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Dreadilocks and the Three White Bears: An American Fable

Back before America became Great Again there was a family of three White Bears: Papa Bear, who wore the pants around the house; Mama Karen Bear, who was happiest when she was bare-pawed, pregnant, and in the kitchen; and Baby Bear, the Littlest Aryan.

The three White bears lived in what had once been a nice neighborhood of lily-White families like themselves, but it had been going downhill ever since coastal elitists schemed to bring in polar bears, grizzly bears, panda bears, and all sorts of impure races of bear. It was hard to bear, but Papa Bear was one of the Silent Majority, so he gritted his teeth and thanked his lucky stars and the NRA that he could defend his family the way a male bear should, with enough high-powered rifles to outfit a platoon of Navy SEALs.

One fine sunny day the White Bears decided to go for a walk, so they collected Papa Bear’s arsenal and set out on their way. It wasn’t long before their worst nightmare happened and Dreadilocks, a Black bear who was probably on drugs or welfare or both, happened along. He saw an empty cave and apparently thought he could just walk right in, as bold as you please. There he made himself at home, ate up all the honey, and settled in for a nice long winter’s nap.

After several hours the White bears returned from their outing. Papa Bear was tired and in a bad mood from having to be around his clingy wife and bratty kid instead of hunting like a real bear’s bear. Also, he had had a few. Mama Karen Bear was exhausted from hauling around the armory, Baby Bear’s diapers, and their food all day, not to mention that little tiff she’d gotten into with that rude family of Black bears who refused to leave the White family’s favorite picnic spot until Mama threatened to call the cops. As for Baby Bear, he was whiny, verging on the dangerous edge of a full-blown tantrum.

Papa Bear strode right into the same cave mouth Dreadilocks had walked into earlier, took one sniff and announced, “Someone’s been breathing our air!”

“Someone’s been sitting in my chair,” Mama Bear said, “and I think I see a black hair!”

“Someone’s been sleeping in my bed,” shrieked Baby Bear, “and THEY’RE STILL THERE!”

Papa Bear smacked Baby Bear across the face for using a PC gender-neutral pronoun, but then he saw the cub was right, there was a dreadlocked stranger sleeping in the bed! He grabbed a rifle from Mama Karen and filled Dreadilocks so full of lead his pelt was quite useless afterward for a carpet.

The cops heard the gunshots and came running, and they were loaded for bear. But when they saw Papa Bear, they lowered their weapons and relaxed, for he was White and enjoyed the Constitutional right to bear arms and to be an armed bear. They did have to inform him though, much to their regret, that he was under arrest because he wasn’t in his own cave, and the home in fact belonged to Dreadilocks.

The district attorney didn’t want to prosecute, because Papa Bear had made an honest mistake and it was dark when he walked into the wrong cave, and besides, dreadlocks are very triggering for armed White bears, pun intended. But it was an election year and Black Bears Matter staged a demonstration, so the prosecutor reluctantly brought charges to bear. The jury, which included no Black bears, acquitted Papa Bear, who went on to become a crime expert on Fox News. And all the White Bears lived happily ever after, until their neighborhood was blown away by a hurricane that was definitely not caused by climate change.

Moral: If you’re White, you’re all right, and I think you know the rest.

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