“Hatred is a fine thing, kid. It is fine to hate a person.“

“But hate is a bad thing Grandpapa.“

“Yes, but it is necessary.“

“Whatever can you mean Grandpapa?“

“Well, love and hatred are a duality. They exist because of, alongside of and in spite of each other all at the same time.“

“You’re very clever Grandpapa.“

“No kid, your Grandmama is clever. She can rustle up a meal out of anything. One time we were at an orgy and there were these cucumbers, she -“

“You’re doing it again Grandpapa.“


“Being gross…and digressing. You were telling me about hate.“

“Ah yes. Have I ever told you about much I hate interruptions?“

“Many times.“

“Good. Now, hating someone for the colour of their skin is senseless – some would disagree, and for that reason they are justifiably hated. We’ll get to that later.“

“So it’s okay to hate someone who hates?“

“Yes kid, of course.“


“When someone is a blatantly being a dick. Hating on dicks is easy.“

“But you said Great-Auntie Eleanor loves dick.“

“Err…that’s a different thing. What did I tell you about interrupting?“

“You hate it. Hang on…if you hate interrupting, does that make me a dick?”

“Umm…of course not. Now, where was I, kid?“

“Hating race is wrong, but hating dicks his fine, and hating someone for their race makes you a dick, so it’s okay to hate those dicks especially.“

“Yes it does indeed, kid. You catch on quick.”

“It all seems very confusing, Grandpapa.”

“If a fella walks in the room and has the black skin and the dreadlocks and a sweet piece, he hasn’t given us something to hate him for. He has the right to look how he does, just like you do, and nobody who is realistic should mind looking at a black fella with dreadlocks and a sweet piece.“

“So when would it be okay to hate the black man with the sweet piece and the dreadlocks, Grandpapa?“

“When he starts being a dick.“

“Like…if he used the piece to shoot my hamster? Or a person?“

“Yeah that’s right.“

“What if he was a dick and he shot old Great-Aunt Eleanor? Would she love him?“

“Kid, I’d love him if he shot that bitch.“

“You’re funny Grandpapa.“

“Damn straight kid. Now, get me some of that beef from the fridge.“

As his grandson walked away, Grandpapa watched on and resolved that his grandson was indeed a dick for interrupting. Shedding a small tear, Grandpapa reached into the draw next to his reclining chair for his own sweet piece. Grasping the polished handle of a gun of which no modern man could claim to recognise, he waited for his dick grandson to return.