“Instead of being treated unfairly, actually the opposite is true. You get a pass. Go to any downtown courtroom on a typical day and take a good look around. The whole room is filled with negros. They shuffle you through the system like it’s the express lane at the supermarket. ‘Time served, next.’ The judges are sick of sending the same people to prison over and over again, so they let you off with a slap on the wrist because that’s what they’ve been told to do. Otherwise we’d be spending all our money building prisons.
“Go into any urban area in America and tell me what you see? You see criminals, you see drug dealers, you see car thieves. Negros. You see gangs of negros roaming the streets just looking for trouble. Here’s the truth people: the prisons are full of negros because you negros are committing the crimes! It’s as simple as that. Wake up! Wake the fuck up!”
He was shouting now.
“You got no fathers in the homes, there’s not a goddamn one of you that can stick around after you’ve knocked some black bitch up. You’re breeding like cockroaches a whole generation of degenerates. Do you know how many negro children are born into single parent homes? Seventy-two percent! Seventy-two percent of blacks born in America are born into single parent homes. Single moms. Are you getting this? All these teenage boys are being raised in homes without a father, and wonder of wonder, guess what happens? Mama can’t control the little shits and they turn into criminals and gang members. Who would have thunk it? Listen to me negros: pull your pants up, finish school, and be fathers to your children!”
He paused for a minute to catch his breath. “You want everything the easy way. So what do you do? You kill people and you steal stuff. That’s pretty much it. That’s what you do. You beat up old ladies and take their purses. You break into churches and steal the offering money. You go onto social media and organize flash mobs so you can rob convenience stores. Oh— That, and you deal drugs. You’ve pretty much got a monopoly on dealing drugs.”
He picked up a newspaper. “Look at this: ‘Man shoots son on Father’s Day.’ What kind of person does that? Who? I’ll tell you: someone who is naturally violent. Somebody who has no self-control. That’s the kind of man who would shoot his own son on Father’s Day. Oh golly, I wonder if he was a negro? Let’s see.” He unfolded the paper. With a look of faux shock on his face he said, “Oh, look! He was a negro. Imagine that.”
He picked up another paper and read: “‘Man shoots baby in face.’” He held up the paper for all to see. “A negro.” He read another: “‘Teens kill 22-year old Australian man.’ Says here a ‘group of teens’ shot the white man because they were bored. If you dig a little deeper you find out they were negros. So. Really? You kill people because you’re bored? I remember being bored when I was a teenager. So…let me see…what did I do?” He drummed his fingers against a cheek. Then he shouted, “I sure as fuck didn’t go out and kill somebody! Jesus Christ! How do you fucking people live with yourselves? Here’s another: ‘Eight dead after shooting at prayer vigil.’” He laughed. “I don’t even know where to begin with this one.” He shook his head. “Yes, it was you. You did it. Who else?
“Those are just a few examples I happened to have handy. Not the worst…not by a long shot. But I don’t have to tell you. We all know the truth. Murders, robberies, home invasions, rapes, drugs, beatings— Oh, speaking of beatings, what about the knock-out game? Isn’t that some kind of fun? Gangs of negros going around knocking out unsuspecting white people. Now that’s entertainment. That’s just some kind of fun for you people, isn’t it?”
He glared around the room.
“That’s a game to you? The news says it’s ‘gangs of youths’ but we all know the truth. Anyone who’s ever seen a video knows what’s going on. It’s negros beating up white people. Just for the fun of it. That’s how you entertain yourselves. And it’s happening all over the country, every day.”
“G’oh boy!” Otis blurted through clenched teeth.
Roger snorted. “You got something to say, retard?”
“Whoop! Shit sucker!”
Roger got red in the face. He stormed out of the room and returned with a shotgun in one hand and a rope in the other.
Chapter 11
People gasped as Roger used the rope to fashion a crude noose. He slipped it over Otis’s head.
“No!” I shouted.
Roger turned to me and said, “Shut up. I’ll deal with you later.”
He looped the noose around Otis’s jaw and pulled it tight to the top of his head so Otis couldn’t open his mouth. Roger said, “That’s for your own good, retard. I’d like to keep you around for a while. But right now I want you to shut the fuck up.”
Roger pointed at me and said, “You might be wondering what he’s doing here. He’s not a negro. No…he’s even worse than a negro. He’s a negro-lover. Nothing worse than a negro-lover. Found him and retard here sitting on a park bench, kissing and hugging.”
“That’s a lie!” I shouted.
“I told you to shut the fuck up! Keep your fucking mouth shut, or you’ll be next.” Roger returned to the front of the room. “Who would like to volunteer for tonight’s entertainment?”
Silence. Roger leaned over and got into a young woman’s face. “How about you? Are you ready for negro time?”
She shook her head violently. “No! Please don’t hurt me.”
A man shouted, “Why you gotta be so cruel?”
Roger straightened. “Oh, it looks like we have a winner.” He smiled and started toward the man.
The man continued, “Leave her alone. So what? You hate black people. So kill us already and get it over with. Enough with all this ‘negro time’ bullshit. We never did nothing to you. Just kill us and get it over with. You don’t have to torture us.”
Roger said, “Oh, but I do. An eye for an eye. Isn’t that what the Bible says? You people have been torturing us for years – decades. I say it’s time for a little payback. You torture us every day with your very existence. We’d like to go to the movies or ride the subway without dealing with the likes of you, without hearing your mindless yapping, you have no respect for anyone around you. Always hooting and hollering and laughing at nothing at all. What’s so goddamned funny?! Nothing! But you just keep laughing. Maybe if I didn’t have to work and got everything for free I’d be laughing, too.
“Maybe we’d like to walk down the street at night and not have to look over our shoulder every five seconds. Looking for the likes of you. Negros lurking around every corner just waiting for someone to attack.”
The man shook his head and muttered, “Fuck you.”
Roger got in his face. “What did you just say?”
The man was silent.
“What did you say to me? Fuck you? Is that what you said? Fuck me? No. Fuck you!” Roger straightened and lowered his voice. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re the one stuck in a hole shitting all over yourself, and I’m up here. Look at me!”
The man looked up, then struggled. He grunted and shouted, “Goddamn it! If I could get out of here! I would rip your fucking face off! I’d rip your fucking face off, you racist mother-fucker!”
Roger said softly, almost whispering, “Yes, yes you would do that, wouldn’t you? Because you’re a negro. It’s in your nature, isn’t it? Violence. No self-control. You don’t belong in civilized society, negro. You don’t belong here.”
“God damn you cocksucker mother-fucker—!”
“Enough!” Roger shouted. He turned and marched over to a large crate at the front of the room. He stepped behind it and emerged with a chainsaw.
“No!” a woman screamed.
“Please, no! Please God no!” another pleaded.
There were shouts and pleas for mercy all around.
“Shut up, all of you!” Roger shouted. He stared us all down. “Shut the fuck up! You’re all going to get what you deserve.”
“No! Please!” a woman shrieked.
He walked over to the man and looked down at him with utter contempt. “Look at you, you miserable fuck.” He kicked dirt in the man’s face, then he stepped back. “We give and we give and we give. And what do you do? You take and you take and you take. Then you want some more.”
Roger gave the chainsaw a quick tug, then another. It roared to life and filled the room with noxious fumes. Roger gunned the engine a few times, then let it idle. It twitched and jerked in his hand.
The man was clearly terrified but he tried not to show it.
Roger pointed the tip of the chainsaw blade at the man’s face like a huge knife. He looked at the man with pure hatred and shouted, “You have anything to say, negro? Any last words?”
The man glared at him.
“Well?” Roger demanded.
The man screamed, “Fuck you!”
At the same time Roger screamed, “Die, mother fucker!” He raced the engine and literally rammed the chainsaw down the man’s throat. Blood and bones and teeth flew everywhere. Roger plunged the chainsaw into the man again and again. Deeper and deeper he went. The engine strained as he bore down, then raced as he pulled it back out. He jammed the blade in and out, over and over again. Finally the engine stalled and Roger clumsily pulled the machine out of the man. What little remained of the man’s head folded grotesquely into a bloody mess.
Screams and cries filled the room. A woman in front of me screamed and vomited then passed out.
“Oh my God! Oh God!” someone screamed.
“Jesus Christ!”
Roger wasn’t finished yet. He restarted the engine and held the chainsaw high overhead. Then he swung it down and began plunging it into the ground again and again, deeper and deeper into the man’s body cavity. The chainsaw kicked up blood and gore and sprayed it all over the room. People’s heads were covered with blood splatter and stringy bits of flesh. Finally after burying the blade into the man’s body up to the engine, Roger pulled it out and killed the engine. The air was thick with exhaust fumes and the sickening odor of blood and internal organs.
Women cried and screamed. I was in a total state of shock and disbelief.
Roger stood, the chainsaw dangling from his hand, his clothes covered with blood. Blood dripped from the chainsaw blade. Roger dropped the chainsaw and he began to laugh. He laughed harder and harder until he doubled over and sank to his knees in a fit of laughter.
“Oh God,” he wheezed. “Oh— that was fucking awesome.” He pumped a fist in the air. “Fuck yeah! What a perfect end! The perfect ending to a perfectly meaningless life.” He stood, dusted off his knees and regained his composure. “And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. I’ve just made the world a better place. You can all thank me later.” He took a bow.
Sobs and cries could be heard throughout the room. Roger seemed oblivious and whistled as he tended to the controls of the overhead crane. He deposited a mound of cement over the man’s remains. When he had finished, he retrieved the chainsaw and walked out the door.
I looked over at Otis. “You alright?”
“No,” he managed to say. He could barely move his lips. “No, I’m not alright. Fuck, Goddamn shit! Who could be alright after seeing that shit? That’s fucked up.”
“Fucking bullshit,” a man behind me said.
I couldn’t turn around to see him.
The man continued, “I can’t take this shit. Can’t take this shit no mo. Uh-huh. Can’t take it. I gotsta get outta here.”
“Fuck this,” I heard somebody else say. “That shit done fucked me up. I’m gonna go crazy in here. That shit’s fucked up.”
I tuned out the chatter and began planning my escape. Before I woke up in this place, I thought surviving a nuclear war was a challenge. But this, being at the mercy of a madman. This was far worse.
A while later Roger returned with something in his hands. He set it in front of a man in the first row. Then he brought out another. Then another. They were dog bowls. When Roger reached Otis, he pulled the rope off his head. Roger returned with more bowls and placed one in front of me. One side was filled with water, the other with cereal. My initial reaction was to refuse it. Then, on second thought, I realized that if I was ever going to get out of this place I needed my strength. I bowed my head and ate. I thought about all the animals that had to eat like this, without the benefit of hands. It was humiliating. All part of Roger’s strategy to dehumanize us. A quick glance around the room revealed a few of the prisoners were refusing to eat.
What a miserable existence this was. To be kept alive only to be slaughtered for the amusement of a madman. My bowl was filthy and it smelled awful. The cereal was stale. There obviously had been no attempt at sanitation. I wondered if the food and water had been kept safe from the fallout.
Later Roger returned to collect the bowls. I wondered if he recycled any cereal left uneaten for next time. I shuddered at the thought. What kind of fresh new hell was this?
Chapter 12
As the sun rose the next morning the big industrial building filled with light. One by one the prisoners came to life. There were no happy sounds, just the dreadful groans of people realizing their reality was far worse than any nightmare they might have had.
I woke up with a sore neck. Somehow I had managed to sleep with my head nodded forward and now I was paying for it. I yawned and needed to stretch, but my body was frozen in place. I wondered if anyone had ever died from being held like this. I guessed not. People who are paralyzed never move and they keep on living.
Much to my dismay, I discovered meals were only served once a day. Worse still, they told me cereal was the only item on the menu. As an adult I have never been much of a cereal eater. I find that when I eat cereal in the morning I am hungry before I even get to work. Why bother? The thought of eating only cereal once a day meant I was going to be starving from here on out.
One of the worse things about my situation was not being able to touch my face. Sweat would bead on my brow and run down my face and get in my eyes. Occasionally a fly or a gnat would land on me and I couldn’t shoo it away.
Sometime during the day I witnessed the planting of two new victims. Both were black men, both unconscious. Roger used a powered wheelbarrow to bring them in. He drilled the holes with an overhead power auger, then chained each man to the bridge crane and lowered them into the holes. Finally, each man was encased in cement just as Otis and I had been. Roger dusted off his hands and turned to go when one of the women in the front row spoke up.
“You evil,” she said.
Roger wheeled around and glared at her. “What did you just say to me?”
“You heard me. I say, you evil.”
Roger went apoplectic. He stomped over to the woman and got down in her face. “Listen to me you worthless piece-of-shit bitch: I will fuck you up the ass anytime I want to and you will enjoy it! Do you hear me! You will speak when you are spoken to. Understood? Otherwise, shut your cunt hole!” He straightened. “You fucking worthless cunt. Here’s a thought: why don’t you learn how to speak English? You should have figured it out by now. It’s English. Get it?”
He got a crazy look in his eye, then he got down in her face again. In a dark, evil voice he said, “Soon and very soon you shall be mercilessly tortured to death while I giggle like a silly little schoolgirl.”
The woman began to cry.
Roger laughed. He stood and said, “Suck it up, bitch. You’re a breeder. You get stamped out first. That’s the rules. If I let you live, you’ll just keep popping out black little babies. How many you got now? Five or six I’ll bet.”
She didn’t answer.
“Uh-huh. I figured. More welfare babies. More parasites on society. More killers and thugs.” He waived a hand. “Enough! You must be stopped.”
Roger left the woman in tears and walked out the door. I studied her. Although I couldn’t see her face, she looked young. Her hair was arranged in an elaborate bouffant which sat atop a grac
eful neck.
“Fucking asshole,” one of the men grumbled. “He ain’t gonna get away with this.”
“Fuck him,” another said.
Somehow I made it through the day doing absolutely nothing. It was torture. My face itched and sweat dripped down and I was starving but I just stood there and took it. There was little conversation in the dreary room. Some people slept.
Early in the evening Roger returned with a big smile on his face. “Hello negros!” he shouted. “Guess what time it is?” He cupped a hand to his ear. “I can’t hear you! That’s right! It’s negro time!”
Screams and cries all around.
“No please!” a woman begged. “Stop!”
“Help us! Please, somebody help us!”
With bounding enthusiasm Roger said, “Shut up and listen. This is my favorite time of the day. You don’t know how much I look forward to this.”
One of the new men spoke up. “What is this shit, man? Get me outta here. This is bullshit. This is some fucked up shit, gnome sayin’?”
“Yo, yo, yo, homes,” Roger said, jutting his hands like a rapper. “How about a whole lot less talking and whole lot more SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! Got it?!” He mocked the man with an exaggerated imitation, “‘Gnome sayin’?’”
The man seethed with anger but he kept his mouth shut.
Roger calmed down a little and continued. “I’m going to tell you a story tonight, negros. It’s a story about a once-great nation that went down the tubes thanks to a little thing called affirmative action, or as it’s known by its new name: diversity. Some of you may have heard of it, though I doubt you really know what it means. You probably think diversity is a good thing. Right? That’s what you’ve been told by your race-baiting leaders.” He displayed a limp wrist and in a nasally voice said, “‘Diversity is what makes our country strong.’” He laughed. “That’s what they tell you, isn’t it?”
How to Survive a Nuclear War Page 6
