Get Ready to Bend Over, Palefaces

I am giving you all fair warning. From now on, I will be blogging a lot of Native American issues. Because I, like my hero Ward Churchill, am now a Native American.

Ward got his Indian creds by asking some tribe or other for an honorary membership. I think he offered to clean up cups and doughnut boxes after one of their meetings, and they showed their appreciation by sending him a membership card. Turns out Bill Clinton has one, too. Actual Indians say Ward’s claim is about as reliable as a treaty written on a cocktail napkin, but who are they to judge?

I can top Ward. My grandfather was a Cherokee. Now, I grant you, he wasn't my BLOOD grandfather. And he wasn't a full Cherokee. But he had dark hair and he tanned like nobody's business. And like all true Native Americans, he was a professional dry cleaner.

Also, on both sides of my family, there were horny old guys who left their wives for Indian women. I can understand that. My ancestors were mostly Celts, and after a while, the sight of all that pasty, freckled, dough-like flesh can drive you mad. My idiot sister likes to run around claiming that this makes us Indians, but the problem is, the family is pretty sure the Indian ladies came along after these gentlemen sired our forebears by fat, dumpy Scots-Irish broads.

Lame, I know, but compared to Ward, I might as well be Geronimo.

Okay, so the first order of business is to ream out you WHITEYS for keeping me down. You knocked down our teepees, you ate all our buffalo, and in return, you gave us swampland and poisoned whiskey. You better believe I am pissed.

I want white guilt and handouts, NOW. I want my damn land back. I’ll let you keep most of it. I want Manhattan and Vegas. I know, you claim you bought Manhattan for twenty-four dollars. Okay, smart ass, where’s your receipt? Right. That’s what I thought.

I’m turning Vegas and Manhattan into the United States of Steve. I’m going to be President for Life. My Vice President will be Wayne Newton. All you palefaces can get the hell out, except for hot white chicks and people who provide essential services. Like craps croupiers, bartenders, and pizza bakers.

I paid $80,000 in law school tuition. Obviously, I should have had a minority scholarship, so cut me a check. Also, I have paid like $70 for fishing licenses over the years. I should not have to pay good money to catch my own fish, which you Caucasian bastards stole from me. Aside from that, any anthropologist can tell you that before you jerks got here, we Native Americans used to go out in the Gulf Stream on forty-plus-foot fiberglass sportfishermen and celebrate our manhood and the summer solstice and whatnot by getting incredibly faced and clubbing school dolphin to death. By charging me for a fishing license, you are infringing my right to paint myself up like Pam Anderson and practice silly heathen religions.

That brings me to another important point. I want five grand to cover the money I’ve spent on liquor taxes. And no wisecracks about how we love our whiskey. Bigots. How would you like a nice flaming arrow through the front door of your condo?

Speaking of liquor, I got tanked last night, passed out in the yard, and went on a Vision Quest. As I lay under the gentle spray of the automatic sprinklers, my spirit guide appeared to me once again.

GEORGE HAMILTON: [wearing the familiar fuchsia Izod caftan with the blue alligator on the tit] Steve! It is I, your spirit guide.

ME: George! Could you roll me over? Driveway gravel is embedded in my face.

GEORGE HAMILTON: [waving his magic Martini] Steve, I am here to reveal your destiny. You will be a great chief. You will lead your people to victory over the White Man and build a chain of drive-thru casinos in partnership with the folks at Sonic.

ME: My secret dream! Topless showgirls, Keno, and Cheez Tots!

GEORGE HAMILTON: Your mailbox will overflow with government wampum! You will hunt out of season, using automatic weapons! Your sons and daughters will receive affirmative action at Yale and Harvard, where they will get A’s in puff majors like Ethnic Studies and Applied Lesbianism!

ME: Truly, I am not worthy. Well, yes I am.

GEORGE HAMILTON: The great Gitchee Manitou will rain blessings upon you even as the neighbor’s Weimaraner now rains tinkle on your inebriated forehead.

ME: [singing] Gitchee gitchee ya ya da da…Creole Lady Marmalade…

GEORGE HAMILTON: I must go now, as Liz Taylor and I are booked to share a tanning bed.

ME: As-salaam aleikum, my brother.

GEORGE HAMILTON: Whatever.

Okay, whiteys, time to pony up the jack. In return, I will spare you come the revolution, and I will honor you by deflowering your daughters. The hot ones with big tasty boobs, I mean. The rest will be put to work tanning my pelts and vacuuming my lodge.

And no turning Indian and horning in on my action! I thought of it first.