought he was too intrusive, so I was already uncomfortable, and he somewhat belligerently asked if I'd date a black guy. How was I supposed to handle that? - White Meat Nugget

irby: listen, racist, black people fucking BREATHE belligerently. you can always tell when a white person grew up in a town that didn't have a chicken shack slash korean beauty supply store on every goddamned corner, because they say shit like, "well, officer, shenita raised her voice at me and it made me quite nervous." bitch, quit playing. you know shenita was just TALKING TO YOUR ASS. that's how we are, ho. ALL LOUD AND SHIT. even the nice ones who grew up in the suburbs and went to sprawling high schools with swimming pools and tennis courts know how to put a little bass in our throats and slide our voices into the black register. we don't really mean anything by it, that's how you know we're passionate about some shit. you should get some black people in your life. laughing while showing all our teeth and dancing the electric slide at the faintest hint of background music and posing inappropriate queries in regard to your sex life: what a scream! we're great at parties and social gatherings; never ambivalent, always entertaining, and you can hear us coming from a block away.

it makes me sad when i see people in mcdonald's eating with their coats off. now don't get me wrong, SHIT IS DELICIOUS. fuck the lives of everyone running around pretending that shit doesn't taste good. so the fuck what if it's made of car batteries and sofa cushions? motherfuckers don't sell 100 billion cheeseburgers because the product tastes nasty, homey. good for you? NEVER. good for your taste buds? ABSOLUTELY. unless there's a brussels sprouts milkshake on the menu i haven't yet heard about there isn't a single goddamned thing i'd turn my nose up at. and yes, i would probably eat my own shit if you disguised it well enough. but that is beside the point i'm trying to make. talking to someone in while in a mcdonald's is out of the fucking question. for real, the only people who take their coats off and relax like mcdonald's is a real restaurant are vagrants who bought a cheeseburger with my pocket change just so they could get the bathroom key to scrape the week-old layer of grime off their asses into one of ronald's luxuriously-appointed sinks. i mean, when was the last time you thought about sitting in one of those sticky brown plastic chairs to enjoy your filet o'fish, 1987?! imma need my mcrib wrapped in a paper bag and shoved next to the kindle and extra mittens in my goddamned bag. "no thanks, consuelo, i will NOT be needing a fucking tray. i can't be seen hanging out in here. my dignity requires that i eat this while crying at home on the toilet." mcdonald's is meant to be eaten while burning with shame in the driver's seat of a car you almost can't fit into anymore. i mean, OBVIOUSLY.

you need me to buy you an ipod, babycake? i haven't heard a goddamned thing any man, even a LOUD-ASS AGGRESSIVELY BELLIGERENT BLACK MAN, has said to me in a public setting in twenty motherfucking years. and you need to act like removing your headphones is a complicated surgical procedure when some thoughtless butthole tries to get your attention to ask you something dumb. every time an ugly dude is trying to ask me what time it is or inquire as to whether or not he might be able to GET SOME FRIES WITH THIS SHAKE (barf), i pantomime that i am physically unable to either remove the buds from my ears or operate the volume function on my listening device, and not only do they quickly get the message and get the fuck out of my goddamned way, i get the pleasure of destroying the morning of a stranger who has no idea i'm doing so while listening to showtunes or whatever. it's amazing.

ian: What I get from you here is ego. You're masking it behind your "what's the deal with black dudes?" query - but your REAL message is that you're so unendurably alluring that this total fucking stranger could not help himself - he was compelled to slide into your booth and attempt to scale Mount Attractive. And irby is right - there are a limited number of circumstances where you're copping a squat inside a McDonald's - you gotta have bad car trouble and are waiting for a tow; or your jingling earnings from your offramp windshield squeegee ambush or your dented cantaloupes sales; or you had to dive out the window of your place cause you owe Geeter like four large and he knows you don't have it so he kicked in your door with Skeeter and Shitweasel and they WILL fucking kill you stone dead, so you dive out into a snow bank with your boots in your hand, and whatever you got in your pockets, so you cool your heels for a few hours in neighborhood you don't know so you can strategize how to con your dad into sending you to that rehab in Minnesota so you can lay low for a couple months - THESE  are the reasons you occupy McDonald's real estate. Or maybe you're on your half-hour from the sales floor at the JC Penney and you just wanna chillax at the food court. Because you're the kind of numb-nuts that says "chillax," or - even worse - thinks it to yourself. While sitting in the fucking food court. 


And while I have no doubt that you're a total racist, I don't know that that's the salient point here (irby sees everything through the filter of race, since - through no fault of her own - she was born far blacker than she'd prenatally hoped to be). Not lynch mob racist, maybe, but roll-up-your-windows-lock-your-doors-on-your-fucking-rusted-out-'83-Celica-at-every-traffic-light-with-black-dudes-at-the-crosswalk-since-your-obvious-economic-prosperity-makes-you-a-tempting-tempting-target racist, for sure, you greasy-haired, gap-toothed trailer monkey. You are clearly modeling your whole persona on Mayella Ewell from To Kill a Mockingbird, so lemme Atticus you a thing or two:

1. Those pancakey and wall-eyed leper tits of yours are not the Young Buck magnet you take them to be.
2. That come-hither look you're throwing is - to the viewer - way more of a skeevy meth-eyed ocular ricochet type of deal. So if you could avert your eyes from the rest of till after to check into a detox someplace, you'd be sparing us all a lot of nightmares.
3. The Pig Pen-style cloud of dandruff you leave in a Hansel-trail behind you may provide an excellent means of tracking you, but is maybe not the most appealing calling card, especially when it is offered up under the appalling fluorescents of of a Mickey D's.
4. Your desperation to seem superior to somebody is so fucking palpable, it renders you translucent to the rest of us - if we were to measure your impact, you'd compare unfavorably to a thimble full of tepid snot. For the decent and hardworking African Americans seated nearby, you are an object of pity. You are a cautionary tale to the their kids - catching a glimpse of you is actually enough to keep them in school, so total is the pitiable picture you paint, huddled over your McGriddle®, you sad, scabby wad of wasted human potential.
5. If you did heed Sam's suggestion and get yourself an ipod to ward off the legion of your imagined suitors, it would most likely inspire anybody who noticed it to ask "Where did THAT thing get a fucking ipod that's a later generation than mine? Now I wanna poke it in its eye with my umbrella. Or bash it with a can of chili."
6. I apologize to our readers for irby's all-caps yelling all through her post. She's black. She can't help it, apparently. Or maybe this is what they mean by Black Friday. I don't know. I'm white as the innards of a biscuit, so I can't claim to pretend I understand their culture. She keeps calling me White Devil, which I'd taken to be some kind of racially coded pet name, and then I looked it up on Wikipedia to find that, no - she ACTUALLY thinks I'm a bad person. Point is, she's hollering all the time for reasons I frankly don't get. It's always "reparations this" and "Man trying to keep me down that" - if you weren't such a badly deluded cracker wench who puts in booth time at McDonald's, you and I might share a smug and bemused "these people" shrug on the bus together. Except I don't ride the bus. The bus is for scumbags. Like you.

So happy holidays, WME - by parking your misshapen ass in a McDonald's booth, you've set the already shaky foundation of race relations in this country back by half a century. Which means I'll never hear the end of it from irby. So thanks for nothing, you snaggle-toothed skank.