Suck my couch

Immediately, I began to drool -- saliva flowing like warm Velveeta. \nThere it was -- the holy grail of interior decorating, at Goodwill of all places: the perfect couch. Its cushions were plump and supple, like sitting on an enlarged beef shank. Its upholstery was lush, exciting me to the point of severe crotch tingles. And as a denim teepee began to rise in my jeans, under which tiny gay Indians undoubtedly canoodled in buffalo-covered boxer briefs, I knew this was the couch of my dreams. \nThose dreams, that is, in which I routinely fondle the OxiClean guy, a man whose wildly passionate detergent commercials make me want to pour salsa down my pants and invite him over for chips.\nThough smitten, the couch's $60 price tag was simply too hefty. Thus, I decided to wake up ridiculously early the next morning for the biannual 50 percent-off sale.\n7:45 a.m.: the butt-crack of dawn. \nNot surprisingly, I was the first loser to arrive. It was seven games of cell phone "Snake," in fact, before I had company ... very obese company. \nIndeed, she was the grandest woman I had ever seen, so big even a family of Mormon cannibals would have to ask for a doggie bag. Nevertheless, I started an amiable conversation.\n"So, are you here for anything in particular?" \n"The gold couch," she said, "It's mine."\nI gulped.\n"The one in the back?" I asked apprehensively. "I'm actually here for that couch, too."\n"I don't think so," she said bluntly, with a voice so deep I crapped my pants. "That's my couch."\nWith that, she pulled the Bible out of her purse and began to read. Ten awkward minutes passed. Finally, in an attempt to prevent confrontation, I said: "Ma'am, I know you want the couch, but I've been here since 7:45."\nShe grunted and flipped a page.\n"So," I began, "what's going to happen if I run back there and get it before you?"\nShe looked up, giving a glare as dark as oil. \n"Then you will have spilled the devil's blood ... you scrawny little cracker."\nOh, hell naw. \nEnraged by her ridiculously malicious and defamatory slur, I put on my diva pants and responded with immediate sass. \n"Well, just make sure the devil doesn't get any blood on my couch!" \nWhen her friend arrived, minutes later, their collective jabs worsened. \n"This white boy thinks he's gonna steal my couch. He's a racist."\nOK, I know racism and prejudice exist in the world. As a gay man, it's all too familiar. But what I hate, especially as an intelligent, equality-promoting Democrat, is being accused of faux racism. In this case, race had nothing to do with the situation.\nI had arrived first -- period. \nIf anything, backing down would have been prejudiced, allotting special treatment. The fact is: I don't back down to any sass-talking nutcase, regardless of race. \nEven now, months later, as I write this column on my couch, I feel pride in my actions. Sitting down, I remember I stood up for equality.