The Daisy show came to a close when Madonna abruptly announced that she needed a nap, and the others took it as an opportunity to mosey along elsewhere, to do otherwise.

Daisy had very much enjoyed being in the spotlight, and resented Madonna for dropping the curtain on her. She figured that the superstar simply couldn’t stand the idea of a nobody getting attention when her magnificence was in the same room. There was little Daisy could do about it, so she consoled herself by logging onto Facebook, and accusing random people of being racists.

Kitty got the call from Margot, went back to her room, and she scooped up the keys to her flatbed Ford. She found Daisy in the lobby, and asked what she was laughing about. Daisy explained what she was doing, and Kitty asked the obvious question, “Why?”

“Well, it just seems like everyone is always accusing everyone else of being a racist, so I figured I would, too, just to see what happens. It’s funny because most people freak out, as if Morgan Freemen, pretending to be God, was pointing at ‘em, and saying they’re the Grand Wizard of the KKK. Like this guy who posted a link to a Taylor Swift song. I’ve never heard the song before, and didn’t bother listening to it. I just called him a racist, and now there’s a big fight going on about why it’s racist. They’re going on, and on about what a bitch Taylor Swift is, and how she probably is a racist, ‘cause no one ever sees her with guys who ain’t white hanging all over her. But if she ran a train on the Harlem Globetrotters, she’d just be a whore, and a race traitor. If you listen to some of them they will have you believing that Montezuma sheds a tear every time a white person eats a taco, because it’s cultural genocide, ort appropriation, or some such shit.It’s just cuckoobananas how people go cuckoobananas for absolutely nothing.”

“That’s very interesting. I’m gonna nominate you to be Secretary General of the United Nations, Daisy,” Kitty promised.

“Oh that would be great! Then I can accuse everyone of being a racist, all the time.”

“And that should put an end to racism, once and for all. I don’t know if there’s any method to your madness, but there’s some kind of genius to it, in a Kafkaesque kinda way.”

“Thank you, Miss Kitty, that’s very kind of you to say so. And it gives me an idea. I’m gonna start an Instagram account under the name Kafka Cuckoobananas. Ima tell everyone Ima be the next secretary of the United Nations, so they better listen to me, or else.”

“Or else what, Daisy?”

“Or else they’re all racists, like Taylor Swift.”

Kitty grinned, and said, “Yes, of course. Silly me. What was I thinking? Are you ready to roll?”

“Hell yeah, I am.”

“Is it true, what Margot says, about you knowing where every pretty boy around here lives?”

“Hell yeah, it is!” was Daisy’s enthusiastic reply. “Every pretty girl, too, ‘cause, you know, sometimes a girl’s got a hankering for a muffin.”




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