UNKNOWN TO SAL, in a run-down apartment, a couple of blocks away, three white guys were finalizing their preparations for a bank heist.
“Here,” the mastermind said to the others, handing them each of them a small pot of grease paint. “Smother that over your faces, necks, and wrists.”
“Why?” one of the crew members asked.
“So that they’ll think it was black guys who done it and we’ll be in the clear.”
“Er, isn’t that kind of racist?”
The mastermind looked at him disbelievingly. “You’re about to make yourself rich and all you can think about is some Democrat-inspired PC shit?” he said witheringly. “Wise up, guy. It’s what made America great.”
“Do we have to talk funny as well? Call each other bro?”
“No. You just shut the fuck up and leave it to me. Now get weaving.”
