A Long Story Made Short

by Qwo-Li Driskill (more...)
Posted on July 28, 2003

So I'm home alone at midnight
and there is this "ding-dong" at my door
and it's this guy I know and he's drunk as usual
and with his buddy and I think
Fuck
I just wanted to make my fry bread

So this ding-donger walks into my home like he owns it
(in typical colonist fashion)
and starts looking at one of my Native magazines and he says
Why do you have this You're not aboriginal
and I say
Yes I am
and he says
No you're not
and I'm in no mood to discuss my racial/cultural heritages with a ding-donger so I say
Yes
I am
and leave it at that adding more flour to my fry bread which is too thin and sticky

So then the ding- donger decides to bring up a feminist bumper sicker on my friend's car
and he tries to claim it's sexist
How do you deduce that
I ask and he says it's narrow and that it means all straight white men are assholes
blah
blah
blah

I want to add rich and able-bodied
but instead I say
You're drowning in white male guilt
but Ding-Donger says he isn't so I plop my fry bread down on a cookie sheet and start kneading the sloppy bread pretending it's this man's pasty face

Ding-Donger is blitzed out of his head and is touching me way too much which pisses me off because
one: I didn't invite him to
two: He's straight (or says he is)
and I think
What makes you think you can touch me just because I'm a Faggot and
cooking fry bread and in a skirt

and yes indeedy sexism is the root of homophobia
because somehow this ding-donger thinks because
I'm a fairy (Not really a man) At least not like him (Thank God)
I won't take this sticky ball of water and flour and smear it on his face

Too bad I haven't started heating up the oil
so I could fry up his hand until it bubbles golden brown
in this iron pan and I could eat it with some beans
or maybe honey
which seems to be this guy's favorite
since he keeps calling me that like I've got a label on my container reading
"Lucky Clover"

And when he comes up behind me and puts his arms around my waist
and kisses me on the cheek and neck like I'm some kind of bread that
needs a crust I wish
I had a fine-toothed comb
to rake down his face and then
maybe add some of his blood to my mix
cuz as a faggot
I'd like my fry bread pink

But he leaves for more beer
and I'm grateful he's an alcoholic so he has a motivation (ding-donger though it is) to get out of my house
He leaves his hat
which makes me nervous cuz I don't want him to come back for it

So I leave my bread to rise and wash the dough off my hands
but the anger doesn't come off
and stains my fingers
and clothes

So I take a piece of paper
and smear the anger into a sign
which reads:
The mixed faggot's makin' fry bread
No ding-dongers allowed