Let me be clear, if I’m protesting and you punch me in the face at the behest of President Trump, I promise to turn the other cheek…so I can get a good look before whooping your ass.
To all of my friends planning on visiting Washington DC, please reach out so I can send you a gift card to dine at Red Hen. I know exactly what the owner, Stephanie Wilkinson, is going through.
Sarah Huckabee Sanders was dining at Red Hen when she was judged by the content of her character, not the color of her skin. Sarah was asked to leave. I have a dream, a wet dream, and this is it.
The Right is furious, which is their favorite emotion (and my favorite spectacle to watch unfold). The threats will pour in. The phones will ring non-stop. Yelp will be filled with so-called Yelping Elite, teleporting in from all over the country, putting their tiny fingers on the keyboard and jerking themselves off on outrage.
I’m not sure who commands a bigger army of trolls, Yelp or President Trump.
It’s bad enough we had to endure segregated lunch counters. But adding insult to emotional injury, the Supreme Court recently gave the 5 Gavels Up to Gay Cake Apartheid. Fine. It is what it is. Fair enough. So you know what I say to Sarah Huckabee Sanders and her sadistic daddy, Mike? I say this: “Let Them Eat Gay Cake!”
It doesn’t taste so good, does it, swallowing oppression.
On the other side of the bitter aftertaste, Maxine Waters got into a pie fight for encouraging people to wake up. Nothing scares bullies more than being stood-off. The calculation in their outrage is underscored by a presumption of non-violent resistance. But to quote Mahatma Gandhi, “Fuck that noise.” When the president of the United States is on the record taunting protesters, egging-on his audience to punch protesters in the face, reducing democracy to a wrestling match, don’t be shy about making your point with a pile-driver.
They came at me with violent threats, I took it. They called me non-stop, I took their calls. They used Yelp to demolish my business, I demolished Yelp. They tried to kill me, literally kill me. I lived.
So I understand exactly what’s happening right now at Red Hen and I can only hope Stephanie Wilkinson is having a good time with it. I did.
Somewhere in the middle of the Twitter Shit Storm, I decided I wasn’t going to let them steal my joy. So I stepped into the punch. It stung. Then it felt good, real good, real real good. I liked it, since pointing the army of trolls in your direction is the surest sign they’re scared of you.
Take it as a compliment. Keep your doors open for business. Strap yourself in. Hang on to your joy. It’s the first thing they aim for but their crosshairs are faulty. I know this for sure because I’m the one who broke into their stockpile of guns, snuck around in the darkness and tinkered with the calibration.