After you say it she'll turn around to see just who said
that about her. George will be staring
at you, jaw open.
"What the fuck, Norbit?" he'll scream, striking
you. You'll laugh at him. Shuddering, you'll speak again.
"She's not gonna believe that a houseplant can talk,
dumbass. Even a dumb chicken-bean-rice
eater like her won't buy something that dumb."
Her rage will turn to incredulity.
"Is that a talking plant?" she'll ask.
George will nod.
"He's magical, but he's also an enormous racist."
"Shut up, stupid honkey," you'll mutter at him.
George's ladyfriend of indeterminate race will stare at
you. You'll assess her gaze as
calculating, because gazing in a calculated fashion seems like a thing people
of mixed ethnicities would do, since it's something a lot of people do in
general.
"I have an idea," she'll say, resting her hand on
George's. George will lean in to her,
and she'll whisper in his ear. He'll
gasp.
"But he's magical!"
She'll shrug.
"Who gives a fuck?"
You'll scream at her twice as loud, but when she comes back
in with a small container of lighter fluid, you'll know it's over. Your fronds will tremble as she douses you in
lighter fluid. As she holds the lit
match above you the last thing you'll say to her will be:
"This is just what I'd expect from someone of whatever
ethnicity it is that you are."
She'll be smiling when she drops the match.
Congratulations Offensive Houseplant!
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