It’s been a while since we’ve seen such a wondrously sparkly example of moonbat thinking as Linda Quiquivix’s warning to future “dates” in today’s Daily Tar Heel, the student newspaper of UNC-Chapel Hill (where a spontaneous jihadi drove an SUV through the student quad last March): Know this, future ex-boyfriends of mine. (Hat tip: M.)

Friends who know me weren’t surprised to learn that my Zionist boyfriend and I broke up last summer shortly after Israel began dropping bombs on Lebanese children. But the friends who really knew me were surprised to learn that I had even dated a Zionist to begin with.

In my defense, I thought he was just Jewish when it all began - a progressive one who was white but had tendencies for black supremacy. Politically, we aligned well, so I figured that he’d automatically agree with my stance on Israel-Palestine. (If you don’t already know: It’s Israel’s fault more than it is the Palestinians’ - don’t believe the hype.)

But my new progressive boyfriend, who was supposed to help me save the world, would stop short at any criticism of the Israeli government’s racist, oppressive policies. And what’s worse, he would sometimes defend them by saying things like that the land was up for grabs because the Palestinians never had an official state to begin with.

Man, you really think you know your white Jewish boyfriend with tendencies for black supremacy.

It quickly became obvious that, just the same, he didn’t know his brown girlfriend with tendencies for anarchism well either. It was probably the anarchism that threw him off the most. I mean, he knew I was brown.

I think. I’m pretty sure it came up in conversation at least once. Like when I told him about the time the Israeli airport police racially profiled me and asked me to strip down to my underwear.

But it’s very possible that “strip down to my underwear” was all he took away from that story.

I don’t see how people who don’t agree politically can date. This became clear last summer when Israel killed 16 children in Qana, the U.S. refused to call for a cease-fire, and the boyfriend acted as if these were war games where Israel had a right to defend itself. So every time Israel did something abominable I’d increasingly begin to hold him personally responsible.

It must have been difficult to date me. My apologies. But whatever. Politics take precedence over penis. (Know this, future ex-boyfriends of mine.)

Dating me, and all of the ideology that comes with the territory, was supposed to enlighten him, but I think it might have had the opposite effect. At times I thought he was coming around, but he’d go do stuff like hang the Israeli flag - and over his bed of all places.

I realize that to some the Israeli flag is a symbol of Jewish pride. But to others, that same flag is a symbol of a state’s oppression of and racism toward brown people.

Many Americans have trouble imagining the latter. We’ve been programmed to side with Israel. So let’s use a simile we’re all familiar with: the Confederate flag. To many Southerners, the flag is a symbol of Southern pride. But to the rest of us, that flag is a symbol of racism and slavery.

Interesting how flags can mean different things to different people. To me, all flags suck, especially the ones representing the most powerful states. This, of course, means you-know-who.

The American flag is like kryptonite to me. I refuse to wave it, and much less salute it. It represents a state which serves and protects only the interests of the powerful. Look no further than New Orleans, or Iraq, or any inner-city ghetto to see who our government is really working for.

And not working for.

It’s something all states are guilty of which infuriates me, hence, the anarchist tendencies. And I say “tendencies” because it’s something I struggle with. I have a disdain for states, so why do I still want the Palestinians to have one?

Still, until that day, I wave the Palestinian flag in solidarity. And will even let it fly over my bed. Know this, future ex-boyfriends of mine.

Disclaimer: This is not Iowahawk, and it is not a parody. It’s dead serious. Here’s the proof.