White Like Me

July 17, 2015

The mayor of Airway Heights, Washington, Patrick Rushing, noted on his Facebook page: “Gorilla face Michelle, can’t disagree with that. The woman is not attractive except to monkey man Barack. Check out them ears. LOL.”

“It’s just playful back and forth banter our friends and us do,” the embattled mayor’s pals said, clearly surprised that his constituents were not amused.

Rushing, whose metal-rimmed glasses and excrement-colored hair frame an intelligent, Neanderthal-browed face and deflated cheeks (his own ears hang from his eyebrows to his upper lip) make him look “pioneery,” was not available for comment.

“Cadaver,” said local coroner “Magic Mike” Corcoran, of his client. “When his body came in on a stretcher, he was so pale white he scared my Hispanic intern Raul. We had to rouge him up like a ten dollar whore.”

Mayor Rushing died three years ago but remained seated—well, laid out—as mayor. “Hell,” a local bartender remarked, “a corpse can’t spend money. The country’d be better off with more dead guys in office.”

Some local wags gathered up Facebook ripostes between Rushing and his madcap cronies and posted them a little at a time. Indeed, most town folks had no idea Rushing was dead.

“I went to see the mayor to fix a traffic ticket,” said eighty-two-year-old resident Mrs. Sandra Hotchkiss. “I didn’t wear no underwear so as to, you know, titillate old Patrick and get him to drop the charge, but he wouldn’t look at my vagina. I was pissed off. But now I realize he was dead.”

“How would you know?” asked Rushing’s childhood friend Billy White Dogwood. “He never talked, alive or dead. Heck, we’d put his body in right field when we played Little League. Nobody hits to right anyway.”

As an old white lady actor once said, “Where’s the beef?” It is this columnist’s opinion that blacks have no sense of humor. They are eternally on their high horse and can’t relax and laugh at themselves and the way they look.

Heck gosh darn, white people make fun of themselves all the time. Donald Trump is flat out a moron—do you see him get mad when colored people scream at him? I am belly-fat and bald. Do you hear me asking for handouts from the government or crying because inferior people don’t like me?

Grow up, black people! (Registered Trademark applied for)

To the citizens of Airway Heights: You may or may or may not support your mayor. But cut a dead guy some slack already!


About Eugene Jones Baldwin

I am a writer: non-fiction, fiction, journalism (Alton Telegraph), essays (The Genehouse Chronicles) and have a website: eugenebaldwin.com. I've published a couple dozen short stories and had eleven plays produced. Current projects: "Brother of the Stones" (available on Kindle), a book of short stories; "The Faithful Husband of the Rain, short stories"; "A Black Soldier's Letters Home, WWII,;" "There is No Color in Justice," a commentary on racism; "Ratkillers," a new play. I am an avocational archaeologist and I take parts of my collection of several thousand Indian artifacts (personal finds) to schools, nature centers, libraries etc. and talk about the 20,000 year history of The First people in Illinois. (See link to website) I'm also a playwright (eleven plays produced), musician, historian (authority on the Underground Railroad in Illinois, the Tuskegee Airmen) and teacher.
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