"NIGGERS could be here" he thought, "I've never been in this neighborhood before. There could be NIGGERS anywhere." The cool wind felt good against his bare chest. "I HATE NIGGERS" he thought. Sweet Dreams are Made of These reverberated his entire car, making it pulsate even as the $9 wine circulated through his powerful thick veins and washed away his (merited) fear of minorities after dark. "With a car, you can go anywhere you want" he said to himself, out loud.

This is supposed to be funny according to /lit/ but I don't see it. Someone explain the humor. The humor ain't about blackies.