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http://www.somethingawful.com/news/flag-pack-offend/ I really liked this article because it gave me an idea to use as a writing prompt. I am not saying anything I write is funny, or really legible. "I'm Kyle." He stands on the front step, seemingly unable to meet the eye of the homeowner, who he has noticed is unrepentantly and unabashedly not of his own race. Kyle's wearing what has to be a brand-new American flag graphic tee; you can still see the creases from when it was lying folded on the table at the local Wal-Mart. This hardy, unshaven specimen is topped off with an American-flag trucker cap over his greasy shoulder-length mane, as if any other hat would be blasphemy. Kyle celebrates, with a grim joy that doesn't come close to breaching his apprehension of the coming day's work, the fact that this new person does not have nearly as many bathtubs or chunks of scrap metal lying around their yard as he does. Not even close. "I'm, uh, here to help you pack." "Wonderful! We're so happy to have your assistance. Please, come in. Would you like some water, tea? Perhaps a soft drink?" Later, when it was all over, he would vaguely recall having shaken the man's hand out of reflex and immediately blocking it from his conscious memory for fear of conceptualizing of the new acquaintance as another human being. Kyle doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands after that, as he stands awkwardly in the richly-furnished foyer of this obviously unpatriotic scum. He fiddles with his American-flag belt buckle. His eyes wander the room, seeing framed portraits of a family much like his own, but clearly of American-hating heathens and thus not worthy of being displayed in a True American Household. Finally he remembers he is here to bring Justice to these Infidels. He hopes he can pack the pictures first, just to show them what America is really about. "No, sir," he mutters, barely audible and staring at his feet. His host just stands there for a moment, and Kyle feels the man's burning UnAmerican gaze on him; he thinks of red and white stripes, fifty-ish stars, and George Washington. The imagery seems to work and he perseveres. "Okay, then! We'll have you get right to work. The boxes are all pre-labelled, it'd be great if you could start with the linens." As he loads towel after towel, washcloths, sheets, and pillowcases into boxes and seals them with tape, he doesn't even notice himself muttering under his breath. "America," he chants, "Freedom. Eagles. I'll help you pack." His mantra soothes his restless animal spirit. "These colors don't run," he intones, not realizing he is crying full-force into the washcloths he is packing. Sometimes he forgets he is packing the belongings of a true Democracy-hater instead of his own. He takes bitter solace in the fact that he does not pack the boxes as efficiently as he would if these people were true Patriots. That night he would regale to his buddies, over their government-subsidized 24-pack of Budweiser, the story of how he sure showed them. He Made America Great Again that day. incoherent light fucked around with this message at 11:59 on Feb 15, 2017 |
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Feb 15, 2017 11:56
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