/pol/ - Politically Correct

Title: "My Mom’s Black Ex"
(A Family-Friendly Story If You’re a Dysfunctional Family)

Trevor sat at the kitchen table, red hat on, nose tilted high, spreading the Gospel of His Favorite YouTuber.

“I’m just saying,” he lectured into the air, “race mixing is a globalist psyop. It weakens the bloodline.”

His mother, Barbara, stirred tea slowly. “Mmhmm.”

“I mean, we gotta preserve the West. It’s basic biology.”

“Interesting,” she said.

Trevor squinted. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“Because, sweetheart,” Barbara said, placing down her spoon, “I invited someone over for tea. Someone… from my past.”

A knock at the door.

“Please don’t tell me it’s that gay teacher from high school,” Trevor muttered.

Barbara opened the door.

In walked Malcolm.

Tall. Smooth. Black. Former linebacker. Walked like he invented funk.

“Hey, B,” he said, smiling. “Long time.”

Barbara smiled back. “You still take your coffee like your humor?”

“Black and strong,” he winked.

Trevor blinked. Then stood. “What the hell is this?!”

Barbara sat down, totally casual. “Trevor, this is Malcolm. He used to date me. In fact, he’s the reason you like chocolate pudding. Learned it from him.”

Trevor’s soul tried to leave his body.

“You… dated him?”

“Oh, honey.” Barbara grinned. “We didn’t just date.”

Malcolm stretched. “Remember that summer in Detroit? You couldn’t walk right for a week.”

“Stop!” Trevor shrieked, clutching his MAGA hat like a holy relic. “This is degeneracy!”

Malcolm looked him up and down. “You’re the son, huh? Damn. You came out pasty.”

Trevor recoiled. “Don’t speak to me. You corrupted my mother!”

Barbara chuckled. “Corrupted? Sweetie, I had the best sleep of my life.”

“Mom!”

“You should be thanking him,” she said. “You wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t learned what I like.”

Malcolm leaned in, elbows on the table. “And by the way, kid—if you ever wanna debate race, maybe start by not being the guy whose mom moaned my name over Luther Vandross.”

Trevor collapsed onto the floor like a statue of Robert E. Lee.

Barbara poured tea. “More sugar, Malcolm?”

“Nah,” he said, grinning. “Trevor’s face is sweet enough.”