This is an American story. And thus, it involves Americans.

"I'm not paying for that shot!" I insisted, reeling back around. I affixed the Keep in my stare. "I ain't paying for that."

"Oh. You're paying. And then you're gettin the fuck out of my establishment."

"I got it, Ernest," said the aforementioned bum from a few stools down.

"Bullshit. I want him out. Fuckin nigger lover..."

"I don't even know where to start!" I exclaimed. I didn't even know where to start. "Black lives matter."

"Nah, man. I don't think he even knew that guy. I'll watch him. You got my word. We're good."

"Ya. If he itches his nose wrong, I'm throwin him the fuck out. I'm sick of this shit."

"Nigger lover?" I repeated, still in shock. "What does that even mean? Dude - what year is this?"

The bum grabbed me up and none too gently guided me over to a table located at the back of the seedy establishment.

Lynrd Skynrd blared.

"We don't take too kindly to...their kind. In these parts," he explained through a wad of tobacco. "I don't think Ernest there was so much bothered by the shot glass or the counter or your mouth - he didn't like that other guy coming in here."

"Priceless," I muttered.

"Proud to know ya," bum guy said, extending a hand. "Name's..."

Somethin or other. I forget. Like I said, I'm bad with names.

"Ya," I grunted.

"You were at that funeral today. I'm sorry for your loss. Local girl."

He spit in an empty bottle. Nothing alarming about that. But I did a double take when I saw him take a drink from the same exact bottle.

Yep. A drink mind you, a long gulp. And I asked him about it. So he immediately sprang up. "You implying you wanna fuck my daughter, you sorry sack of shit!?" he raged, gesturing at the bimbo still seated back at the bar.

I dusted myself off, calmly as I could, and collected myself, as it were. Or was it? I had never met him or his daughter, I informed him, you know, yada yada. No. I don't want to fuck his daughter.

No.

He seemed to calm down some.

"Well if yer implying I wanna fuck my daughter - Yer God damn right, God dammit. That's my right. And ya. I spit a lot. I chew a lot. I do a lot of things that I choose not to disclose of on my tax forms. You a fuckin taxman? I thought you looked skeevy. No? You lying sack of potatoes. Well I might spit. I might not. I may or may not drink it. I can spit and swallow wherever I want. A chicken can cluck and a God damn rooster can strut about and cock a mother fucking doodle doo, so what the fuck does that have to do with me and the federal government?"

I fidgeted. I was already uneasy and ready to move on. But this guy just readjusted his Make America Great hat and thrust an accusatory finger at me.

"You are a white American. I am a white American. My daughter is white. She is American. I can fire a gun at a terrorist or any foreign invader on My Space or Nigger I catch on my front porch or Facebook. Or my daughter. If I catch her with some invader or..." He trailed off.

He paused and shook his head. "Anyway. I own a trailer. I vote. I train a pitbull. I read."

I applauded him. "Really?" I queried.

"My white forefathers came before us and fought off and murdered the God damn illiterate injuns. Burned their children and pillaged their women. Raped their villages. Enslaved the tribal African niggers while they were still running around; paintin their faces and piercing their nipples, struttin' around naked with their big, black African dicks FLOPPIN and DANGLING all over the place, DAMMIT."

He trailed off into a string of curses I dare not repeat. He looked up at me, suddenly then, and coughed.

"Right. Uh. Anyway. Gettin all tangled up in the thornbushes, as they were chasing lions - with spears and poison blow darts. Scaring off monkeys and zebras and such. Before they became the modern-day, Africanized-UnAmerican, street rapping scum they are now."

He spit again. Then drank.

"But enough about them. More about us. They went on. You know. On to bigger and better and whiter things - you know- less darkness and no more floppin and flappin about with abandon. Animals. To us. As a country. Moon landings and blowing up chink cities with Atomic bombs. AMERICA!!!"

I jumped back, startled. But I nodded. "America," I muttered.

"I could and I can spit on the ground...but out of respect... I keeps me a bottle at hand. I'm a handyman."

I nodded again. Then nodded out.

"Wake up!" he exclaimed with a violent swing of his fist.

I fell back from the blow. "Fuck! Fuck." I rubbed my face. "Fuck. That hurt. Don't do...fuck... that again."

He didn't seem to hear me.
"I know my God damn rights as a God damn white, God fearing, assault rifle carrying, manly protector of his proud God damn white, suburban neighborhood. And yes. I am AM afraid of niggers. I can't put a girdle on my daughter. She's sixteen now. She's turnin in to a little white whore, like the rest of her friends. Like your deceased friend there."

I shrugged. I looked back over at his daughter. She seemed a bit... Weathered for sixteen. But she had a youthful glow. She was attractive enough.

"It's just. What they do now. They got their snap chat pictures and it's all fucked. They're all fuckin whores now. I told my friend over at On Fire Baptist. I claimed my daughter's prize for the family, myself, the White race, and America as whole - and that he should do the same..."

I leaned forward. The bar wasn't crowded, but we were getting into some sensitive shit here. Well. Beyond 'sensitive'. The whole thing was fucked up beyond words, on a scale beyond earthly measure. "Oh?" I queried.

"'Ya', I told him. But he refused to believe me. Well, 'believe it when you see it', I says, 'those fuckin God damn EBT card carryin mother fuckers got the biggest God damn cocks you've ever seen in your life. When you walk in your daughters room and see her gettin tag teamed by a fuckin gorilla exhibit, and all you can do is stand there like a God damn bumbling fool, head turned sideways, index finger on your lip, eyes wide in amazement - don't blame me or pray to white Jesus for help'..."

"It'll be okay," I sputtered.

" Well...ya. For me. I got to my daughter first. But I'm scared for him. I'm a man of my word. I tell you as God as my witness now. God. As. My. Witness. I saw a nigger in the shower at the gym. Now I swear on all that is sacred - I tried NOT to stare, but when I saw that man's cock - more like a GOD DAMN THIRD LEG, JUST FUCKIN FLOPPING ALL OVER - HE'S LUCKY HE DIDNT FUCKING HURT SOMEBODY!!!!  It made me drop my Mountain Dew. I was THAT fucking awe struck. I froze in battle."

A rush of tears came to his eyes, he quickly wiped them away. "I have never dropped my Mt Dew for no man, living or dead. I am not an emotional man. But my father served in the Navy and one of the guiding principles he taught us was; never fucking trust a Jew, remember Pearl Harbor, and a man never freezes in battle or drops his Dew. I could only imagine what he would think of me standing  there. Frozen like a frightened old lady. Mumbling, "huminahuminahumina..." With that monstrosity sheered into my brain like a hot branding iron."

He paused. He sobbed. He gathered himself.

"That black cock is in my memory forever," he went on. "I couldn't tell you when my first kiss was. Or when I drank my first beer. I don't remember that man's face. Or if he was smiling or even what he said. But I remember every uncircumcised inch of his black cock."

He wagged a finger in my face with each uttered word to emphasize his point.

"EVERY. UNCIRCUMCISED. INCH."

He shook his head again and clinched his fists, a fit of trembling overtaking him.

"I said it before and I'll say it again." Again, he pointed an accusatory finger at me, only this time it shook uncontrollably. "I ain't no rainbow flag flying little faggot ass queer boy. Got it?"

"I get it. Jesus." I had to get out of here.

"Good. I feel like you may be implying it. But. Whatever. I fuck my wife. What happened next was the scariest thing of my life. I was scared for me. I was scared for my wife. I was scared for my daughters. I was scared for every little white girl out there. Those little sluts are just." He sighed dispassionately. "Hell I'm scared for you. We're all at risk."

I nodded knowingly. "They got the...look in their eyes. That cock hunger."

He looked at me with a new sense of wonder. "Well alright! What's your name? You don't remember. Alright. You aren't a mother fucking Jew or some kind of liberal fucking faggot ass mother fuckin Bernie Sanders Communist are you? No? Good. Me. Myself...my name is Chester Goodworth. Think you can remember that? No? That's alright."

A silence followed. Well oddly enough Skynard was still blaring.

"The cock hunger," Mr. Chester G said with a heavy sigh and a airy fart."As you referred to it. That's an appropriate term. Now our white women are our future. White power. That pussy is precious. Like Trump says, we gotta grab it. Wise man, Mr. Trump. That's OUR white pussy. That's more precious than the gold they keep at the depository at Ft. Knox! Are you hearing me!?"

I had been in the midst of a freak out. But I wasn't sure what. I was coming off of 4 hard drugs and getting high on 7. I'm not a fucking mathematician.

But I came back to reality. I adjusted myself, down there. Probably with less...delicacy. Than a situation like that calls for. But they're my balls. Okay? Social protocol! Fuck social....stuff. Dumb society. Ooh! Look at us! We're social!

Chester stood at this point. A classic dramatic tactical practice. I admired his keychain.

"We white folk got to protect our pussy!" His husky Chester voice rang out, causing a chorus of "Yeaahs!!!" and other such....choruses.

"My pussy. Your pussy. It's all pussy. It's all white. Or...pink. Pink and white. Other colors, too. I've seen pussy of many colors - but it's all wide. I mean - it's all white. Some of it hasn't been tapped."

He sat back down and leaned in. For the life of me I've never seen a more earnest look in a man's pale blue eyes.

"We got jungle bunnies out there trapsing around, bandana wearing gang members and Wal-Mart greeters and football players and tax accountants and ex-Presidents and thugs and rapping rapists. Unchecked. With their big black African dicks, in droves, waitin to be unshackled - them dicks - en masse - and given freedom from their denim prisons that barely even contain them...they're so massive."

He had to stop to catch his breath. I had my fan. Always do. So I fanned him. Furiously.

"Thank you. Thank you. They're spreading their seed into our fertile fields like the veiny, throbbing, sweaty, one eyed, slaves of yore. And do you think for one moment I'm gonna let one of those mother fuckers get his big, strong, sweaty hands on my trembling, cock hungry, virgin white daughter and destroy all that is precious and dear to me. She's got a Hell of a body. Perfect tits. Great ass. Tight little pussy. Usually folk don't know what I'm talkin bout. And she would fuck that nigger right there in my house...."

For a moment it looked like he was fighting tears.

"No shame in shedding white man tears," I offered feebly but convincingly. I had quit fanning him.

So you know.

Just keepin you abreast.

"She'd probably fuck three of them!!!" his cry rang out and reverberated and was carried by such a torrent of raw emotional grief that I couldn't help but tear up a little.

"Right under my roof. My wife is no better. I have to threaten her life every morning. You know - it's a routine. I love em. But. You just. You gotta protect em. From themselves."

He leaned in ever more. Kinda close. People at a distance would have thought we were gettin all up in each other's shit. Well, actually....he was. His breath reeked of tobacco and gingivitis. And probably other things.

Don't say a God damn thing. I swear to God I'll fuckin kill you. I'm telling you. I'm FUCKIN crazy. I mean do it. Mother fucker. Say something.

You wanna die?. Say one fuckin thing. I fuckin DARE ya!!

So ya. His breath reeked. He was all leanin in and in my shit.

"Between you and me... I don't trust the whore. Now or ever. She aint never done nothing to merit this. She's faithful. But after that day in the shower...it was my 9/11. It was a July 9th. I'll never forget it. You know? No smoke but...plenty of steam. No twin towers....but a towering musclebound black form. And I just knew. My wife's honor was in danger..."

He laughed and finally got up out of my shit. Fuckin guy. "Enough about that. You were wondering why I drink my tobacky spit. Uh...the answer is. I don't know. It's a respect thing. Since that day...actually. You know, I hate litter. And uh. I littered when I dropped my bottle and, um, I was never able to pluck up the courage to bend over and pick it back up. That black man bent over and reached for it and uh...God damn I never told no one this I just feel like we have this connection."

He paused. Locking eyes with me, his eyes narrowed as his brow furrowed.

"You're a mother fucking tax collector! I swear to Christ and all that is good on Garth Brook's green estate I will blast a hole in you right now. Right now. Live Free or Die, mother fucker."

My mind was racing too fast, my body was dragging behind too slow. "Huminahuminahumina?" I dribbled.

"Oh. A funny man. Alright. Ima keep you alive. At least long enough to feed to my pitbulls."

I grunted.

"Don't judge me. I'm a tax-paying Trump voter and I'm a family man. I pay taxes when I buy Marlboro Lights or Shrimp Nibblers at White Castle. A real American, God dammit." He checked the bar. "She should be here by now."

"Your daughter."

"Ya my fuckin daughter. MY fuckin daughter. Get it?"

I nodded. "Got it."

"Good. You stay the FUCK away from my daughter," he warned for the millionth time, lifting his shirt to expose

🔫

"Whoah...buddy...I'm not a...you know"

"Don't woah buddy me, SPORT. I tilled those fertile fields already. I don't know what yer game is. Yet. Or what agency yer workin for. Hell you may be in league with them spooks. I've shot better, harder men than you. It's about respect. Family values. It's like when I was breaking my daughter in last week.  I can fucking come inside of her if I want. Of course I can. But I has gots to have more God damn RESPECT for her than that."

I sat silent and in shock for a moment. "What the fuck!? Uh...not to fuckin throw a hitch in anyone's hike to fuckin WTFville here... WHAT THE FUCK!!!?""

I was reeling. I mean I was just in a constant state of reeling.

This shit was fucked up. No doubt. There's no...its just. Come on, right? It's a fuckin evolutionary thing. It's bad to keep white people in small clusters.

Well...except for those fuckin God-like Scandinavians. It's like Thor just came down and adorned then. Anyway...

"OH, I'm so sorry, PREACHER!"
He said the word sarcastically and flailed his arms about wildly, in a wide over dramatic attention getting scene.

Some dumb bawdy bad ass was now filming with their smart Samsung phone.

"First of all, that's my fuckin daughter we're talkin about...not some Uncle's cousin's neice or neighbor's nephew's wife or nun or wife's best friend's sister...."

The bawdy bad ass pulled in closer for a tighter shot.

"So I pull out my proud, white, glistening hard cock as it throbs and pulsates in all of its swollen American glory and I come on her proud white American tits, God dammit. And I recite the God damn pledge of allegiance to the red, white, and blue right then and there on those proud white and bruised double d purple (from the bruising) mountains majesty. I kid you not.

"Right then and there. By heart. Every word. And as I take my now semi-erect dick and place it firmly in her closed mouth, a damn tear nearly comes to my eye as I force myself past her lips. And one hand stays firmly set on my heart as I forcefully (but with fatherly care) guide her head into position with the other."

He spit again, and saluted.

"Murica."

"America," I agreed. I was frozen in shock by this point.

"Beautiful God damn titties on that gurl," he rambled on. "She's a born n bred thoroughbred and she sure as FUCK knows her rights as one. She ain't no fuckin French talkin Canadian communist or some dirty, bean eating, Mexican speaking, tequila drinkin Spaniard.

"Fuck no. No sir. She is a God damn Trump supportin gun shootin flag pole dancin/salutin citizen of these God damn States United and she ain't afraid to fuckin give credit where it's due.

"I taught her. Daddy did. And she ain't gotta call NO man "daddy"  unless they is kin. True flesh and blood kinfolk.

"That's values. Standards."

"America," I said.

"That's Amurica," he nodded, visibly calming. "God bless it again God dammit. I tell my daughter, 'You can call me Jesus'."

"Why's that, daddy?" She asks, taking the cock out her mouth for a moment.

"Because, baby. It's like the pastor tells you. You need to be on the look out for my second coming."
© JacobAlive