I’ve Been Running With the Wrong (Imaginary) Crowd

“Yer blog yesterday put me off’n my feed, Cope!…

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… spoiled my appitude somethin hawrble! All I could get down was a mug o’ gizzard gravy. And I dang near puked that up ever time I thought about what you writ!”

“I have nothing to say to you, Red.”

“You don’ even care what yer did t’ my Tanksgivers Day, Cope!? You don’ even care hows ya made me sick t’ m’ belly with yer smoochin up to Bombama!? You don’ even care what a whimpery, muddlin pansy ya made out yerself with all that ‘Eeew, eeew, eeew Pres’dent Bombama! Tanks fer yer be-oooooow-tiful fam’ly! Tanks fer bein such a in-com-peeeeees-able human bean! Tanks fer all yer intelly-jants, yer ely-jants, yer dilly-jants!?'”

“Go. Away.”

“Juss made me sick t’ think hows a white man could ever debasementize hisself like that afore a dang Mooslismist ni …

“Don’t you say it, Red. Don’t you dare say it. And get the hell out of here. We … are … done.”

“Yous cain’t tell me what I can say or not say, Cope! Not no more. Ain’t none o’ that ‘political correctiveness’ no more. I’s can say whatever I want now, an no bleedin harp lib’lard is gonna stop me. An what you mean, anyways? … done?”

“I mean I want nothing to do with you. Not now. Not later. Not ever. You are persona non grata. I no longer want you in my house, in my life or in my mind.”

“Bu … bu … yer the one what drummed me up, Cope. I ain’t here ‘cept fer when you haul me out fer a gab session.”

“No more gab sessions, Red. No more hauling you out. No … more … you.”

“Sos, yer willin to kick me out? … after we been doing this fer twenty years an better? All acause I voted fer … “

“Yes. All because you voted for … “

“Dat ain’t fair, Cope! I didn’t kick you out eight years back when you voted fer that Mooslismist ni … “

Watch it! Be damn careful what you say around me, asshole. Political correctness may be gone in your world, but it’s not gone in mine. And I voted for a qualified man. A thoughtful man. A kind man, An uncorrupt man. A visionary man. A stable man. A man worthy of being President. You, Red, voted for a fucking Nazi!

“Yous called me asshole, Cope. Yous ain’t never called me a asshole afore. Yous ain’t never called me no names afore.”

“It wasn’t because I didn’t want to, believe me. But I kept it civil because we were friends, if only just imaginary friends. We’re not friends anymore. And that’s for real.”

“You is … you is … unfriendin me?”

“That’s right. I is unfriending you.”

“Uh, maybe you ought not go off an do something rash like that, Cope. Whut I mean is, yu’ll get o’er this. It juss takes time, is all. Look how long it took me t’ get o’er how that Mooslismist ni …”

 “Red!

“Wull you knows what I mean. It took me a loooooong time t’ accept how one o’ his kind got hisself elected Pres’dent. And so will you, Cope … when ever you decide t’ juss grow up an accept how Donald is the legitimated president.”

“Tell me, Red. When exactly did you accept that Obama was the legitimate president?”

“Uh, wull, dat ain’t actually happened quite yet. But tell ya what … if’n I weres to say Bombama was a legitimated president, then would you admit Donald is a legitimated president?”

“No. That slimey abomination is not my president now, not later … not ever.”

“Nothin you can do ’bout it, Cope. Yer juss gonna have t’ live with it.”

“Red, have you ever thought about how neo-Nazi goons, Klan morons, idiots who believe Trump will be a good president, and imaginary friends all have something in common?”

“An what’s dat?”

“None of them ever have a thought in their heads that someone else didn’t put there.”

“What you talkin ’bout, Cope?”

“I had nothing to do with what’s in the heads of neo-Nazi Goons, Klan morons, or idiots who believe Trump will be a good president. But I had everything to do with what’s in yours. I put the fucked-up ideas in your head and the fucked-up words in your mouth. Now, I’m done. There’ll be plenty of those ideas and words coming  from other people … real people, I have no doubt. But they won’t be coming from me, Red. Or you.”

“You hold on there, Cope! You juss cain’t …

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