Phil is afraid of brown people. Rightfully so, because if I was Hispanic and I saw his gringo ass pretending to be whatever ethnicity he pretends to be, I’d kick his smelly little ass. He just wants to hang around the kinds of white people that make him think he’s not actually racist.
He discovered long ago that if you call someone [insert current issue here]-ist or -phobic, especially if you claim to be a minority, it puts you in a position of power (however tiny). Power is all Phil has ever wanted, because as a genuine autistic re.tard, he’s always had to be looked after and told what to do, and he wanted to be grown up and rebellious like all the other cool kids in the early 2000s.
Much like Kyle “Kylie” Brooks, he knows people tread gently around obviously disabled people and try to accommodate them as much as possible. They both use their obvious disabled status to try to guilt people into doing what they say (cos power makes their peepees hard), and then throw in every other minority card they possibly can. Winning the oppression Olympics means everyone has to do what you say, in their minds.
Only we all know the real world doesn’t work like that, everyone ignores Kyle not because he’s a deaf sped but because he’s an obnoxious cunt, and Phil likewise. Phil turns up at groups like anarchist cafes and roller derby meets, and attempts to take over immediately. Mr Crime Minister defender of Portland, for example. Everyone knows what Phil’s about within sixty seconds of meeting him, they’re nice to his face as we’re brought up to be polite, but he’s never invited back unless he invites himself. And he’s too dumb and autistic to recognise that.
Poor Phil. Too old and fat for all this oppressed minority shit now. To the kids he keeps trying to ingratiate himself to, he’s just another crazy, smelly, homeless weirdo that inevitably hangs around and they all try to ignore. He still hasn’t realised it yet.
