By Wyl Villacres
“If you acknowledge racism, then aren’t you the one being racist?” she screamed at me, the underage, drunken fury leaking out of her mouth.
It was then that she shot me in the temple with an airsoft gun, before finding her boyfriend, dressed as James Dean, demanding that I be forcibly removed from the party.
“Her costume isn’t racist! And you’re not even black!” her friend yelled, waving her own airsoft pistol in my face.
“She’s wearing black face!” I countered, trying to decide the median age of the people there.
“She’s dressed as Snoop Dogg!”
Posted on October 29, 2011