You're a moron (and your mother dresses you funny)

I live in a small town called Circleville, Ohio. Not much to do here, though we do have the very popular Circleville Pumpkin Show once a year. Ever heard of it? No? That's alright, it's not central to this story anyway. I was just curious. Anyway, there's a library, I have no idea why. I'd be surprised if many here knew how to read with the way they act (for those of you who live in Circleville, I obviously don't mean you... you are, after all, reading this... or looking at the pretty background. Either way it's appreciated). There's no Macy's, no Barnes and Noble, but we do have an abundance of gas stations, pizza joints, and ice cream parlors. There's even a guitar shop called "The Hippie Hut." Yep, it's THAT kind of town. And, of course, a WalMart. Doesn't every town, big or small? I believe everyone in town's been there a time or two. Even the fifteen or twenty black folks living here. See, Roundtown's predominantly white, at least 99%. I've never had cause to believe that, other than a few folks I've worked with, anyone has a problem with the other 1% of the community. Until a recent trip to Wally World, that is...


I was in the mood for a bit of cheese and pretzels and decided to hit WalMart, since they also have a Red Box (for those that don't know, it's a refridgerator-sized box that dispenses DVDs... for a buck... best thing since sliced bread and porn onDemand). I knew what I wanted and made a beeline for the dairy aisle, not wanting to interfere with the shopping excursions of the "WalMart Shoppers." (I quoted the term because we'll discuss these people in a later rant... promise.) I walk around the corner into the dairy aisle, at the VERY BACK of the store (this is important, Roundtowners, that's why the capitalization... I'll learn you yet...), and walking toward me is a man of about 35, 6 feet tall, scruffy beard and 'stache, giveaway trucker cap, black shirt, blue leans and cowboy boots. Typical daily wardrobe for a redneck. Yes, I said redneck. If it's good enough for Jeff Foxworthy, it's good enough for me. Anyway, the shirt's what gave me the idea that there may be trouble. In the middle of the shirt, wrapped in flame, were three letters written loud and proud: K K K.


Really... this is unacceptable. I called him an idiot as I passed by, and a few words were spoken, but the trouble I'd anticipated seemed to have passed. Now, it may sound odd to you that I take issue with the wearing of the shirt. This blog is, after all, based on the idea of free speech. And you'd be right... if you weren't SO wrong. I have absolutely no problem with the dumbass wearing the shirt. Zero. Nada. Wear it! If that's who you are, say it loud! Say it proud! But do it where it matters. Do it in a place where the message will be clearly received, not in a place where the chances are less than 1% of running into someone who might take the message to heart.


Do it in Columbus.


Columbus is that great big capital city of ours, 20 minutes north of here. I'm certain the message you're trying to convey will be received there. Walk into any WalMart, you won't be lacking in people that will hear you loud and clear. But no, you won't do that, will you? And I know why: you're a coward. Did it make you feel brave to walk from one end of that store to the other? You had absolutely no groceries in hand, basket, or shopping cart, so you weren't there to shop. And that's one hell of a detour to the automotive department. So... you made the trek for the bravado alone, right? Did you think you impressed anyone? Well, you're right. You impressed ME. After all, I wrote a blog about it, didn't I? Congratualtions, motherfucker.


I just hope you can read.