Not Her Day

There was an Indian riding in the desert when he saw a little blond-haired white girl up ahead. He heard her crying. So he went up to her and climbed down from his horse and asked her, "Hey, what’s going on? Why are you crying? Where are your parents? What happened?"

The girl said in a crying, sad voice, "The bandidos came, killed my father, my brothers, then my mother, and raped my sister."

The Indian just laughed, untied and dropped his breechcloth, then said, “Guess this isn’t your day, is it?”