I told y’all a few years back that, after much research and deciphering, I discovered I am part Micronesian Islander. I may look, sound and even think like your average white Arkie cracker, but beneath the cow mud, snuff, cracklins and turnip greens lives a cultured island boy with a strange, oceanic accent who’s lived with the discrimination that only an “Islander” can know.
Well, I’m tired of living a lie. And now, with the support of transgender and transrace citizens from all over the globe, new tattoos and a giant copper ear ring for an air of mystery, I must emerge from the outhouse. Yes, I am part Micronesian Islander, and proud of it.
Call me “Islander,” you southern heterosexual Christian bully. Go ahead. I’m founding a nonprofit company right now, and the more you discriminate against me, the more government money I’ll receive.
Even as we speak, my people are reclaiming a tiny corner of the Galapagos islands as our own. We’re set to receive subsidies, my kids won’t have to pay college tuition and there will be no medical bills from exploitative capitalists who’ve lined their pockets for generations on the backs of my people.
Yes sir, the next time some fat cat American, says, “We need some oysters, island boy. Dive, Islander, dive,” I will arise from the beach in righteous indignation, climb a tall coconut tree and proclaim, “I shall dive no more for the wealthy tourista man. Let my people go!”
Oh, and send us more free phones, and 300 free hours!
“And watch the sun go down, hear the sea roll in! I hope you understand, I just have to go back to the island!”
-Back to the Island
“Don’t drink a fifth on the Fourth, or you might not come forth on the fifth.”
-The late George Reid