»Call Me Conservative«
There’s no real good reason for me to tell you this, but it is a true story. And I’ll never forget it … I was sitting in a diner at about one in the morning, eating scrambled eggs and toast, when an old drunk asked me the following question:
»You know what a freak is?«
Here it comes, I thought. He’s gonna insult me. This pea-brain, drunk, piece of shit has decided to harass me because I’m dressed funny. (I was dressed kind of funny. Mom’s clothes …)
Before I could react my new friend decided to explain it to me.
»A freak is when you take a baby – don’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl – you take ’em … and you cut ’em – from the asshole right up to the throat. Then you let ’em bleed. After they finished bleedin’, what’s left is a freak …«
I was eating eggs. I think I even pointed at my eggs, as if to say: I know you’re a sick motherfucker, but I’m eating. But he didn’t recognize my sign language. He just turned to one of his drunk friends and they laughed about how clever he was. I left. Call me conservative …
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