He paced back and forth as he had the night before.
Otis, who had been quiet for most of the day, suddenly blurted out, “G’oh boy! You— Lick— Whoop! Whoop! Whoop! My anus invites your licking!”
The room became deathly quiet. Roger glared at Otis. Then Suddenly he burst out laughing. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Oh,” Roger laughed, “you are some kind of fucked up. One fucked up little dude, that’s what you are.” He composed himself and went on. “Now as I was saying, diversity is the goal. Diversity in the work place. Diversity in our schools and universities. Diversity, diversity, diversity.
“But what is diversity? Well, simply put, it means you have to have a certain percentage of blacks, a certain percentage of Hispanics, a certain percentage of Asians and so on. The liberals demand that we have a certain percentage of blacks in every aspect of our lives. It doesn’t matter whether you are qualified or not. Doesn’t matter. Diversity is all that matters.
“We used to live in a country where employers hired people for their qualifications and experience. For what they could bring to the job. That made for successful businesses. Successful businesses make for a successful country. But now what do we have? We live in a nation saddled by an albatross. The albatross of diversity. D i v e r s i t y.” He drew out the word with disdain in his voice.
Roger began shouting again. “I’ll tell you what diversity is. It’s give the negro a job because he’s a negro, that’s what diversity is! We don’t care if he’s illiterate! We don’t care if he speaks ebonics! We don’t care if it takes ten of him to do what one white person can do! The more the merrier! Bring on the negros! Get those fucking percentages up. Way up! Fuck yeah! Hire every fucking negro you can find! Get them the fuck in here! It’s fucking great! Fuck yeah!” He pantomimed masturbation. “Let’s have a fucking negro orgasm! Fuck yeah! ’Cause negros are fucking great! Fucking bring on the negros! Bring ’em on, fuck yeah!”
His faux enthusiasm waned. He paced back and forth and stared down every last person in the room. In a dark, low voice he said, “I’ll tell you what diversity is: it’s a nonstop ass-fucking. We have to work with you fucks. We have to redo everything you fuck up. We have to stand by and say nothing when our performance is questioned – the group as a whole. Everyone in the room knows what the problem is, but we can’t say it. It’s negros. Fucking negros. The company brought them in to achieve diversity and look what they’ve done.
“It’s not enough that we have to put up with you in the workplace. It’s everywhere you turn. Walk into any government office and what do you see? Big militant black women. The government can’t help themselves. That’s all they hire. And you give a big black woman a little power, and oh my God. You better look out. She’s the fucking queen of the world! You better do what she says. She’s large and in charge! Fuck yeah! She’s the queen of the fucking world!
“Oh there’s more. There’s a lot more. I’m just getting started. Do you know what I was doing when the bomb hit? Do you want to know why I got radiation poisoning?”
No one said a word.
“I’ll tell you what I was doing. I was working downtown as a janitor. A fucking janitor! I have an MBA! That’s right, a fucking MBA! But no one will hire me because I’m white! I used to be somebody! I used to have a great job. You want to guess what happened?” He paused a moment for effect. Then in a low, breathy voice he vomited the word, “Diversity.”
I took a deep breath. Once again, Roger was building to a crescendo.
“‘We are too white.’ Those were her exact words. The HR lady— Personnel administrator— Whatever in the fuck she called herself! Worthless cunt, that’s what she was. I lost my job so they could hire a negro to take my place. I lost my job because of diversity. God forbid we have too many white people! No! Get rid of all the white people and bring on the negros! Fucking bring them on! Halleluiah! Hoo Ha! Fuck yeah! Bring on the negros!”
He laughed at himself. “It’s not enough that we give you equal opportunity. We gave you that a long time ago. You’ve had the same opportunity as us to apply for college or get a loan or a job. But guess what? That wasn’t good enough. Equal opportunity doesn’t achieve diversity. You want to know why? Because blacks can’t compete with whites. Not on a level playing field. Equal opportunity didn’t achieve diversity so you demanded equal results. See, that’s what diversity really is. It’s forced equal results. A percentage of negros in every pie, whether you are qualified or not. You want the same success as the white man with no regard to what you have to offer. And trust me, it ain’t much.
“So where has that gotten us today? We have D-student negros edging out A-student whites for enrollment in colleges and universities. We have unqualified negros pushing whites out of good jobs. Diversity in our schools. Diversity in the workplace. Isn’t it grand? ‘Diversity makes our country strong.’ Fucking bullshit!
“Meanwhile our country is in a death spiral because you fuckers have dumbed everything down so much. This country is being run by a bunch of fucking idiots. Look at what happened when we elected the first black president. He put his negro pals in charge at the Justice Department then proceeded to preside over the most inept and corrupt administration in U.S. history. The Justice Department was more concerned about righting perceived racial injustices than about doing anything to rein in our failed leader. The fucking world could be on fire and he wouldn’t do shit. But you have some black kid get killed by a white cop and the president would be holding a press conference the same fucking day. That’s what happens when you put negros in charge. They take care of their own. They even the score. It’s payback time for negros.”
The new guy interrupted. “What do you want from us, man?”
Roger wheeled around.
The man continued. “Look, we didn’t do that shit, man. I was just walking down the street and—”
“Silence!” Roger screamed.
“Fuck this, man. I can’t take this shit. Just fucking shoot me or something. I can’t stand listening to yo cracker ass—”
Roger screamed, “Shut up! Shut the fuck up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”
“Fuck you, man. I don’t have to put up with this shit—”
Roger stomped over to the crate and pulled out a sledgehammer. He carried it back to the man – who was still talking – and raised it high up over his head.
The man continued. “—gnome sayin’? Fuck this. Fucking bullshit mother fuck cock sucking cracker. You say I be doing all that shit but I ain’t be doing nothing—”
Roger set the sledgehammer down. “No. It’s too easy. I’m not going to let you off that easy. Okay. It was going to be the breeder’s turn tonight, but I’ve got something special for you. Yes, I’ve got something special. You’ve earned it.”
The man never stopped talking. “—calling me all that racist shit, man, you faggot-ass mother fucker. I get out of here Imona fuck you up. Imona fuck you up good. After I be done with yo cracker ass you be shittin’ out yo mouth and shit, gnome sayin’?”
Roger returned with a five gallon plastic bucket in one hand and a squirt bottle in the other. He squirted the man all over his face with something.
“Goddamn, what the fuck, man? What is this shit? You fucking be dead now mother fucker—!”
“That’s it negro, keep running your mouth. Get that shit all in your mouth.” Roger flipped the bucket upside down and shook it rapidly. Then he quickly removed the lid and slammed it down over the man’s head. He trotted back to the crate and fetched a brick. He set the brick on top of the bucket and stepped back.
The man was screaming, “Hey! What the fuck?! What is this? Get this shit off me! Fuck! Help!”
Roger raised his voice over the man’s screams. “Ladies and gentlemen, our honey-covered friend here is wearing a bucket filled with an assortment of nature’s finest pests: flies, bees, wasps, hornets, fire ants, and – my favorite – an Arizona Bark scorpion.”
“But don’t worry, he won’t suffocate in there. Being the kind, considerate host that I am, I’ve provided a screened opening for him to breathe through. Now, let’s sit back and enjoy the show.”
“Help! Aaaah! Help! Ow! Please!” He spat something out of his mouth. “Pthe, pthe. Help me please! Jesus God! Help!”
Roger pulled a chair out from behind the crate. Then he sat down and placed a bowl in his lap. As he tossed a few kernels in his mouth, I saw the bowl was filled with popcorn.
“Please sir! Please! Sir! Sir! Pthe, pthe. Get this off me! I promise— Ow! Ooooow! I promise I won’t say nothing I swear! Please!”
Roger shouted, “Too late my friend. You had your chance. You all had your chance to be decent people, and you blew it.”
“Ow! Damn! Fuck! Aaaaah! Help! Ow! Pthe, pthe. Aaaah! Jesus God, no! Fuck no! Aaaah! Help me Jesus God, help me Jesus God, please!”
Roger laughed and tossed more kernels in his mouth.
“Pthe, pthe. Ow! Goddamn! Get off me! Pthe, pthe. Please, I’ll do anything! Just get this shit off me! Pthe, pthe. Not like this! Jesus God no, not like this! Pthe, pthe. Aaaah! Aaaah! Help me Jesus! Please! Ow! Help me Jesus God, help me please! Ow! Ow! I’m begging you! I’m begging you, please!”
The man screamed and sobbed.
“Please! I’m begging you! Pleeeeeease! No! Anything! God! Pthe, pthe. Ow! Ow! Stop! I’ll— Pthe, pthe. Just get this off me— Sir! Sir, please! Ow! Ow! Aaaah! Goddamn! Help me Jesus God, please help me! I’ll do anything! I won’t say nothing! I promise! I’ll be good. Please! Please! Please! Jesus! No! No! NO!!!! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Jesus Christ! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
It was the longest and loudest scream I have ever heard in my life. Man or woman. I knew it could only mean one thing: the scorpion.
Chapter 13
The screaming went on for hours. At least it seemed like it. It was probably more like twenty minutes. It was horrible. The man’s voice got raw from screaming. Towards the end his tongue thickened and his words were unintelligible. Roger stayed until the bitter end. Like the psychopath that he is, he showed no emotion whatsoever, other than the occasional chuckle or laugh. Women cried and screamed. Even some of the men cried. It was horrific. Finally, the man stopped screaming and fell silent.
After a few minutes, Roger got up and pulled a can of Raid out of the crate. He walked over to the bucket and aimed at the screened opening. He stood there and emptied the entire can into the bucket.
Roger left and returned a few minutes later to pull the bucket off the man’s head. I have never in my life seen anything like it, a person that horribly disfigured. His head had ballooned to almost twice its normal size. His lips were huge – two inches thick at least. His tongue was swollen and purple and it protruded far beyond his lips. His eyes were swollen shut and his entire face was covered in angry red welts. This man had suffered like no one should ever suffer. It was so horrible that I had to look away.
Roger covered the spectacle with concrete, then distributed our dog bowls. After he’d set out the last bowl he returned to eat with us. He held a plate in one hand and a wine goblet in the other. He placed the glass on a small table and sat with the plate in his lap. “How’s the cereal, negros?”
No one answered.
Roger stabbed, sawed, then placed a bite of food in his mouth. He chewed, then washed it down with some wine. “Mmmm, mmmm. Filet Mignon, medium rare. Prime cut.” He held up the glass. “Nice ten year old cab.”
What a dick.
I could hear people sobbing as they ate. I got madder. Mad as hell, in fact. I tried not to show it. I didn’t want Roger to see the fire burning in my eyes. I focused on eating and planning how I was going to get out of there.
***
I did not sleep well that night. My nerves were jangled after witnessing the depths of Roger’s depravity, plus my body was sore from being held in the same position for so long. I worried that my muscles would atrophy and I would grow weak from malnutrition. I was starving. I had to get out. But how?
I could move my feet a little, though not enough to break free. I thought maybe if I could sweat off a few pounds I might be able to slip out of the mold. I dared not discuss it with anyone. Roger probably had the place wired for sound and video. He seemed to appear at just the right moment whenever anything was happening.
Otis woke up and let out a groan.
I asked, “You doing alright Otis?”
“No, no. Not so good.”
“Me neither. I hardly slept at all.”
Otis asked, “You think there’s any hope for us, Steen?”
“I don’t know. Don’t give up. Somebody could come and rescue us.”
“Fat chance,” the man behind me said.
It was almost impossible to keep your spirits up. I thought about people who were terminally ill, people wasting away in hospital beds. How did they do it? They were miserable, no doubt. But when you are in the hospital you have people taking care of you. You have nurses feeding you, bathing you, giving you pain pills, and there are books and television to pass the time. In here, what did we have? We were cast in concrete and eating out of dog bowls. We were lorded over by a madman who slaughtered one of us each night. The question of when it would be my turn weighed heavy on my mind.
That night Roger returned to lecture us yet again. He carried an AK-47. As he entered the room, he said, “Evening negros. Guess what? It’s negro time!” Big smile.
Screams and shrieks around the room.
“Tonight I want to talk about African Americans. That is what you like to call yourselves, isn’t it? African Americans?”
The room quieted and no one answered. Suddenly Roger took a rigid stance and pointed the gun at a woman. He screamed, “Ready for your merciless machinegun death? Answer me!”
She nervously mumbled, “Yes, yes, African Americans.”
Roger relaxed and removed the gun from her face. “That’s more like it.” Then he began laughing. “What kind of question is that?” Laughing harder, “‘Ready for your merciless machinegun death?’ Oh, Roger…is anyone ever really ready to be machinegunned to death? I mean, come on.” He shook his head and took a step back from the woman. “Breathe negro. I’m not going to kill you. Yet.”
The woman was clearly terrorized.
Roger paced up and down the aisles, looking down at us. As he walked by me I stared straight ahead. Being buried up to your neck makes you feel terribly vulnerable. I knew one good kick and he could snap my neck.
Roger was dressed as usual: black boots, camouflage pants, a simple shirt. Once he passed by me he continued preaching. “African American. Such a long name, don’t you think? Isn’t it easier just to say ‘black?’ But it’s getting to where we can’t say that anymore. ‘Black’ is becoming racist. Funny, it’s been fine up until now. Before black what was it? Colored. You used to call yourselves colored. You were just fine being called colored back in the day. But then suddenly that became racist and we had to start calling you black. Before that it was negro. You were just fine being called negros, but then that became racist and we had to start calling you colored. Are you seeing a pattern here, people? Are you getting this? How long will it be before ‘African American’ is considered racist? What will it be then? Huh?”
He looked around the room.
“Two hundred years ago, do you know what they called the president? They called him the president. In the sixties, do you know what they called astronauts? Astronauts. Two hundred years ago do you know what they called a hero? A hero. Do you know what they called white people two hundred years ago? White people.
“Have you ever noticed the things that get renamed over the years? Think about it. Retarded people. That’s what we used
to call them. Like our retarded friend here.” He nudged Otis’s head with the rifle. “Everyone was fine with it. Then we had to start saying, ‘mentally challenged.’ Trailers became mobile homes. Cripples became physically challenged. Blacks became African Americans. Do you see a pattern there? Notice any similarities?”
Silence.
“I know you’re slow so I’ll tell you. The things that get renamed are bad things. They are things people aren’t particularly proud of. Bad things. Think about that for a minute.”
He paced up and down the aisles, the drone of the generator outside the only sound.
“You people keep changing your name. As if a new name will somehow make everything all better. Why is that? Could it be because you don’t like yourselves? Could it be that you don’t like who you are, what you are, or what you do? How can you expect anyone else to like you if you don’t even like yourselves?
“But what is there to like? Not much. For one thing, you’re all lazy as hell. God I hate getting stuck behind you people when I’m out anywhere. Slow walkers, you’re like zombies just shuffling your feet in no particular hurry, like you got no place to be. You can barely muster the energy to put one foot in front of the other. That’s not all. You fuck up everything you touch. Music, with all your rap shit. Cars, with your stupid spinner wheels and your giant rims. Clothes, with your hats on sideways and your pants falling off. You can’t talk. No one can understand a fucking word you say. ‘Yo, yo, yo homes, gnome sayin’?’ No we don’t know what you’re saying because you can’t speak English. You’re all killers and rapists and thieves. You negros have done more to fuck up this country than any foreign enemy ever could.”
He shook his head. “You know what? We should have picked our own damn cotton. That’s what we should have done. What were we thinking? Opening the door to a race of people who are completely incompatible with us.”
How to Survive a Nuclear War Page 7
