Adult BBQs in the modern era

Last week, I attended a birthday party with my friend-with-benefits and what fell out of her nine months after she and I were involved in Adult Situations in early 2015.

The invitation said that the event was a two-year anniversary celebration of what had fallen out of our friend, after she and her friend-with-benefits were involved in Adult Situations.

The invitation also said that there would be a “BBQ for Adults.”

The day of the event, we got ready and drove to the party.

Immediately after the party began — it quickly fell apart, because those of us with any sense and modern taste expected that the “kids party” would consist of the kids sitting together in front of a television in a separate room, being indoctrinated into leftism by addictive cartoon animals for several hours; while the Adult-themed BBQ would be in a different room — full of naked, drunk, swearing adults.

After the hosts clarified their poorly—worded invitation, those adults who were in the progressive minority (which was comprised of only me and the missis) left as we had arrived naked, drunk, and ready to swear — the obvious choices for and Adult-themed BBQ.

On the way home, I was pulled over for Driving While Black, by a racist cop who harassed me in front of my friend-with-befits, our kid, and her other kids.

“Let me guess,” I began, as the racist pig completed the breathalizer test, “this is MAGA country, and people of my race are not welcomed in your town?”

“You were speeding and swerving across the lanes, and now you are slurring ridiculously. To say the least, this stop has absolutely nothing to do with your race, sir,” lied the officer — intentionally misgendering me.

“As a black woman with white skin and a penis — I know exactly what this is about, you rich, white, heterosexual, cisgender, patriarchal fascist: you are targeting me because I am black and LGBTQIA.”


My powerful, accurate accusations stunned the racist bigot cop. He stood silently for nearly a minute, then slowly raised up his hand that held the breathalizer; it read that I was three times over the legal alcohol limit (which is my rigt as part of an oppressed people).

His eyes locked onto mine. A tear fell from his eyes, then from mine. With one push of his thumb, the audible beep signaled that he had erased the breathalizer results.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured tearfully.

“I do not condemn you,” I declared benevolently. “Go forth, and sin no more.”

As our car pulled back onto the road, I saw the officer in my rearview mirror — face towards the sky, clearly thanking gay-friendly black God for sending me across the officer’s path, to teach him what life is really about.

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