Cross Burning Canceled
Cross Burning Canceled
By Joe Bob Briggs
April 7, 2003
Late Tuesday: Zeke's Auto Body
Thursday: McSorley Spaghetti Supper Prayer Meeting
Easter Sunrise: Chisholm Trail Drive-In
Let's try to be upbeat about this, guys. Sure, the Supreme Court ruled this week that burning a cross is not constitutionally protected speech. We've having Buster DeWitt, our East Texas legal counsel, take a look at it, but we'll just use the time off to do some dry cleaning. (I'm talking about you, Lonnie. Nobody likes dirt-bike skid marks on a sheet. Have some respect for yourself and your family.)
One possibility is that we can attack the definition of "cross." How many degrees would we need to tilt the crossbeam before it ceases to be a cross and becomes a jakeleg high school wood-shop project? I know the founding fathers wouldn't like it, but I say let's not get picky about geometry when the whole symbolic ball of wax is about to go poof here.
Another legal avenue we might mosey down is to file a bigot class-action suit. I've already heard from bigots in 12 states and western Canada, even though Canadian crosses are currently unaffected by this dog doo-doo of a court decision. We don't think often enough about just how many bigots there are in this great country, and how if we just pulled together once in a while, instead of going our various bigoted ways, we could get a lot more accomplished.
Also, I think I've spotted a loophole. The court said that the flaming crucifix is illegal only when it's used for "intimidation." So let's just paint a happy face on the front of it and be done with it!
This is not all bad news, you know. You fellows can be proud that, when the Supreme Court chose to outlaw a symbol for the first time in the nation's history, they didn't choose some foreign symbol like the swastika or the hammer-and-sickle or the Hello Kitty. When they looked back down the pitted gravel road of history, searching for people who like to knock down mailboxes with baseball bats, they went right for the Klan.
This could even help recruiting. As you know, we haven't had a good year. There are several states still struggling to break into the double digits on the membership rolls. The young people, they tell me, are having trouble relating to their local Grand Kleagles. And you know what? I can't blame 'em. Until you know the reasons behind dressing up in a pointy hat and a robe, you're just some kind of Arabian Pope to the younger generation. We need to get out into the community more, work some haunted houses around Halloween, throw out the opening pitch at the Charleston RiverDogs games, so that the little kids can turn to their daddies and say, "Why is that man wearing a Caspar the Ghost suit?" We need to start a dialogue so that people can see that we don't burn crosses just for the hell of it. We burn crosses so that people will know we're mean, weird and scary.
And while we're on that topic, I'd like to point out that, except for the hardcore membership, most of whom are now confined to nursing homes, we could all use some improvement in the mean, weird and scary department. I'm frankly tired of seeing all those beer guts bunching up the sheet around the belt buckle line. The last time we tried to spook some Jews out by the levee, we looked like Weight Watchers From Outer Space.
What I'm trying to say here is that today we got a wakeup call from the Soopreme Court of the Land, and I think it's a credit to all of our hard work in the past that in the 21st century somebody still thinks we're badasses. That doesn't mean our badasses should be quite so large, though, and all we need is a few more pushups, a little work with the Abdomenizer, and we can show up at next year's Gay Pride Parade without having to explain that we're not one of the fetishwear floats.
I wanna close with a story my great grandpappy used to tell about the early days of the Klan in southern Loosiana. Some of them ole boys from down in the swamps were so poor they couldn't afford pickups. But you know what they did? Flatboat pole-driven caravans. They never missed a rally, a parade, a cross-burning or a midnight run even if they had to pole 40 miles and walk 15 overland. They would run out trot lines behind the flatboats and survive on alligator gar if they had to. But they had the courage and the fortitude to get out there and sweep up the non-white scum, like God intended.
Now you may be wondering why I'm telling this story right now, at this crucial point in our history, and I'll tell you why. You don't know what the letters KKK stand for until you've shared toilet paper with an alligator-gar-breath Cajun who hasn't seen a shower in four days. We've had it easy. It's time to buck up. Store up those railroad ties because we're gonna need 'em as soon as we lick this Commie court. As all your mamas will tell you, it ain't the kerosene that makes the cross burn, it's the cross-eyed mad-dog black of your heart. Okay, everybody that has both legs stand up so we can pray.
Joe Bob Briggs writes a number of columns for UPI and may be contacted at joebob@upi.com or through his website at www.joebobbriggs.com. Snail mail: P.O. Box 2002, Dallas, TX 75221.
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