CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

The seduction was going EXTREMELY well, thought Jonathan.
He was already horny and turgid and could feel heat coming off her. Laughing. Eye contact. Slightly brushing his junk against her.
She'd brushed first, of course, he wouldn't jump to that part of the game without a signal.
"So," he said, licking the fatty deposits off the rim of his glass.
"I knew it!" yelled the bartender from across the room.
Jonathan ignored him.
"Wanna take this somewhere else?" suggested Mooseknuckles.
She hadn't quite responded when a meaty spatula of a hand swatted the glass out of Jonathan's grip.
"The hell you do!" the hand's owner yelled.
Chairs squeaked. Jonathan stood. The DJ played the "record scratch" .mp3.
"Is you hitting on my woman?!" It was the handowner again.
He was beefy, over tan. Wearing a polo and overalls, improbably. Somehow he had both HGH-fed glamour muscles and a cornfed beer belly.
"I'm just trying to get to know her," said Jonathan.
"Yeah, know her carnally," said the handowner.
"...Carnally," said Jonathan a little too late.
"You think this is funny?!" said the redneck-prep... the prepneck.
"No, it's kinda bringing me down," said Jonathan. His halfsie boner had wilted.
"You stay away from my woman," said the prepneck, pointing a girthy finger in Jonathan's eye. Jonathan could see a callous on his fingertip and surmised it was from playing a Jimmy Buffet/Dave Matthews medley.
"I think she's free to do what she wants. If your relationship's good, what do you have to worry about?"
"What are you," said prepneck, dropping his finger and stepping chest-to-chest with Mooseknuckles, "...some kind of race traitor?"
Jonathan was confused. Yes, she was black. And Jonathan white. But prepneck was also white.
"But wouldn't that make you a ra-"
"IT DON'T HAVE TO MAKE SENSE!" shouted prepneck, "It's racism! It's by definition irrational!"
Jonathan had had enough.
"Ok," he exhaled, "It's gonna get nasty."