In the adventure just prior to punking out the Melted Cowboy, Cindy and about a half dozen of her friends were at a party for a local musical light—I super-hot chick who I saw a picture of on the smart phone screen. Well, an equal number of “black dudes” who if Portland ebon mixology is any guide, where mostly Caucasian posers taking advantage of the One Drop Rule for street credentials purposes, came to the party, which was at a bar, and began demanding pussy, that each and every girl pair off with one of them.

She described these guys as just “dickslinging” looking to hook up.

The leader of the ebon warriors, a man with “stinky dreadlocks” approached Cindy, wanting to know why she would not fuck him, wondering if she was racist. I told him, “I’m not racist, that I’ve fucked tons of black dudes and that I wasn’t fucking him and he better keep his hands off of me and my friends, that I wasn’t having it.”

“Well, then my friend, Star, who is mixed race, told me that she should handle this, that it would be racist for a white woman to stand up to a black man and I had to agree. So I let her handle it and he wouldn’t keep his hands off of her and she put him in a hold against the wall and then he reversed it and slammed her against the wall and I just went for it. I grabbed his stinky fucking dread locks, pulled his head back and got him away from her and pulled my knife out [right hand hip draw, I didn’t ask to see the knife but she could hide a Bowie in the crease of those yoga pants] and told him, ‘I’ll do it motherfucker—I will shank your ass up if you don’t leave off my home girl!”

“So, this little faɡɡot starts complaining that I fucked with his hair like he’s a super model or something and accuses me of being racist and then threatens to bring his ‘boys’ over to straighten this shit out. But they didn’t look up to it. Then I have to patch this up with Star and tell her, ‘Look I know that was some racist shit and I shouldn’t be putting my hands on a black man—but we’re home girls. We have to stick together. We can’t just let these guys sling their dicks into us while we’re having a girls’ night out.’

And this faɡɡot is boohooing about being disrespected and having his hair messed up, which stunk so fucking bad I had to wash my hand twice, and I’m like, ‘Look dude, it’s not about you. We have our own identities. We don’t need your dicks to baptize us as humans. We are doing our own thing. Why don’t you guys do your own thing?’”

Cindy does not understand intellectually that these guys were doing their own thing. But in her guts, she knew that they were and that it involved reducing her to a thing and she fought back.

Good for Cindy.