I Used To Be A White Supremacist Too!

As you may have read, I used to hate foreigners. As much as this pains me to admit, this was not my only act of youthful bigotry. In fact, I’ve come to realize that I was filled with hate years before. In order to cleanse myself of the racism that has coursed through my veins for so long, I must expose the evil within me. So I tell you this in hopes that someday you will be able to forgive me, my internet brethren and sistren: I used to be a white supremacist.

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It all started when I was 4, after my family moved out of Los Angeles to a suburb of Cleveland. Though I don’t remember anything from my days in the city of angels, my parents insist that I had a black best friend, so I can only assume that I wasn’t bigoted just yet. It seems that the transition came about in my new cornbread Ohio suburb.

Naturally, my sister and I were pretty damn whiny about the whole move thing, since we felt so at home in our city of crack and earthquakes, so we bitched and cried and cried and bitched to my parents. Eventually, the folks decided to make it up to us by getting us each a cat!

My sister, who was 5 or 6, got a brown calico female that she named Daisy. I got Daisy’s brother, a black cat with a really cool white belly that I named Mickey. Clearly, we were painfully unoriginal Disney-loving tykes when it came to naming our cats. Incidentally, Mickey and Daisy were quite the incestuous siblings, kittyhumping day and night, but I digress.

One day, my sister and I got pretty bored with the status quo, as young whippersnappers are want to do. Our status quo? A brown cat and a black cat. Since Mickey’s white belly looked so cool, we thought he would look even cooler if he were completely decked out in that white fur of his. While we were discussing the issue, we decided there was no reason for Daisy to be stuck with boring ol’ brown if Mickey was getting even whiter and more awesome. Our parents liked Mickey’s white spot too, so they would be thrilled if we surprised them with all-white Mickey and Daisy Redux!

Obviously, we thought about decking the cats out in white paint, but, as my astute big sister pointed out, paint comes off. We needed something that would last longer, something that would stick to them. We realized that the durable, permanent solution we were looking for was right in our trusty arts and crafts kits: Elmer's Glue.

We grabbed our glue and went to work, covering both our cats with as much Elmer’s as possible. I was sure that the cats would be ecstatic about the whole ordeal, since everybody knows how fun it is to get glue all over your hands and then peel it off, like a neat new layer of skin (I wasn’t a twisted little kid for enjoying that, right? Right??). After a good glue-bath for each, we couldn’t have been prouder of our new kitties. Now when Mickey and Daisy shack up, we’ll get a whole litter of Caucasian fur balls!

Naturally, this ended exactly as you can imagine: We showed our parents, and they were glowing. They adored the cats’ new looks so much that they decided to reward us with a trip to Bennigan’s for ice cream! At least I’m pretty sure that’s what happened.

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I can only hope that confronting this awful bigotry and sharing it with you can serve as a purging of my sins. I pray that these words I’ve written can be my waters of purity, slowly but surely washing away the thick, syrupy glue of white supremacy from my dark, matted fur. I may whine, scratch and bite at my tail all the while, but in the end, I will be cleansed anew.