Dear Black People: Stop Haunting My Dreams

Hey black people. What up?

Listen, I'm at my wit's end here. Please, I'm begging you, stay out of my dreams and nightmares. I've asked you time and time again, but for some reason you will not listen. I've gone up to some of you on the street and asked you sternly to exit my dreams immediately. And to make it snappy. I told you to pass the word on to the rest of your black brethren.

But APPARENTLY you didn't tell your brothers.

Because that very same night, I had a dream where I was playing checkers versus my kitten, Whiskers, just minding my own business, when out of FUCKING nowhere, an African-American fellow with very dark skin (like Wesley Snipes at midnight) and an angry white-eyed stare broke into my house. He flipped over the checkers board, slapped my kitten in the face, and stole every single item in my house (even Whiskers's litter box). He did this with a couple of his "brothers," the whole time blasting ear-shattering gangsta rap music. The neighbors were all looking and shaking their head in disapproval at me. And I didn't even do anything! Then, 12 to 15 black people walked into the house and converted it into a crack house.

I didn't think my dreams could get any worse, then all my friends turned into African-Americans.Well what do you have to say for yourselves? Huh? I'm on 500mg of Ambien because of you guys. The lethal dose is 100mg!

What do I have to do to keep you guys out of my nightmares? How much money do you want?

Look, I don't want any trouble! I'll give you everything I have, please! You've already taken everything away from me in my nightmares.

My nightmares used to always be such a peaceful place. Somebody would bring a wine that's only 21 years old to my wine and cheese party and I'd wake up screaming. Things like that. I'd forget to buy a new notepad for my to-do list. My Blackberry's battery would die. Horrible things like that. Unspeakable things.

Now things have changed. I didn't think my nightmares could get any worse than the one I had the other night where I was playing golf and IT STARTED RAINING. But things have gotten worse. Things have gotten oh so much worse.

Take for instance the other night. I was walking down an alley. It wasn't the coldest, darkest alley I've walked down, so you could say I let my guard down a little bit. After all, I couldn't avoid the alley on my way home from the Olive Garden. Then, lo and behold, I saw a faint sparkle of some bling or a grill or a rim from the other end of the alley. Before I knew it, I was getting stabbed repeatedly by four of you creatures of the night. As I held my stomach, blood pouring out, you people all laughed at me, your grills glowing in the full moonlight. I started to hear loud rap music in the distance as I faded in and out of consciousness. Black women were shaking their ass at speeds faster than a car, and everyone was giving each other handshakes that I could not reciprocate if asked, and they were all flaunting money around like it was from Monopoly; like my stabbing was part of some kind of Black Panther music video.

I woke up screaming like a little girl in my sweat-stained Where's Waldo sheets. Then I realized it wasn't sweat. I had wet my bed. I guess I drank too much Sunny D that night! Gee whillickers, was I embarrassed (an emotion I hear you people never feel).

Last week, I was taking my grandma to the grocery store. We were strolling through the aisles, looking for artichoke and cheese curds, when a gang of six angry black men wearing clothes several sizes too big confronted us in the meat department, chanting "Kill Whitey" over and over. They ordered me at gunpoint to make out with my grandma and then violently ripped her purse from her grippy, frail fingers, yelling in a gruff voice, "Give me your purse, you old geezer!" As they walked away, I shouted after them, "I enjoy Will Smith movies!" but it was too late. "Well, not Pursuit of Happiness, or Hancock, or I Am Legend, but you know, like Independence Day and stuff."

Yesterday, I was walking to the dry cleaners to get my KKK uniform cleaned (got some blood on it), when a naked African-American with cornrows drove by me in his car, yelled "fuck you, cracker nigga!" and started shooting wildly. I was the victim of a real-life drive-by! I woke up shivering and crying in the fetal position. Needless to say, I called the police immediately and reported the incident to them. Several black men are now facing charges/awaiting trial.

Today, I was daydreaming that I was out for a picnic with a few of my friends. We were eating vegetables and playing Bruce Springsteen albums at a comfortable volume. I looked over at one of my friends to tell him about my last prostate exam when suddenly his skin started changing. I look at him in horror. There was nothing I could do. His skin slowly morphed into black. Then it started happening to all of my friends. They were turning against me, becoming dirtier and dirtier. They were all now African-Americans. I ran away as fast as my legs could take me before they could steal my shoes or anything. The only thing that could've made this daydream worse is if I would've turned black myself. I shudder at the very thought; pee a little.

I like to think I'm "pretty open-minded," "open to diversity," "not racist." I've seen my fair share of black people in movies and TV shows, so I know how to talk to people of that race. But you're not helping your case, black people. You're not making me want to want to like you guys. I can't see us having slumber parties together or pillow fights. You'd just bring guns, crack cocaine, and hip-hop music to these events. And as you guys say: that just don't fly with me, honcho.

So please, in accordance with my lawsuit, stay the fuck out of my dreams, nightmares, daydreams, and wet dreams. I'm not racist, but like 1940's water fountains, my dreams are "Whites Only."

P.S. Could you lay out the exact situations in which it is acceptable for me, a milky white boy, to use the "n" word? Thank you. I can assure you it will come in handy.