White supremacist Nick Fuentes isn't white.

I oughta know. I'm white. Pure northern European. My wife, Deborah, has a lot of Polish ancestry. She looks like a glass of milk with lipstick.

Oh, yeah. We're white folks. We're "coulda-joined any-country-club-in-1950" white. We're bologna sandwiches with mayonnaise white. We're so white we can drive through the most Caucasian of suburbs at 3 a.m. without getting stopped by the cops.

When and where I grew up, some of us were smart, and some of us weren't too smart, but every single damn one of us knew who was white and who wasn't.

And, in Missouri, 50 years ago, we knew that no one named "Fuentes" was white. Hell, I knew people who thought people with Italian last names weren't white.

This, of course, is the white man's paradise to which Mr. Foo-en-teez wants to return.

But he wouldn't have been welcome. No one I knew would have let their daughter date a Fuentes.

You know why? Because people with that name aren't white.

But Senor Fuentes is a social climber. Even though he has a distinctly non-white name, he wants to climb on the big white bus.

Fine, Nick. Climb on. Now, go sit in the back with the Black people and the other Mexicans.

By the way, Nick, you in the country legally? Is your back a little wet? DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH!

Crude, ain't I?

You bet, because crude is the world in which I grew up, particularly where race was concerned. We went by color and last name, and that was all we needed.

Of course, Fuentes recently met with former President and Big Crybaby Donald Trump, who doesn't care what color you are as long as you think the real white people oughta be in charge of everything.

Guys like Trump hire people named Fuentes to mop the toilets in their hotels. Apparently, this particular Fuentes can also be hired to slop around in the rank, stinking sewage of white supremacy.

But I joke. If Trump was paying Nick Fuentes, he'd be paying him minimum wage, and they sure as hell wouldn't be eating together, no matter how much Trump likes Taco Bell. Trump would be dining in the penthouse. Fuentes would be eating in the break room, on a plastic chair. Oh, and that 30-minute dinner break ain't no joke, Fuentes. You need to be back behind the mop in exactemente uno half-hour. Comprende?

I've never felt all that honored to be white. It just kind of happened to me. You see, when a white man loves a white woman, they get married in front of a white preacher, and then, nine months later, there's a cute little pink baby who will never be asked if he was born here unless he has an Irish accent, in which case he'll be even cuter, like a little leprechaun.

If I feel sympathy for anyone in the whole mess, it's probably the working-class white racists who are losing all the good white supremacist jobs to Mexicans. Why, I remember when Klan rallies were for white people. Now you go to a Klan meeting and there's some guy named Fuentes chanting, "White Power!" Times are pretty tough when a white man loses his Grand Klan Exalted Cyclops Kleagle job to some Mexican who probably doesn't even know all the words to "Dixie."

Two final points:

If we go back to the days when America was a white man's country, I'm gonna be a lot better off than Nick Fuentes.

Also, don't go for a hike along the southern border, Nicky. You forget your wallet, you're going back to Mexico.

To find out more about Marc Munroe Dion, and read features by Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit www.creators.com. Dion's latest book, a collection of his best columns, is called "Devil's Elbow: Dancing in the Ashes of America." It is available in paperback from Amazon.com, and for Nook, Kindle, and iBooks.