Where the White Things Are

The Classic Story Reborn

Original Poster | Matt Bohan | February 17, 2016

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That night he wore his white girl suit and made mischief of one kind

and another

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His mother called him, “WHITE THING!”

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and Max said, “I DON’T EAT GLUTEN!”

so he was sent to bed without eating anything.

That very night in Max’s room a kale forest grew

and grew-

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and grew until his ceiling hung with vineyard vines

and the walls became the world all around

and an ocean tumbled by with a private yacht for Max

and in his Sperrys, he sailed off into the night and day


and in and out of weeks

and literally over like a year

to where the white things are.


And when he came to the place where the white things are

They wore their terrible leggings and ate their terrible hummus


and instagrammed their terrible brunch

till Max took out a selfie stick and said “BE STILL!”

and tamed them with a magic trick

of taking a selfie with perfect lighting

and there was no need to use any filter at all.

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He made the caption #AllLivesMatter

and they made him king of the white things.

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“And now,” cried Max, “let the white rumpus start!”

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“Ok wait bitches, chill!” Max said and sent the white things to bed without their quinoa.

And Max the King of all white things was lonely and wanted to be where he could practice yoga best of all.


But the white things cried, “we like can’t even—we’ll fav your tweets we love you so!”

And Max said, “No!”

The white things rode their terrible hoverboards

and ate their terrible greek yogurt and listened to their terrible Coldplay


but Max stepped into his private yacht and waved good-bye

and sailed back over like a year

and in and out of weeks

and through a day


and into the night of his very own room

where he found his quinoa waiting for him

and it was still hot.