Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee Replacement

Guys, I hate to do this to you, but I'm going to have to pass the hat again. I know it's right after the holidays and we're all tapped out, but this is a NATIONAL EMERGENCY!, and just as the Continental Army perished in the snows of Valley Forge for want of a few weevil-ridden Johnny cakes, so are patriots languishing at a bird sanctuary visitors center because they are no longer able to snap into a Slim Jim. Mark my words, this rebellion shall not fail on my watch!  In fact, I'm looking into franchising the idea of White Guys turning Federal facilities into pop-up, Gitmo-style prisons and house-arresting themselves, because I think it's a tremendous blow for justice! And irony.

Hear me out...

Like the zebra mussel, white guys with guns are a non-native, invasive species that migrated to North America on ships and is proving very difficult to control. Now, I suppose we could always spray them from helicopters like the Mediterranean Fruit Fly, or maybe introduce a predator into their habitat (gun shows, Cracker Barrel), but I can't offhand think of a species which hunts the White Guy, not even the wily Northeastern blue-bellied cop, and I don't think we can afford to wait for natural causes (arterial plaque, toddler-involved shootings) to cull the herd for us.

Nope, we need a bold new idea, and I don't have one, so instead let's combine Mitt Romney's old idea of solving the immigration issue through "self-deportation" with the even older American notion of the reservation -- desolate and remote areas where Native Americans were shipped off to while White Guys with guns established squatter's rights to the rest of the continent. Unfortunately, we can't stage a new Trail of Tears, because it wouldn't be metaphorical this time -- the modern White Man takes his First Amendment right to whine very seriously -- and it would all be captured on smartphones and posted to YouTube, and I'm guessing footage of internal exile would make the government look kind of tyrannical, unless they could think of something fun to do during the exodus, like play "I Spy" or get a round of "Row, Row, Row, Your Boat" going.

So clearly, the answer is Self-Imprisonment: let's not dislodge these Minutemen (as their wives derisively call them), let's lodge them. There must be hundreds of isolated and half-forgotten government buildings these guys and their brethren could crowd into -- corrugated steel sheds where pesticides for the Tri-County Mosquito Abatement District are stored; the gift shop at the old Yucca Flats nuclear testing ground; the shack used by that guy from the state Agriculture Department who takes the annual skunk census in Mingo County, West Virginia (I mean, I assume that's a thing; I'd hate to think Mingo County is just guessing about its skunk population).  Let's face it, guns are dangerous, and White Guys carry guns the way ground squirrels carry plague. But while you can keep a squirrel out of your day care center without Wayne La Pierre taking you to court, White Guys and their death-dicks not only have the run of the country, they can even point sniper rifles at police officers, the way Ammon Bundy's buddies did at his daddy's ranch, and never even risk a ticket, let alone arrest. So really, confining these pasty patriots to a secluded spot in the woods is the closest they're ever going to get to a jail cell. Or at least to a progressive dinner at the Unibomber's cabin.

So let's allow, even encourage these pastytriots to occupy our nation's ranger stations and nuclear waste sites, just so long as their guns remain there with them, under house arrest (and I'm serious here guys: your AR-15s and your AK-47s have to wear those tracking ankle bracelets too).  And like Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, who managed to write A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich while laboring in one of Stalin's gulags, the Occupiers would be free to write pamphlets and manifestos and exchange ideas (at a fair market rate of exchange) with fellow Constitutionalists who share their belief that the nation's founding document says private citizens can beat up the Federal government and steal its lunch money (incidentally, according to Merriam-Webster, the proper collective noun for such a confab is a blowhoard of blowhards).

So anyway, we should all kick in to buy these latter day Spartans some Fritos or something, before they get peckish and go home.

Doug Giles Defends Josh Duggar Because of Course He Does

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WTF, WTH?

Pundit, oatmeal spokesmodel, and aspiring Beachmaster Warner Todd Huston has uncovered a crime wave perpetrated by gangs of armed scarecrows, and by "uncovered," I mean, "encouraged."

Hey, Criminals, Didja Know Sonic, Chipotle, & Chilli’s Won’t Allow Guns? So, Open Season, Right? 

It’s all the rage, all of a sudden, for national restaurant chains to start posting little, powerless stickers on their doors in the attempt to tell law-abiding, legal gun owners that their business is not welcome there. 

No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service? That's a powerful sticker, wielding the mailed, if invisible fist of the Market to quash any and all pathetic efforts by you, the lowly consumer, to eat your Loaded Potato Skins and Bottomless Tostada Chips™ in flip flops and a belly shirt. But similarly stern adhesives are impotent -- no matter how firm their phrasing -- when faced with men who, though often impotent themselves, are equally firm in asserting their Second Amendment right to accessorize their Gadsen Flag tanktop and tactical cargo shorts with an HK416.

But it is also a new rage for criminals to repeatedly rob those same stores because they now know that no one inside will be armed. Imagine that.

No, seriously...imagine that...because it doesn't actually seem to be happening, so Warner would appreciate it if you'd close your eyes real tight and picture a horde of wilding strawmen.  Have you got it?  Can you see it in your mind?  Great! Now just insert that imaginary scenario into all the spots in Warner's column where an actual journalist (you'll have to imagine one of those too) would supply examples and citations. This is a refinement of Jonah Goldberg's technique of asking his potential audience to look up facts that he'll later turn into misinformation to support his pre-conceived bullshit conclusions. But instead, Warner asks us (well, me -- I don't mean to imply that you'd ever lower yourself to become one of his readers) to hallucinate our own fake facts and sprinkle them throughout his column in a sort of Brown Acid edition of Mad-Libs.

Lately several restaurants have made news by claiming to have banned guns inside their stories. Buffalo Wild Wings, Chipotle, Sonic, Chilli’s and Starbucks are all claiming they have banned legal gun owners form doing business with them.

But are they claiming to have banned guns?? I can't accept any assertion as fact until it's been repeated at least three times in a single paragraph, and even then I often wait to see if it successfully summons Candyman.  But since we're on the subject, Warner, I haven't heard of the enumerated businesses "claiming to have banned guns." Rather, they just seemed to have asked certain arms-bearing assholes to stop parading around the salad bar with an AR-15 -- something the NRA has also asked them to stop doing.

Take the Sonic fast food chain, for instance. This month the Sonic corporate heads got their tiny little minds together and announced that all Sonic customers will henceforth be unarmed. Consequently, the very day the company made this grand announcement, one of its locations was robbed. 

The attack happened in Topeka, Kansas, only a few hours after Sonic made its cute little announcement that firearms were banned within and around their restaurants.

I had no idea your average street punk was such an avid consumer of corporate press releases.  But you can see why they were so excited, knowing they'd be the only ones in the place with a weapon; in fact, if you click through to Warren's linked story, you'll find that "No weapons were displayed during a robbery of a carhop at a central Topeka Sonic drive-in reported Friday afternoon, a police official said" -- that's how confident those stickers made them! So...without the threat of a gun-toting citizenry, even armed robbers don't feel the need to carry weapons, proving that the best way to stop a bad guy without a gun is a good guy with a SuperSONIC® Bacon Double Cheeseburger who also left his gun at home.

This isn’t the only story. The Jack In The Box restaurant chain also announced a gun ban in its stores. As a result, three separate Jack outlets, one in Tennessee and two different locations in Houston, Texas, were robbed as soon as the company banned guns.

Correlation isn't causation, especially when you haven't even proved correlation.  Google "Jack in the box robbery" and quite a few Pre-Powerless Sticker stories pop up. From December 28, 2009:  "Bakersfield police said a white man with a facial tattoo [ahhhh, Bakersfield. Never change] robbed the Jack-In-The-Box on the corner of Stockdale Highway and California Avenue around 8:30 a.m. Monday. Police said he pulled a gun and demanded cash."

Even more recently, on March 20 (still before the ban), SFGateBlog reported, "Man wearing trash bag as a disguise aggressively robs Salinas Jack-in-the-Box at gunpoint," (if given my choice, I'd prefer to be passively robbed -- you know, the way the credit card companies do -- but would probably find it more irritating to be passively-aggressively robbed).  Meanwhile, Sonics were getting robbed in the halcyon, ante-anti-firearms days of 2012 ("East Pearland Sonic reportedly robbed, two teenage suspects caught after high-speed chase") -- even in Texas.  Because they're fast food joints, which have always been tempting targets for stick-up men, because they handle a lot of cash, and unlike banks, gas stations, and liquor stores, they can't put the counter help behind bulletproof glass. Warner's claim that criminals only tumbled to this notion after various businesses asked their stupider, more belligerent customers to stop toting semi-automatic rifles on the premises seems -- and really, it pains me to say this to an author with such distinguished lip bristles -- almost intellectually dishonest.

I noted a week ago that holders of concealed carry licenses should simply ignore these little anti-gun signs. They have no force of law and if your gun is concealed there is no reason to go around telling restaurant managers you’re armed. That is, after all, why we call it a concealed carry permit!

That would be a great, if obnoxious, point, Warner, except it's totally beside the point. Customers -- at least the ones who are at peace with their penis length -- are complaining about the yahoos swaggering around the Roy Rogers Fixin's Bar strapped with boomsticks. If someone has a concealed weapon, nobody knows, nobody cares, nobody complains. However, the whole point of the longarm display by Open Carry Texas was a Pavlovian exercise to "To condition Texans to feel safe around law-abiding citizens that choose to carry [firearms]," and thereby grease the way for the open carry of handguns. People licensed to carry concealed weapons aren't really a part of that debate (and if I know anything about human nature, they probably don't support open carry, because it diminishes the value of their special status).

Of course, one should follow whatever state laws are extant. If the state law prohibits carrying a firearm at a school or courthouse or what have you, then follow the law. But these restaurants have no right to tell you not to carry in their shops.

Yeah! Schools and courthouses might employ armed guards who aren't impressed by your banana clip, but you're perfectly within your rights to intimidate the assistant night shift manager at Friendly's.

If the Constitution prevents stores from saying they won’t serve a gay person, then there is no reason they should be allowed to refuse a legal gun owner, either.

And as soon as Open Carry Texas starts urging its members to give gay men piggyback rides around Buffalo Wild Wings, I'll...well, I still won't concede the validity of Warner's argument, but it would totally make my day.

After all, if I am in a store that is getting robbed and the store insisted that customers go unarmed, can’t I sue the store for putting me in danger? And can a mere store summarily remove my Constitutional, Second Amendment rights because they are operated by liberal weenies? And… well, there are a lot of questions that need to be answered, here, aren’t there?

Nope. Not even in a late night dorm room bull session with free beer refills and a Bottomless Bong.  Even a fan of question-begging would first have to prove that customers in a gun-free establishment were less safe than they'd be if Warner Todd Huston were free to panic because he thought he saw a black person, fumble a 9 mil from his fannypack, and start blazing away in the general direction of the cash register.

Certainly gun owners can simply refuse to give their money to companies like Chipotle.

Well no, not since you guys proved that it was immoral, illegal, (but not fattening) for gay people and their allies to boycott Chik-Fil-A.

 But, why should they? Why should they self-segregate and allow liberals to tell them where they are “allowed” to eat lunch and where they aren’t?

Job creators should be free to run their businesses however they choose, except where it interferes with Warner's right to practice his steely, Chuck Norris stare while refilling his cup at the soda dispenser.

 Don’t the same liberals say that Christian bakeries should be forced to bake cakes for gay weddings because gays should be allowed to shop anywhere they want without discrimination? Why should gun owners be different?

Well if you love your gun so much, why don't you marry it?  I'll go halfsies on the cake.

On an ending note, I was on Granite Grok radio this weekend talking about this very issue and one of the hosts said something that I thought hilarious. 

He said that gun owners should call up one of these restaurants and order a big order of food for pickup. Then, upon getting to the restaurant, stop outside the door, call for the manager and say something such as, “Gee I didn’t know this was an anti-gun establishment. I’m afraid I’ll have to cancel my order as I can’t come inside to pick it up. Bye now.”

The Second Amendment is the cornerstone of liberty (once you take out the Militia Clause and join the Amendment already in progress), and in its defense, we can pledge our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor, or we can just pull some pranks. Oh sure, it's hard to refresh the tree of liberty with the blood of tyrants when you've got the giggles, but it's worth it just to see the look on the faces of those Sandy Hook parents after you send them a dozen pizzas.

Of course I am not advocating that gun owners do this (wink, wink), but I wonder how much thrown away food they’ll put up with before they change their policy!

Hey, I think Warner Todd Huston just winked at me! But instead of sending little starbursts through the screen and ricocheting around the living room, all that's flying around at the moment is this projectile vomit.  Kind of a ripoff.

An Officer and a Pusscake

Earlier today I was standing in line at the pharmacy, scrolling through Twitter, when I happened to notice this tweet to Josh Marshall from a dissatisfied customer:

Personally, fucking yourself sounds like a lot of work, especially if, like me, you're self-loathing, because then you have to imagine that you're someone else just to get off (and if you're looking into a mirror while doing it, you've got to take care that you don't call yourself by another name, because you'll ruin the moment, and might accidentally wind up summoning Candyman.)  So I'd reverse the order of that To Do list: fuck yourself first -- get the hard part out of the way -- and then reward yourself by settling back with a nice steaming cup of pusscake.  That's how Carol Lawrence did it in those old General Foods International Coffee commercials.

But then one of Marshall's other readers wondered what a "pusscake" is, which reminded me of the time, over at TBogg's place, when George Tierney of Greenville, South Carolina enlivened the American lexicon with his gift of the word "fuckchop."

So it seems like traditional insults are no longer sufficient for our conservative friends, who must resort to assembling complex new compound words in order to paint the room with rage.  Now, I'm no expert on German grammar, so I'm not exactly sure how they go about daisy-chaining these neologisms, but based on the work of Mr. Krough and Mr. Tierney, the perfect rightwing pejorative appears to combine a reference to sex or sexual organs, with some kind of food (I assume "fuckchop" is a noun not verb, like "porkchop."  In fact, those two words are probably synonymous).

The line wasn't moving so I continued to scroll, and saw that Mr. Krough claims to be a Marine, which reminded me how Lou Gossett, Jr.'s drill instructor in An Officer and a Gentleman addressed Richard Gere's Zack Mayo as "Mayo-nnaise," a gibe which seems premised on the same theme (granted, it's not sex+food, but it is condiment+jism).

Then I saw this follow-up tweet, and it all became clear to me...

While it's a regrettable practice that is increasingly proscribed, the fact remains that lower primates are still considered edible in some cultures, which leads me to conclude that what Mr. Krough and his confreres are offering us is not a tasting menu of random insults , but an entire table d'hôte banquet of abuse.  Now again, I'm no caterer, but the way I see it, the fuck monkeys would be served first, as an appetizer (sort of like hush puppies); fuckchops would be the entree; followed by delicious pusscake for dessert.

By the way, many thanks to Thers of Whiskey Fire fame for this (extremely kind) post at Eschaton (and Hi to all the nice new people who dropped by.  If you haven't had a chance, please consider picking up a copy of our book, Better Living Through Bad Movies.  It contains more concentrated snark than you can find at Michelle Malkin's Twitchy, or Glenn Beck's The Blaze, or really any wingnut site that sounds like a slang term for a neurological disorder or an STD).

Also thanks to Thers for pointing out something which bears repeating:  "SZ in particular doesn't get anywhere near the credit she deserves. SZ invented left internet snark in a lot of ways."  I couldn't agree more, and have decided to start a new weekend feature, reposting some of her greatest hits from the early days of Wo'C.  Let me know if you have any requests.

Brighter Brights! Whiter White Trash!

For people who enjoy watching smug, self-adoring nitwits flex their vapidity on television, but find the Kardashians a bit too ethic, I've got some good news.  M. Bouffant and Bill S. were both cruel kind enough to alert me to this trailer from Doug Giles, Pastor of Our Lady of Free HBO and Complimentary In-Room Coffee, who's trying to sell his daughters (again!), this time as reality TV stars.  Of the three of us, only Bill had the stones to actually watch the thing -- I bailed out right about the time faux streetwalker but genuine fame-whore Hannah started lying her As Seen on Youtube ass off about ACORN).

As Bill wrote, "I'm not sure how much there is to say, since the series hasn't aired yet. The show certainly captures Doug's two most enduring traits: his desperation to prove his manhood, and his uncanny ability to be completely out of touch everytime he tries to sound relevent. (He still uses "metrosexual", a word nobody's used in about 10 years.)"

 Doug Giles: The Manly Cure for the Metrosexual.

Of course, it's just a sizzle reel, so in all likelihood there is no series, just another effort by fading bad boy Doug to piggyback on Hannah's rising star.  Although, if the ACORN hoax was going to net her a TV show, you'd think it would have happened in the first golden shower of free publicity that drenched her and...what's his name?...the guy who looks like Ichabod Crane.  I can't remember, but apparently neither can Hannah, as she's been steadily writing him out of the story since her first solo appearance on Fox News.

Anyway, here's Doug's pitch:

Here's my family's answer to the Jersey Shore and the Kardashian BS. The Call of The Giles shows families how to live a powerful and productive adventure laden life without whizzing on God and country. TCOTG features Townhall.com columnist Doug Giles and his wife Mary Margaret, daughter Hannah Giles of the 2009 ACORN undercover sting videos and Regis Giles, NRA columnist and owner of GirlsJustWannaHaveGuns.com. Coming 2012 to a TV set near you. Hold on to your lug nuts. It's time for an overhaul.

Shit just got reality.

Bonus Doug: Sharkmaster and Art Critic

You know that suitable for framing portrait of Andrew Breitbart as a parfit, gentil knyght?  Doug got very excited about it, because as an artist himself, he recognizes the power of painting, sculpture, and preserved corpses to change the way we look at our world.  And a provocative portrait of a dead blowhard is just the kind of fusion of fine art and taxidermy calculated to drive liberals into a snit:

Art is powerful. Through art nations have been swayed toward greatness … and toward Obama. Via the arts souls have been lifted and wars have been waged. There’s no mistaking the mighty leverage art wields on people and lands.
...
From a national standpoint, do you wanna know why folks in Communist nations are depressed and are forced at gunpoint to smile when U.S. cameras are rolling? Well, one reason, aside from the mediocre hell Communism spawns, is their art. It’s hard to feel chipper when the only works of art you behold are giant prints of the inbred dictator and the utilitarian gray block buildings he skimped on so he could have gold toilets in his 90-room mansion.

Okay Doug,  but if you're looking for an antidote to (or parody of) socialist realism, I don't think we need this:

 Portrait of Sir Andrew Knightbart  (1089-1134), entitled, "Who's That Guy With The Big Head?"

...When we've already got this:

Stalin and the Muses by Komar and Melamid (1982).

Anyway, you were saying?

Seriously, in the Giles Manor I have trophy animals and paintings of trophy animals, African warriors and Native American Indian warriors adorning my walls. Why do I have such a man cave? Well, one reason I have it so designed is we have three women in the house, and I’ve got to do something to offset all the bras and panties strewn everywhere. In addition, these awesome animals and warriors feed my soul. When I gaze at them it makes me feel stupid and weak when I whine like a 12-year-old girl if I don’t get my way.

Being fascinated with butt kicking beasts and people, I was duly impressed when I saw the digital painting that artist David Bugnon (Boo-nyon) did of the late Andrew Breitbart. David absolutely knocked it out of the park with his painting depicting Andrew as the consummate intellectual warrior that he was.

 Of course, as we now know, the painting is actually a screen grab of a video game character, with Breitbart's ill-proportioned noggin Photoshopped onto the shoulders.  Which is too bad, because I was dying to hear more of Doug's thoughts on the power of pickled body parts and lithographed aborigines to protect our manhoods from strewn panties.  I was especially curious to see how he, as an artist, would react to the news that an artist he had championed was guilty of plagiarism.

Unfortunately, the above snippets were all I could recover from Google cache.  When you click on the Page 2 button (Townhall divides all its columns, no matter how short, into separate pages in order to artificially inflate their traffic), I found this.

The man cave was empty and silent as the tomb, without even the word "Croatoan" inscribed on a discarded brassiere.

P.S. Cat pictures below, if that helps any.

Doug Giles: How Can We Make the Sunshine State a Sundown Town?

It's been awhile since we checked with Pastor Doug Giles. As you no doubt recall, P-Do is the part-time minister of a vagrant church with no fixed address, although it can often be found crashing at the Residence Inn of Aventura, Florida, unless the Association of Stainless Steel Grommet Manufacturers and Suppliers are in town and need the ballroom for a slide presentation and buffet lunch.  He's also the host of a pretend radio show on the internet, and the father of Hannah Giles, a fake prostitute.  On the bright side, his stupidity appears to be genuine.

Urban Beach Week Destroys South Beach … Again

Well, I’m going to be called a racist for this one, but here it goes:

Living in my elitist Hollywood bubble, I've lost touch with the way real Americans think.  In my jasmine-scented Emerald City, where it rains glitter, people commute to work on freeways paved with rainbows, and kids snack on Pixie Sticks filled with the granulated horns of free-range unicorns who died a natural death -- at home, after a long and fulfilling life, surrounded by loved ones -- and which fight tooth decay and contain only One Awesome Calorie, when a person thinks, "I'm going to be called a racist for this one," they often conclude that this, by itself, is a good enough reason to stop talking and go watch that West Wing marathon on Bravo.

What the heck is up with the hip hop crowd trashing South Beach year after year on Memorial Day? Is this how your crew celebrates the hard-won freedoms our nation’s heroes gave their lives for—by annually ransacking South Florida and shooting at cops?

Maybe they're celebrating the slightly different brand of freedom we gave the Iraqis.

The vast majority of people who give a damn about Dade County and our gorgeous beaches hate Urban Beach Week. Yep, I said it. They hate it … especially those who live in the condos and mansions along South Beach. 

They're trapped in their stately beach-front homes, forced to spend night after night staring into space, nursing a lifetime of grievances and regrets, while their second wives sit on the cold marble hearths of fireplaces built to comically medieval dimensions, obsessively working jigsaw puzzles.

If such a vision does not cause your heart to break, then your heart must also be made from the finest white Makrana marble, imported at great expense, in which case I compliment you on your elegant taste, and advise you to stay indoors until the Negroes leave town.

Why do they detest UBW? Well, it’s because of things like the insane 24-hour noise, the tons of trash on the streets and beaches, the increase in security that is reminiscent of Fallujah in 2004, and the radical spike in crime and arrests (including the ubiquitous vandalism of cars and homes).

According to the Miami Herald's piece on the event, "[A]rrests have decreased steadily over the past few years during Urban Beach Week in South Beach."  It notes that "for all the complaints about the ills of Urban Beach Week, it is not an unparalleled event, nor does it present unique municipal challenges never heard of before," and describes how "Daytona Beach, where MTV spring break events in the 1980s and 1990s earned the city of 60,000 an unwanted reputation as a rowdy party destination.  Adding to the city’s undesired attention were the high-profile murders of two college students in separate incidents years apart."

Not to mention the woes of Ft. Lauderdale, which has been coping since 1960 with a yearly influx of privileged young white men with names like "Ryder" and "Dill," who are looking to consume an immoderate number of Tiki drinks and get fresh with Yvette Mimieux.

This past weekend the Urban Beach people hit their nadir: They turned South Beach, America’s Riviera, into a war zone. Collins Avenue on Memorial Day was indeed memorable but in a tawdry, satanic sense as the Urban Beach Weekers made our Cosmopolitan playground look more like Cairo, complete with attempted cop killing.

A shooting is always shocking, especially in a place like Miami, which has never known violence.  (I vaguely remember a show called Miami Vice, but I'm pretty sure that was a wacky sitcom set in a hardware store).

Anyway, Doug, you were saying?  Tawdry Black people are spoiling your Cosmopolitan playground and keeping Bebe Rebozo up at night with their phat beats?

Yes, during this year’s festivities the Urban Beach Weekers trashed the historic Art Deco streets, screamed, yelled and blasted music 24/7

Screaming, yelling, loud music...As anyone who's attended Spring Break in South Florida can tell you, these are forms of celebration unique to the modern Inner City Satanist.

Young Anton LaVey (r) at historic Black Mass held at the Ed Sullivan Theater (1964).

Yep, one of the “tourists” tried to run over several cops with his vehicle and then shot at them, at which point a gunfight ensued between one of these winners and Miami’s cops that made anything John Yoo has produced look lame.

Wow.  Considering John Yoo has produced everything from legal opinions authorizing war crimes to rationalizations for crushing the testicles of a child, that's really saying something, Doug.  I'm sorry I doubted you.

Call me a racist, a gringo, honkey, cracker, or whatever.

"...just don't call me late for lynchin'."

But at the end of the day if Edgar and Johnny Winter, the von Trapps or the lost white tribe from Whiteyville (that listens to Pat Boone and only Pat Boone) came to my city year after year and screwed it up, as much as I love my Caucasian brethren, I would do everything in my power to bounce them away from my house. As in, for good.

I know when Rock 'n Roll first became popular, a lot of Baptist preachers issued thundering denunciations of this new "jungle music."  But I'm pretty sure this is the first time a Southern clergyman has concluded his sermon by threatening to shoot an albino.