The Kings Of Cool

35

Chon thinks that neo-hippies are grungy, pasty-faced-from-vegan-diets (“Eat a fucking cheeseburger, Casper”), patchouli-oil-stinking, Birkenstock-wearing, clogging up sidewalks playing hacky sack (why don’t they save syllables and just call it a dirtbag), leaning their crappy single-gear bicycles against the doors of Starbucks, where they order Tazo green tea and borrow other people’s laptops to check their e-mail, sitting there for hours and never leave a freaking tip, doing semi-naked yoga in parks so other people have to look at their pale, emaciated bodies, parasites.

Chon wishes Southern California would secede from the rest of the state so it could pass a law sending any white guy with dreadlocks to a concentration camp.

“Where would the camp be?” Ben asks him.

This is known as “egging him on.”

“I don’t know,” Chon mutters, still pissed. “Somewhere off the fifteen.”

The problem (okay, one problem) with building concentration camps in Southern California, Ben thinks, is that contractors would trip all over each other trying to rig the barbed-wire bid. Also that you have a governor whose accent is, well…

… uhhhh…

“Of course,” Chon mumbles, “I suppose liberals would block it.”

Chon also hates liberals.

The only liberal he doesn’t hate is Ben.

(This is known as the Ben Exemption.)

Liberals, Chon will opine when he’s on a rant-and he’s on one now — are people who love their enemies more than their friends, prefer anyone else’s culture to their own, are guilty of success but unashamed of failure, despise profit and punish achievement.

The men are dickless, sackless, self-castrated eunuchs cowed into shame of their own masculinity by joyless, anger-filled shrews consumed with bitter envy at the material possessions,

not to mention multiple orgasms, of their conservative sisters (“You should have stopped him buying The Fountainhead, ” Ben tells O.

“Who knew he was in the fiction section?”)

Liberals took a pretty decent country and

Fucked It Up to the point where kids can’t read Huckleberry Finn or play dodgeball — dodgeball, that perfectly Darwinian game meant to ensure the survival of the fittest because the others are too perpetually concussed to propagate — and any dune surfer with a grudge feels he can fly planes into our buildings without fear of the Big One being dropped on Mecca like it should have been five seconds after the towers came down (Nancy Reagan would have pressed her husband’s finger on the button for him and turned the Saudi peninsula into the glass factory it deserves to be)

— except that liberals want to be loved.

Ben disagrees The liberals in the California State Legislature would not block a bill creating concentration camps as long as they got campaign contributions from the concrete manufacturers, the drivers hauling the inmates through the gates were unionized, and their trucks had the requisite minimum MPG standards and used the commuter lanes.

Ben knows California would be zapping guys at the pace of the Texas Versus Florida Bush Brothers Sibling Rivalry if the electric chair were solar powered.

“They don’t use Sparky anymore,” Chon tells him. “It’s lethal injection.”

Right.

Narcotics are illegal, so we use them to execute people.

For crimes.