04/01
          There is no hope left for white America. Currency flows out in all directions, but to no person who needs or deserves it. Hungry squirrels with long, slender flashing fingers and a hoard of stolen nuts.

          Case in point: the Olive Garden. Big name, long wait, bright lights, high price, yet box-worthy wine with negligible alcohol content and food that looks and tastes like it was cooked in a microwave. I could make exponentially better pasta while half-asleep and drunk.

          “Spicy's one thing, awful's another.”

          Who's idea was this? Vander's dad?

          Time to scramble. I toss down a tip for the cross-eyed, rabbit-toothed, flair-adorned waiter—mostly out of pity—as we slip out and away, but there's no way in hell this bill's getting paid.