Just Another H
Yes. Yes, H stands for honkey. Straight out of the trailer park. Okay, not really. My grandpa left the trailer park, got a union job, and bought a house with a foundation. Big move, but the trailer park with its perpetual septic and diesel stench is not that far away. And if you’re Just Another H like me, it never is.
I can tell you can smell it. H here (Aaron really) is just another white guy feeling guilty about being white. There is nothing for you to worry about. It might be true. Who knows, right? But what can I do about it? This is where it gets interesting. I can’t really do that much, but I can at least talk. I hope that’s what stinks up the spot I’m in. I wanna talk.
About anything, really. Anything that flows through the pipe. The trick is to talk. We have a problem. The Hs in the United States have a problem. We have to talk, and we are not doing it.
Let’s define what an H is a little better. An H is not sitting on the White-Industrial-Complex’s gold toilets, and an H is not hip-deep in the sewer. An H is the pipe the poop flows through, and we Hs are pretty happy about it. Why rattle the pipe? Some of the poop sticks to the side of the pipe, but eventually, it all rinses away. We hope.