The birth of a new feature: Notes from the Trenches


An overexposed glamour shot? Seriously? Come on, bro. Do us a solid here and look in the mirror. This dude reminds me of Jackie Earle Haley, except I love Jackie Earle Haley. I don’t love this dude. Thanks to Commander Way Way for the find.

And, now, a new feature!
Notes from the Trenches: First-Hand Accounts of DWP Encounters

A reader writes:
I have a terrible dreaded white people story. Last night I was at a dance performance at a community theatre. Minutes before the show started and man sits in front of me with this huge ball of dreads on his head. I instantly thought of you and tried to sneak a picture. It didn’t turn out since I couldn’t use flash. Half way into the second act the ball of dreads FALLS INTO MY LAP. MY LAP S—–! I was beyond appalled and disgusted. The man just simply gathered his dreads and brought them over his shoulder as if he was fucking Rupunzel.

Truly, this is horrific. It’s alarming enough when I am touched by any part of a stranger, let alone their nasty dead white dreadlocked hair. I might’ve gone into shock, had I been this poor reader.

Have pics or a great story? Send them to me.

Inaugural Post

Our first Dreaded White Person comes via Commander Way Way. To have this photo grace the beginning of our inaugural post is a delight; it incorporates a variety of mockable elements. The free love (it looks like one practitioner may also have dreadlocks!), the mirthful long-haired juggler, the Tevas, all the hippie toys. I don’t know what hippies would do without psychedelics. They would die if they didn’t think they loved everything in the world and then rubbed themselves on it all. The offender has a distinct Biodome vibe going on, in this author’s opinion. Taken at Eeyore’s Birthday in Austin, Texas. Fitting.

“Finally, a place where everyone else also refuses to grow up. A place where I can be my true self – practicing the art of sock poi, sunning my dreadlocks, and babbling incessantly about harmony, ganja, and peace. Hmm, are there any other cultures I can appropriate in order to express my complete lack of identity?” In other news, this.

Our second offender comes to us from my own personal archives, spotted at a restaurant in Ballard in Seattle, Washington.

This is what carrots look like when I leave them in the refrigerator for too long.  Imagine the years of tending necessary to maintain this crime against humanity. Also, the way the dreads project stiffly off the back of that stool is as horrifying as the carrots. Clearly, something swallowed her soul long ago.

Document offenders and send them to me.