Aye, There's the Rib
Another trip to Texas, another satisfying round of Roast the Yankee Traitor.
This one, I blame entirely on my sister.
Lauren no longer has need of her car, and wanted to get it down to Texas for safekeeping. I needed to go to Texas, and so it came about that I should drive her car from D.C. down to the motherland. All well and good, except for the small matter of the little bumper sticker on the rear that says "Pedophiles are People Too!" Or if you want to be literal about it, says "Texas Democrat."
Wonderful.
Now, this plays very well in D.C., where the bumper sticker was first affixed. In D.C., it signifies that one is the right sort of people. But take this back to North Texas, and well, I'm just glad I've not yet been run off the road. But it's not road rage I fear.
The Uncles came over for the barbecue, bearing brushy Texas moustaches, Wrangler gear, a cooler full of smoked babyback ribs, and unwavering skepticism in my latest plans to move to Tbilisi for a year. I've been practicing various angles and perfecting the exact spin that will convince them that this is a good decision. But we don't even get there, because we've got the matter of the bumper sticker to settle.
Uncle has parked right behind the offending car, busts into the house with arms full of cooler, drops onto the kitchen floor and squares off with me.
"You sure know how to strain fam'ly relations, don't you?" He starts pulling down the fingers of one hand with the other, to count off my offenses one by one, perhaps in order of odiousness, perhaps not: "Yankee. Russia. Democrat. That's a nice thing about being young; you can make foolish choices. But when you get older and get wise you're going to figure out that the democrats don't know a damn thing that they're talkin about."
When your principles are tried, the true mettle of man shows itself. And that is why, sorry to say Lauren, I sold you down the river before I took a full breath.
"It's Lauren's car! I just drove it down! My bumper sticker just says "On Earth as it is in Austin!"
"Wut's that?"
"On Earth as it is in Austin!"
"That's good."
"And you know, she's in New York now! New York City!" I shook my head as the rest scowled and nodded distastefully. She's lost to us. Where did we go wrong? Who brought extra barbecue sauce?
I hate to do it, dear, but the man had smoked babybacks and I'll sell out you and the dems for a bite of sweet tender pork and confrontation aversion any day of the week. I just kept my face stuffed and nodded serenely as we discussed the various woes of modern America, and how only pedophiles are allowed to have rights, and you can molest children all you want, you just can't pray about it. I didn't even pause to marvel at the power of these democrats: protecting pedophiles, blocking prayer, succeeding in their perfidious agenda on all possible fronts without holding any detectable iota of political power. I just chewed my ribs and swallowed my tea, and bided my time until I could change the subject to Tom Cruise and we could all agree again.
This one, I blame entirely on my sister.
Lauren no longer has need of her car, and wanted to get it down to Texas for safekeeping. I needed to go to Texas, and so it came about that I should drive her car from D.C. down to the motherland. All well and good, except for the small matter of the little bumper sticker on the rear that says "Pedophiles are People Too!" Or if you want to be literal about it, says "Texas Democrat."
Wonderful.
Now, this plays very well in D.C., where the bumper sticker was first affixed. In D.C., it signifies that one is the right sort of people. But take this back to North Texas, and well, I'm just glad I've not yet been run off the road. But it's not road rage I fear.
The Uncles came over for the barbecue, bearing brushy Texas moustaches, Wrangler gear, a cooler full of smoked babyback ribs, and unwavering skepticism in my latest plans to move to Tbilisi for a year. I've been practicing various angles and perfecting the exact spin that will convince them that this is a good decision. But we don't even get there, because we've got the matter of the bumper sticker to settle.
Uncle has parked right behind the offending car, busts into the house with arms full of cooler, drops onto the kitchen floor and squares off with me.
"You sure know how to strain fam'ly relations, don't you?" He starts pulling down the fingers of one hand with the other, to count off my offenses one by one, perhaps in order of odiousness, perhaps not: "Yankee. Russia. Democrat. That's a nice thing about being young; you can make foolish choices. But when you get older and get wise you're going to figure out that the democrats don't know a damn thing that they're talkin about."
When your principles are tried, the true mettle of man shows itself. And that is why, sorry to say Lauren, I sold you down the river before I took a full breath.
"It's Lauren's car! I just drove it down! My bumper sticker just says "On Earth as it is in Austin!"
"Wut's that?"
"On Earth as it is in Austin!"
"That's good."
"And you know, she's in New York now! New York City!" I shook my head as the rest scowled and nodded distastefully. She's lost to us. Where did we go wrong? Who brought extra barbecue sauce?
I hate to do it, dear, but the man had smoked babybacks and I'll sell out you and the dems for a bite of sweet tender pork and confrontation aversion any day of the week. I just kept my face stuffed and nodded serenely as we discussed the various woes of modern America, and how only pedophiles are allowed to have rights, and you can molest children all you want, you just can't pray about it. I didn't even pause to marvel at the power of these democrats: protecting pedophiles, blocking prayer, succeeding in their perfidious agenda on all possible fronts without holding any detectable iota of political power. I just chewed my ribs and swallowed my tea, and bided my time until I could change the subject to Tom Cruise and we could all agree again.
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