I’m done. I’ve reached my absolute limit with white people who have Triple Trumped, yes, the ones who proudly voted for Donald Trump not once, not twice, but in all three elections he’s been on the ballot.
And yet, somehow, these same people have the gall to waltz into a Mexican restaurant, slurp down pho at the Vietnamese spot, or cozy up in the barber chair of their gay hairdresser as if they haven’t spent the past decade demonizing the very communities that give America its flavor, color, and style.
Here’s a new rule: if you Triple Trumped, you don’t get to enjoy anything that wasn’t made for you by Cracker Barrel. No tacos. No dim sum. No samosas. No falafel. No sushi. You get meatloaf and grits, and you better choke it down while glaring at the waitress like she stole your lawn sign.
Because if you’ve spent years attacking DEI programs, sneering at immigrants who work harder in one day than you have in a month, and parroting the orange mushroom man’s lies about “rapists” and “felons,” you’ve forfeited the right to bask in the glory of the very multiculturalism you loathe.
Let’s not pretend: your hero is a twice-impeached, thrice-indicted carnival barker with a torso shaped like a beanbag chair and a track record of screwing over literally everyone he’s ever met. And you’re out here lecturing other people about morals? Please.
So yes, if you’re a Triple Trumper, I say waddle your rascal scooter straight past the taqueria and into Cracker Barrel. Keep your flabby pink arms and smug little fat faces far away from our enchiladas, dumplings, and rainbow cakes. America’s cultural buffet isn’t for hypocrites who spit on the chefs.