Der Kommissar Mariela and I were at the farmer’s market one Sunday in Ballard when we happened upon a bonus white dreadlocks multiplier. Two earthmothers hawking their wares and diluting the general splendor for everyone.
“Magda, I really admire the way your dreadlocks have taken on that organic snake-digesting-rodent shape. I hope one day mine can also articulate the circle of life so eloquently. Do you think I’ll ever get past the hairball-riddled-cat-vomit stage?”
“Magda, did you see that I made a necklace out of your hair? You are my true north.”
What is she doing to that bottle? Is she sticking her finger in the mouth? Once again, my strict policy of patronizing Dreaded White Mongers only with words, not cash, has saved me from who knows what – consumption, Legionnaires’, psittacosis, gout.
Later, Der Kommissar Mariela sent me this prime specimen, which she captured shortly after I departed (I was apoplectic from DWP trauma and had to make my exit).
“I see this hot sauce is from New Mexico…but was it made by indigenous peoples like my jacket? No? Sorry, it’s not authentic enough for me.”
Send your offenders.
Dreaded White People 
This last guy on the farmers market edition is great. HILARIOUSLY captioned!!