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The ‘local gang’, four sixth-graders who dress up like pirates, jump
Josh. Josh tries to slap them away with his pathetic hands, but is
soundly overwhelmed. They steal his wallet and spit on him, then scramble
away into the night. “If anyone ever asks,” he tells himself as he
slowly regains whatever composure he once had, “those were four 300 pound
ninja-thugs
from South Central LA. Yeah.” But we know truth. Josh is the victim of the oppressive White Man. It’s not too terribly long before he submits his application to enter the sacred ranks of the Black Panthers. Jamal Sweetriver reads over the application with pursed lips and worried eyes... Name: My slave name was Josh, but I have tossed that name aside like a tarantula shedding it’s outer layer of skin and taken the name Simba’Muffassah’Umbassah al’Bahabawabazgaa Date of Birth:I haven’t given birth to anything. This is a weird question.Sex: Yes, I have lots of sex, just not with other people. Position Applied For: Whatever position will let me KILL WHITEY!
Jamal sets the application aside and looks Josh over apprehensibly. “Uh, I already see several...large...problems,” he says, choking out the words like he’s in the middle of eating a ham sandwich. Oh, wait, he is. “First of all, the whole ‘Kill Whitey’ phase kind of died out with the passing of the 70s. Nowadays we like to ‘Stick it to the Man’. You see what I’m sayin’? We’ve toned it down a bit. Secondly, you’re the whitest white guy I’ve ever seen!” “I’m not white!” Josh argues. “I’m just...not as black as you are!” Jamal throws the paper into the leopard skin trash, “Man, get on out of here. No hard feelings, you just aren’t what we’re looking for white now.”“I feel you, brotha,” Josh jives. “I’ll be catchin you on the flip side, homie.” Jamal clears his throat and stiffles a laugh. “Sure thing!”
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1/20/2005 12:13:21 PM
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