It was just another day, and I'm sweeping my porch off. I'm an old man, and I don't like the way this country's going. Used to be we cared about keeping the streets clean, cared about law and order. A couple of spooks walk by my house blasting that gangster rap bullshit, sagging their pants, I just take out my gun and look at them right in the eyes. If Jamal and D'Ante wanna mess with me they're gonna have to get through six rounds of lead first, 'cuz I never miss a shot. Nextdoor a couple of fish-head gooks moved in, and across the street I got a whole family of illegals. Next day I'm at the bank when somebody tries to rob it. They're amateurs, I can tell. I pull out my gun and shoot the guy right in the head, bang. Suddenly his partner comes up from behind me and tries to get me, but what do you know, a colored fella tackles him before he can get to me. "Pretty quick thinking for a black guy. I guess your brain hasn't been ruined by rap music and crack cocaine like the rest of your kind." He doesn't like what I said, but I don't care. The next day he sees me working on my classic car and he compliments it. He knows his stuff. Says his dad used to work in the factory before they closed it down and shipped the jobs overseas, same as me. I tell him I live next to a bunch of slanty-eyed chinks who don't know a damn thing about American cars, and he tells me a great joke about a Chinaman and a Jew who get into an argument. We go to the shooting range together and I teach him a few things. Thankfully he didn't hold the gun sideways like the rest of them do. Anyway, now we go to the shooting range sometimes and talk about my great car.