Thank You for Finding My White Claw and Various Antifa Sundries

For the past week, I’ve been staying in Portland, Oregon, and let me tell you—I’ve been having a lovely time. There is nothing quite like leaving New York in the first week of June to outside-agitate my way through the Pacific Northwest in the hopes of inciting some riots. I’m so thankful for Cynthia Nixon, who generously paid for my airfare.

Still, my time in the Rose City hasn’t been a total bed of roses. Last night on the way home from secret antifa meeting, tragedy struck. I was walking along the sidewalk carrying a bag of groceries in one hand when I saw a straight-presenting white man driving on the road beside me. Horrified by the inherent violence, I stopped and stared, pivoting along with the vehicle as it drove past me.

And then I saw it.

There.

On the bumper.

A sticker resembling the American flag.

My safe space shattered, I entered a fugue state, losing all memory of the following 13 to 17 minutes that it took me to return home to the split-level I’d reclaimed from a family of five that had violently claimed it as their own before I got there.

I was greeted at the door by my daughter, Global South, and my son, Transsexual, who promptly asked me what I planned to make for dinner. “White Claw and beans,” I told them, raising the grocery bag in my hand to the kitchen table only to realize that my hand had no bag in its grasp. I must have dropped my shopping bag after going semi-conscious. “Just kidding,” I told my children, whose father knows not of their existence. “You’re going to bed hungry. It’s what communism would want.”

When I awoke on Saturday morning, I opened Twitter on my phone to catch up on antifa briefings, which are distributed through the hashtag “#antifa” on all social media platforms. That’s when I saw that Portland’s local police force had tweeted about obvious antifa weapons recovered from recent Black Lives Matter protests in the city.

“That’s my White Claw,” I thought to myself, “and my can of beans.”

A comrade must have found my bag of antifa chow and the various sundries contained therein and used them to pelt the cops bearing down on them. A rush of feeling overcame me as if I’d attacked and dethroned god herself.

“It felt like the greatest orgasm of my life,” I told Global South and Transsexual over our breakfast of water and revolutionary thought. “Now, hurry up and get dressed. We have the police state and/or the nuclear family itself to abolish.”