If you’ve seen one white asshole, you’ve seen them all. Image courtesy Kootenai County Sheriff’s Office

I’ve probably walked past a few of these assholes at Kroger.

Eight of the 31 white supremacists arrested Saturday at a Pride event in Idaho are from North Texas, some of them from my part of town, North Fort Worth.

I wonder what they’ve thought about my mixed family and me as we browsed the aisles. I’ve also probably seen these Patriot Front dolts at Flip’s, maybe, or 54th Street. Maybe even Uncle Julio’s. (Definitely not Uncle Julio’s. That Uncle Jewl-io is probably hiring only Messicans.) Though I don’t recognize any of their faces from the mugshots (seen one white douchebucket, you’ve seen them all), I bet I’ve come across Josiah Buster and Connor Moran (both from Watauga) and Kieran Morris, Steven Tucker, and Graham Whitsom (Haslet) while out doing my day-to-day bullshit. Had I been in line behind them in traffic, I’m sure a “thin blue line” Punisher sticker would have given them away. And here’s where I’d like to deposit another friendly reminder that if you’re voting for the political party that the KKK and these Patriot Front clowns are also voting for, you’re definitely voting wrong.

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Up until twice-impeached loser/rapist/racist Donnie Dumps-a-lot was elected in 2016, thanks to the mainstream media’s obsession with HeR EmAiLs that amounted to absolutely nothing, life in America was pretty chill. Don’t be annoyingly super-woke and suggest that I’m not saying police weren’t murdering innocent Black people or that the climate was in that much better condition. My point is that, back then, neighbors could approach one another without fear of being offended or offending. Back then, things were looking up. (Thanks, Obama. No, seriously. Thanks, brah. *pound*)

Put aside Donnie’s attempt to overthrow the U.S. government, a treasonous crime for which he should be hanged from the Washington Monument but won’t because the Jan. 6 committee includes way too many career politicians afraid of losing their “jobs”/livelihoods/preferred seating at Japanese-Brazilian steakhouses in the Beltway. And even forget about all of his affronts to decency and his utter contempt for the office of the presidency. And his sexual assaults (26-plus and counting). Forget about them. And his grift (that $250 million lifted from his idiot followers, and that’s just counting his attempt to prove the 2020 election was fraudulent — who knows how much he’s really stolen from them over the years). Put all that aside, too. Donald Trump should be thrown in a Soviet-style prison with only his own fecal matter for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for tearing this country right down the middle. Maybe it was a good thing, the way Dump split us into racists and anti-racists, sexists and anti-sexists, marks and anti-marks. Because of him, we are seeing our family, friends, and neighbors as they really are: sorry, but no other word for them except “assholes.”

If they’re ones you recognize, act accordingly: give them very little of your time and attention, ignore them completely if possible — never thought social media would ever pump my ’nads, but unfriending Trumpanzees I grew up with and still bump into when I’m back in my hometown up north is downright orgasmic. (Do they get an email telling them I’ve unfriended them? They should get an email telling them I’ve unfriended them.)

For all the rest, good luck making them out. With only a few rare exceptions, conservatives, based on my recent experience, don’t parade around in Trumpy gear anymore. You might even find yourself being waited on by one or sharing a bar counter with another without even knowing it. And even if you’re wearing a T-shirt with Black Lives Matter or rainbows on it, as my family and I do regularly, you might never know it. The neo-Nazis/Trumpies will wait until they can be painlessly anonymous before they crowd into a U-Haul and pile out to get arrested just for existing. While covering their faces with cloth. #masktyranny!

I admit I feel a little jolt seeing a Trumpy bumper sticker on a pickup truck or jeep. It means my anger can find an outlet. It means I’m feeling something other than this ennui attending to everyday life during this pandemic. Even if it’s impotently gripping my steering wheel a little tighter or gritting my teeth, it’s something.

Kind of like what we could say of the Patriot Front in Idaho. They took a knee. — Anthony Mariani 


This column reflects the opinions of the editorial board and not the Fort Worth Weekly. To submit a column, please email Editor Anthony Mariani at Submissions will be edited for factuality, clarity, and concision.