Sunday, Muddy Sunday

It's raining hard.
It's dark outside and it's only noonish.
I feel dark inside. Not sad, not upset, just dark and brooding like the weather.
I watched a large, black comedienne on TV last night, lambasting those stinky Arab guys who clerk at convenience stores. She was totally racist, but those clerks do sometimes smell like camel urine, so what the hell?
The Pakistani owner of the convenience store near my house is a dick. He is suspicious of everyone, sulky, rude and obnoxious. He sells expired milk and bread. He has shortchanged me more than a few times.
I had it out with him after he expected me to leave him a blank check before I gassed up my car. He can kiss my American citizen ass. Once I was wearing a wrist monitor to test my movement for an exercise program I was in. He asked if it was a police monitor or some parole thing, the ignorant fuck.
He doesn't stink, but he does wear stripes and plaids together, which is just as bad.
It's not his ethnicity that bothers me, it's the fact that he's a dick that bothers me.
My friend Elaine said black people loved pork chops because they are shaped like the continent of Africa. If I told that joke onstage I'd probably be booed for being a racist. But pork chops are shaped like Africa.
I could never be a comic on the lesbian circuit. They are too PC and would boo me off the stage and maybe pelt me with soy beans.
I am not a racist or a sexist, I am sick of everyone in general without prejudice. If I want to make fun of anyone, I'll do it and take the consequences.
People are too fucking touchy. Me included.