you got me seeing the thing that i’ve been hoping to find, you got me trying to clean what’s dirty on the inside

If you’re anything like me, Internet — and we both know you aren’t, but hope someday you will be and to be honest with you, I don’t think you’re smart enough to come anywhere close — you’re probably wondering how long it’s going to take before that dead Patrick Swayze starts bugging poor Whoopi while she’s trying to host that show with all the old women and that one cute chick that all the hippies hate because she’s a Conservative and bathes regularly or whatever.

Because you just know he’s going to do it at some point.

So the funniest thing happened to me yesterday. I had stopped by the Circle K — you know, the one on the corner of Airline and Goodwood — on my way to work to pick up some Pop Rocks and Snapple for breakfast, and when I saw the cashier was of Middle Eastern descent, I did my civic duty as a tax-paying American citizen who loves his country and apple pie (but can’t seem to get into baseball), and I called the police to report it.

I didn’t say he was a terrorist per se, but just that he did appear to have enough room under that smock of his to be concealing some suicide bomber paraphernalia. And naturally the police responded immediately because we all know how those Middle Easterners love to walk around and act normal and then surprise! Suicide bomb.

So anyway, as I was walking out with my free Pop Rocks and Snapple (on account of the clerk being face-down and handcuffed and unable to ring me up), I heard him scream at me something about Muhammad or Allah or Smokin’ Joe Frazier or whatever, and then he called me a Zionist pig.

A Jew.

Me.

OMFGLMAO.

As if.

So what, just because I’m good with money and like a good deal, I’m automatically a Jew? Or because I don’t have my foreskin? Or because I don’t work at night? Or because I don’t accept Jesus as my Lord and/or Savior? Or because I have a big, long nose? Or…

Shit.

I might be Jew.

Touché, suicide bomber. Touché.