Oh, the food was delicious: juicy steak, creamy mashed potatoes, pasta that made you want to stand up and sing. The chefs were cooking in the culinary zone; if you had never seen someone get excited about salad before, then you were going to see it tonight.
But the Klansmen were sent home without dinner.
They had no one but themselves to blame. Were they expecting people to be
happy to see them? Their beliefs were reprehensible. Their
behaviour was inexcusable. Their outfits fell short of the dress
code. They were stupid, stupid people and now they were being sent to
their rooms. They were being jerks about it. They didn't look cool in those sunglasses. The police officer
didn't want to hear their excuses. He just wanted them to go. The woman's
hair violated municipal building codes. Just leave. Seriously. Go. Everyone wanted to enjoy their delicious meal and forget all about the unpleasant interruption.
So the Klansmen were sent home without dinner.
The dishes were served, and everyone ate; they agreed that they'd never
had better. The night was still young so they danced when they were done
and then gobbled the yummy leftovers. Everyone was happy because frankly
you see it's more fun to not be a shithead. The people are nicer and
the days are brighter and nobody likes racial hatred.
The Klansmen signed as free agents with the Washington Redskins and
used their signing bonus to get some fried chicken.
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