August 14, 2020 political science

White guy shows up at Pete’s place and shambles and pushes his way to the front of the line.

Hey! You. Let me in! Don’t you know who the {bleep} I am, you piece of {bleep} {bleep} {bleep}, bouncer!!! (ALL CAPS have been lowercased for good taste.)

The other guy looks up from the security desk where he has been flipping through a thick ledger.

Yeah, I know, I’ve got a few volumes of your rap sheets in front of me.

The orange complexion darkens to red.

Fake, all fake, I didn’t do any of those things.


Ok, ok. But they were beautiful. No one every did anything close. Unprecedented. Those losers in line behind me said, “Sir! You must be the smartest person ever. Unbelievable.”

Pete shoots him a look that fades the red to a whiter shade of pale.

So, it’s not like I did it on purpose or anything?

Pete is getting impatient.

You never did anything in your life on purpose. You just can’t help it. You’re just lucky that we’re running a special for the morally deformed.

The schmuck brightens.

The art of the steal!

Pete starts to lay out the terms

First of all …

The schmuck cuts him off

Give it to me, I’ll sign it, just a piece of paper.

Pete continues

you have to say you’re sorry and …


You’re killing me! All right, I’ll say it.

Pete continues

and you have to say that you were wrong …


What the {bleep}!!! I. Am. Never. Wrong.

The schmuck vanishes in an oleagenous miasma and Pete goes back to work. A few hours later, an assistant seraph comes up and whispers to Pete:

They’re not letting him in.

Pete snorts.

Wusses. Ok, send him to solitary for a few million.

Seraph smirks.

He’ll like that.