And the winner is…
Why, it’s President Obama.
Yes. He’s the big winner and the more we move through the Trump presidency and see what’s happening with the country, the more apparent it becomes.
So let’s get it out now. Go on and call me racist. It’s not okay. It’s just the flavor of the day. But be really careful because as it stands now the word is being so overused that it is starting to have no meaning whatsoever. And when the word racism ceases to have meaning, we will have a real nightmare.
Obama is the winner because as President he accomplished precisely what he set out to do. From even before day one, he said he would fundamentally transform the United States of America. And that is exactly what he did. But stupid us, we didn’t have the wherewithal to ask into what he was going to transform it. Or, we were as stupid as Nancy Pelosi deemed we were when she told us a bill had to be signed to see what was in it. That was possibly the most ridiculous statement ever made by a Speaker of The House, although there are assuredly many to choose from. It’s remarkable how truly stupid we were as an electorate. It’s positively remarkable that we have let ourselves be led into where we currently are.
So what did Obama mean by fundamental transformation?
He started his political career in the home of Bill Ayers, a founder of the Weatherman Underground, a self-professed communist and dissident whose longtime mate, Bernadine Dohrn, served seven months in jail for failure to cooperate with a Federal Grand Jury regarding the 1981 Brinks Robbery that left two police officers and a security guard dead. Dohrn, also a self-professed communist and dissident, was an active and ardent fundraiser for Barack Obama.
Obama spent twenty years in the church of Reverend Wright, a noted anti-white, anti-Jewish pastor who is much more than just Obama’s pastor. He is a mentor and adviser and friend.
The point of mentioning Obama’s associations is to set the context into which Barack Obama the man fits. As the saying goes, “show me a man’s friends and I’ll show you the man.”
Add to the picture someone who has gone under the radar for so long that it is mind-boggling, Valerie Jarrett, Obama’s Top Adviser and personal aide for his entire presidency and long before that too. Judicial Watch reports that her father, maternal grandfather, and father-in-law were “Hardcore Communists.” It further reports that as a product of her roots she maintains ties to hard-core communist and extremist organizations. She currently lives with the Obamas in their DC home and serves in his transition to post-president life as…
So Obama is the big winner, first and foremost because he got himself elected. Kudos to him for that. And he did it twice. But therein begin the controversies. In many ways Obama was not what he was presented as, although to his credit, he understood that like no presidential candidate before him in our time, he could actually say what he truly believed, for as a black man and a Democrat he carried the media in his pocket and that racism word in his holster as a tool. Anyone crazy enough to speak up against him and about his connections was obliterated by that R word.
Undoubtedly, Obama was the big winner!
Pick up a copy of my published works here: Books by Peter Weiss.
Bill watched Lorraine somewhat daintily reach onto the plate and take up a piece of rib. She popped it in her mouth and chewed it. As she did so she closed her eyes to savor the sensations she was feeling.
What Bill saw was her hands, in particular her fingers which were still somewhat slim and gently tapered. She had done her nails in deep purple, dark, and at least for waitresses not so unusual since the color was sensual. The more sensual a waitress appeared, the better her tips. The nails themselves were longish, which meant they were kind of long but not long enough to get in the way of handling things.
“You like?” she asked seeing him observing her. “My toes are done too. I went to the salon. Bought the matching lipstick too.” She smiled at Bill as she took another square of rib from the plate and put it in her mouth. “I was hoping we might get some private time but doesn’t look like that’s gonna happen.”
“Why not?”
“My kids.” She took a napkin from inside her apron and wiped her lips. “I can see you need a beer. Want me to get you one?”
“When you’re ready. Victoria said to save her some, but just eat all you want. I’ll cut more.”
As Bill said this, Victoria came back into the kitchen. She carried a beer with her and put it down on Bill’s cutting board atop his reach-in meat cooler. Lorraine quickly reached for it. As she was sipping from the bottle, Victoria told her they’d just gotten three new tables. Victoria took up a square of rib and popped it in her mouth. She and Lorraine immediately left the kitchen.
“They just got three new tables,” Bill said to Marie.
“Want me to pray to Jesus?” she asked.
“Not really,” said Bill.
“Well, they could all kiss my ass. I just want to get on home.”
So your husband can smack you again? Bill thought. He wanted to ask her. He wanted to say something. But it wasn’t his business, not really. Instead, he asked her where she got the bruise on her face. Marie didn’t say anything at first, but then she came over, just before the orders for the three tables came in and took a sip of Bill’s beer.
“Where you think I got it?” she asked leaning against his counter.
“I know where you got it,” Bill said. “And I know it’s none of my business.”
“Just makes me hotter for you,” Marie said. Then, “One day you gonna read about me in the papers. Either I be a murder victim, a murderer, or just another divorce statistic. Maybe I be none of that.”
“Why you cheat if he hits you?”
“He hit me anyway. And he cheat all the time. Don’t even hide it usually. It’s all messed up.”
“Yeah. It is.”
Marie laughed, a bit of a wild laugh. Then she looked Bill right in his eyes. “Ain’t as messed up as you. You ain’t even married yet and you fooling around. What kind of husband you gonna be?”
“When we tie that knot, I’m done with strange.”
“My ass,” Marie said. “Which, by the way, you can have.” She took another sip of Bill’s beer and started back to her station just as the automatic doors opened and both Lorraine and Victoria came in with their orders. They each handed Bill their dupes then took a piece of rib and a sip of beer. Then they went over toward Marie’s station for their salads.
Bill read the dupes. He heard the dishwashers coming up the stairs from having had their dinner downstairs. “I’m gonna get me a beer,” he heard Jim say in his deep voice.
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They worked straight through until nearly eleven. Lillian had taken one fifteen-minute break, relieved by Tommy. No one in the kitchen had a break, so when the slowdown came, Jimmy ran down to pee. When he came back, Bill took his turn. Marie chose to go then too. She went into the men’s, sat with the stall door open and hoisted up so Bill could watch.
“You’re one sick girl,” Bill said. He turned to her when he was done so she could see him. Then he quickly zipped up, washed his hands and ran up the stairs.
When Marie came up she stopped by Bill at the broiler. By this time Lillian had broken down her spot and returned the stool to its place.
“How about a nice medium Super?” she asked.
“And a medium rare Boston for me,” Lillian said. She handed Bill a slip of paper with her order on it.
All waitresses and other help had to turn in written food orders. The only ones who didn’t have to do this were the cooks and salad ladies. The early waitresses came in as they could to order their dinners too.
A few customer orders were still working when Bill started Lillian’s dinner. Turned out Lorraine and Victoria were working late, Lorraine because she was late girl, Victoria because Tommy had asked her to stay since they were busy. Bill and Jimmy finished working the customer food while Bill worked the staff orders. They put up the customer meals first, meticulously, then pushed out Lillian’s dinner as quickly as possible so she could get gone.
Apparently, he would find out later, Lillian and Tommy had a full discussion about him. Tommy, Lorraine told him later, sat with her while she ate. She pretty much ratted him out regarding his drinking, drugging and philandering, but she did compliment him on how well he could handle a broiler. She told Tommy that in her time she’d seen a lot of broiler cooks and after only a few short months Bill was as good as the best of them. That counted for a lot, she told Tommy, and it excused a lot of the vices, although she added that it didn’t excuse all of them by far. Lorraine happily reported that she’d told Tommy to do his best not to lose Bill.
Bad influences, Tommy had said, according to Lorraine, and he’d listed them out starting with Henry Lee and Bea, who, Tommy told Lillian, should have never indulged herself with the boy. That was how he’d referred to Bill. But then he’d said that the boy had to learn, and apparently he had to learn a lot more than the cooking.
Bill did cut that piece of rib. Just before he started getting ready to break down the line and begin the cleanup work, there came a moment when he and Victoria were alone in the kitchen but for Marie. Marie was already into her cleaning and the dishwashers were still down in the party room eating their dinners. Victoria had brought Bill a beer and stood with him at the end of the line.
After trimming all the fat and cutting the slice into neat, bite-sized squares, Bill put the meat on a plate with his spatula and left the plate on the cutting board atop his reach-in box so Victoria could stand there and help herself, which she happily did.
“When you’re done, tell Lorraine to come in for hers.”
“This is so good,” Victoria said.
“Yeah. I’ve been wanting some of that all night.”
“I never see you eating meat.”
“I generally don’t. It’s not a thing. I rarely make myself a steak or eat the rib, but every now and then I get a craving and then I indulge happily.”
“Yes, you do indulge happily,” Victoria said. She stuffed her face and smiled. “I got to go back out,” she said. “I’ll send Lorraine in. Save some more for me.”
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Bill didn’t respond to Jim. This had become a sore spot, a bother, even a small worry that stuck sometimes in the back of Bill’s mind. Jim had been kicked in the head by a horse and was never right since. He always wanted that beer. He could never have it. Sometimes he hovered over and lingered by that knife sheath when he said something about that beer. This was the concern, that he would go off and grab a knife.
After Mary, Bea and Henry Lee had left, Bill sat on the milk cases. He stayed there as long as he could. He wasn’t inclined to get up. He didn’t want to do anything. He felt weary, and having felt this way before, he knew none of his drugs could do anything for him. So he sat. He smoked a cigarette. He drank a coffee that Lorraine had brought him when she’d stopped out in the hall. Lorraine, having seen how droopy he was, asked if he was okay. He said he was just tired, very tired.
He was on a second coffee when the orders started coming in. He asked Jimmy what he had when he saw Jimmy reading the first dupe. Jimmy told him stay sitting so Bill watched from the doorway where he’d positioned the cases so he could see what was going on. He could see the line and the pantry station past it. He could also see a little of the area before the line, this through the serving shelves. He couldn’t see the front kitchen door, but he could hear it open, and he could see the waitresses going into the pantry’s reach-in for salad dressings. When he saw a third order come in he got up. He hadn’t actually planned on it, but kind of instinctively he reached into his pants pocket and took out a Black Beauty. He popped it in his mouth and took it down with some coffee.
Bill and Jimmy started into their dance. They had four dupes, three deuces and a trey. Bill worked the broiler and cut the one order for prime rib. The rib looked really inviting and he was inclined to cut a slice for himself which he decided he’d do when they cleared the board. But they never cleared the board and even before seven, which was unusual, Tommy was in the kitchen setting up the expediter’s spot and calling orders.
Tommy called the orders straight through until Lillian relieved him. Amidst the steady, somewhat heavy but not excessive flow, Lorraine brought coffees for Bill and Tommy. Victoria brought sodas for the dishwashers. Marie made her own tea and kept herself busy on her station.
Lillian drew up her stool and Tommy showed her what was what. That done, he left the kitchen to check on the front of the house. In the switch over, Lillian had collected a handful of orders and soon as Tommy was gone she bellowed out her first “Ordering.” It was a string of items, one after the next, steaks and prime rib, fried shrimp and onion rings, two fried chicken for Grandma and a chef’s salad and shrimp salad for Marie.
The voice contrast and melody pattern was stunning. Tommy was quiet and sing-song. Lillian was raspy, sharp staccato and harsh. Bill, for his part, took over as much as he could, pushing Lillian to pick up as he wanted, as he needed. Lillian was less accommodating than Tommy or Drenovis, so Bill had to be more insistent.
On it went through the service, busy and rushed but not overly burdensome until the first lull after which, thinking it might all be over, they got positively slammed.
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Lexi stopped by just before she left to let Bill know that she had spoken with her friends and they were planning a wild girl’s night out. She said she was really disappointed, especially because they could have spent the night together, but she had made the plans a while ago and didn’t want to cut out on her friends. For some reason she made it important to tell Bill that no men were involved, only women, but she also let him know that that did not preclude any fooling around amongst friends. Bill said he was disappointed, but Lexi told him not to be, that she could arrange what he was thinking about with one of her friends whenever he wanted. She suggested it might be nice for his new year’s present. Bill said “indeed” to that notion.
Bea, Bill and Mary found themselves out in the hall when the dinner was all set up and everything was ready and in place. Grandma and Jimmy were inside the kitchen, Jimmy going down the line checking on everything, Grandma doing what she did in the back. Mary and Bea were in their civvies and just waiting to go home. They had not put on their coats yet. They were waiting to see if Henry Lee was coming up to go home with them.
The lunch had been good, quick-paced and steady all the way through. Dinner was anyone’s guess. So far for the week it had been relatively slow, but not dead, and it had been increasing steadily. Tuesday was much better than Monday, but that was a regular pattern. Tonight promised to be at least decent. A full complement of waitresses was working and that included Lorraine and Norma as well as Victoria and three others, two of whom were relatively new and still somewhat on probation. Being on probation meant being subjected to Drenovis’ whims as much as anything else.
Mary was tired and ready to crash. She asked Jimmy to make her three cheeseburgers with French fries to go, this so she didn’t have to cook when she got home. Ordinarily she did not take food home, but it was a perk for her and the cooks as long as they didn’t get piggy about it. Tommy didn’t care. Mary had told him up front and he said to bring them steaks if she wanted, but she was quick to let him know the kids would like the burgers better. So she sat on the milk cases and Bea on the now low stack of lettuce cases and they waited for both the to-go food and for Henry Lee, to see what he was doing.
Henry Lee had messed with Marie when she’d come in. Marie had a bruise on her cheekbone and that meant Mr. Marie had socked her one. He probably had cause because Marie wasn’t exactly the most faithful wife. No one there was faithful, husbands or wives or Bill, the husband-to-be. Both Bill and Henry Lee, because they’d discussed it, felt it would have been more manly for Mr. Marie to leave as opposed to beating her, but it wasn’t their call. Henry Lee had said that he wouldn’t beat Alfreda or leave her if she cheated. He’d said that paybacks were a bitch and he pretty much deserved whatever she did. He also said that he hoped she kept it in the family, meaning he preferred, and he’d said it this way, that it be with someone like you, meaning Bill, than someone strange.
“Tell me she ain’t said nothing to you never,” Henry Lee had said once to Bill. “And tell me you ain’t never thought about it.”
Bill had stayed silent.
Finally, getting impatient, after Jimmy had handed Mary the bag with the burgers to go, Bea got up and called down to Henry Lee for him to let them know what he was doing. Henry Lee told her keep her panties on, that he’d be right up.
Then they were gone, all three of them, and Bill sat in the hall alone.
“Could sure use a beer,” Jim the dishwasher said peeking his head out into the hall.
Pick up a copy of my published works here: Books by Peter Weiss.
Our real enemy is not external and our greatest problem is not climate change. Climate change is at best an issue and perhaps a concern. Iran, North Korea, Russia and China are foes, even enemies. But they are not the real danger facing the United States. Even Radical Islamic Terrorism, a danger for sure, isn’t the real danger. The real danger facing us comes from within. It is the willful attempt at destroying a presidency, an attempted coup d’état in the premier free country of the world.
It seems unbelievable, unreal, way out there. An overthrow of our government? To even say it sounds silly, even fantastical. However, all the elements are in place and at play. The government is divided. The country is divided. The media are biased, even controlled. Protests and protesters are paid by anarchists like George Soros and his cronies, and their true goals are couched by their labeling anyone who opposes them as racist.
Division, media control and paid opposition make the perfect storm for toppling not just this presidency, but any presidency.
There’s more. The deep state, as they call it, is actively anti-Trump and remains powerful because Congress is still dilly-dallying in approving Trump nominees. The deep state leaks false stories to the biased media who run with them, true or not. The politically correct, corrupt politicians, more accurately those who are paid off by big money, holding to the whims of their benefactors’ purse strings, dance to the rhythm of the false stories. These politicians are corrupt and even immoral in many instances, no better than the old Communist Politburo we used to abhor and chastise through the Cold War in the fifties and sixties. In fact they are very much the same as them. Some of these politicians, you know who they are, are driven by personal animus toward the man who is president, by simple hatred for him, and they are willing to put their personal feelings ahead of national interest. That is narcissism, even hubris, the very same qualities for which they attack the President.
Worst of all, and a common thread across the camps of those who would undo the presidency, is a willingness to re-write history. In their misguided political correctness they are willing to tear down the statues of our founders and heroes and replace them with icons of socialists we once reviled. Revisionist history alone threatens the presidency, the Constitution and our very existence as a nation.
Yes, our real enemy is within. The first thing a dictator does when in the midst of a coup is seize the media and suppress it completely until the coup is a fait accompli and the new dictator controls them. Here, now, for the most part, our media are already no better than Pravda was. They are biased, controlled and paid for by political foes. They spew pure liberal propaganda spun by presenting nearly incessant anti-Trump news, real or not. Facts and fact-checking are things of the past, replaced by gossip, purposefully incorrect leaks and outright fabrications. Thus the media are, in and of themselves, the greatest of the dangers within.
It’s simply the turnaround at work. See The Turnaround. So the real danger within is our overall erosion from within. Its origins, as stated many times here, emanate from human selfishness and greed. That selfishness and greed have caused our leaders to dumb-down education and brainwash the upcoming generations that have no context for the realities of socialist dictatorships, for their evils and failures. With no context they are easily cajoled into thinking those systems are preferable to our freedom and capitalism and easily led into any other thing the leftists would have them believe.
Pick up a copy of my published works here: Books by Peter Weiss.
After the line was scrubbed clean Bill went down to the meat room to help Henry Lee cut meat. He had handed the steam table inserts over to the pot washer and told him to lay them out on the cutting board shelf for him like always. He had stopped in the back and made sure Mary had everything set the way she needed it.
Mary was coming back to herself more and more. With everything working on the stoves as it was supposed to be, she had time to sip a beer and lean herself against her counter to collect her thoughts. This was how Bill found her.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Getting better and better with every minute. My head’s getting straight and I’m tired but okay. How about you?”
“Same as always.”
“Don’t pay Bea no mind. She’s a little older. You know? Things was different for her.”
“She got something to say, she should say it.”
“I think she did. I think what she was meaning was that it ain’t personal to you. You a little bit different than the whites she talking about.”
“Maybe.”
“Better to let it slide anyway.”
“Maybe.”
“What you mean maybe? I’m telling you it’s better. We all entitled to our feelings. We all entitled to our likes and dislikes. Be better if we all understood each other and accepted each other even if we have hard feelings. Those bad feelings ain’t no good no matter which way they run.”
“They teach you that in church?”
“Yes. They do. And they teach us treat others as you want to be treated. Or, at the very least, treat them like they treat you, which means someone not good to you, you stay away from them.”
“Should I stay away from Bea?”
“Why? Cause she spoke her mind?”
“Guess you’re right,” Bill said.
“Damn right I’m right,” Mary said. “Now, you wanna come over after work? You can sneak in quietly while the kids are sleeping.”
“Naw. Thanks for the offer. I can wait for The Upper Room tomorrow night. I ain’t much for sneaking in around kids.”
“Well then take me downstairs in a little while.”
“Really?”
“Still got a little itch. And I know you want me to tell you my feelings.”
“I’ll be in the meat room,” Bill said.
“I like you,” Mary said. “I much more than like you.”
“I much more than like you too,” Bill said.
“You could show me. Actions speak louder than words.” Mary leaned in close to Bill and whispered in his ear. What she said shocked him so that he blushed. It also turned him on.
“That gonna scratch your itch?” he asked.
“Till tomorrow maybe.”
He was cutting Bostons, Tops and Supers when she came into the meat room. She didn’t hop up on the counter as she usually did. Instead she asked Bill if he would help her carry up a sack of potatoes and a few other things she needed from the storeroom. Bill said okay, of course, but he finished working on the Top Sirloin Butt he was in the middle of.
“Be right back,” he said to Henry Lee.
“Take your time, man. I know where you going. I’m gonna have you cover for me when Marie comes in.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bill said.
They went into the party room and locked both the entry doors from the inside. When they were safely locked in Mary took hold of Bill and kissed him, hard and deep, almost desperately, Bill thought as it was happening. Then, when she’d kissed him all she wanted, she sat herself up on the bar. She’d never done that before and Bill found it interesting to say the least. Never taking her eyes from his, she began unbuttoning the buttons of her dress from the bottom up. As the dress peeled away, she spread her legs further apart.
“Come to mama,” she said.
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Mary closed her eyes and put her head on Bill’s shoulder. She still picked at her sandwich and none of them had any inclination to get up and go back into the kitchen even though it was well past two.
“I didn’t do nothing either,” Bill said, continuing their conversation. “They trapped me and railroaded me into copping a plea. See. Injustice is blind.”
“We gonna have a color fight now?” Mary asked.
“Naw,” Henry Lee said. “We all the same at this table.”
“Are we?” Bill asked Bea.
Bea didn’t answer.
“Well, are we?” he asked again after a moment.
Bea had heard Bill the first time but she didn’t want to answer. She was old school, and in her mind, no, they weren’t all the same. It was different for Bill because he was white. That meant, in her mind, he could go anywhere he wanted, do anything he wanted. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder to see if the cops were coming after him just cause they felt like it.
“Love them little white boys,” she said. “Love the way they smell, the way they feel, the way they…”
“Don’t need to hear no more,” Henry Lee said interrupting her. But it was apparent she didn’t want to respond to what the real question was.
That real question was real. They all knew it was real just as they all knew they were better off not talking about it and just accepting the fact that God had brought them together, that God had brought Bill into their world for whatever reason He had done so. No one knew the reason. No one knew why of all the people in the City Hall Annex that day Bill had walked in, seen Robert in his workhouse blues and offered him a cigarette. No one knew why Bailey, the PO, had hooked them up, why it was Bill and not a different probationer who needed a job, and no one knew that Robert would recognize Bill as the kid who’d offered him a smoke and then take him under wing as if he were family.
Kismet!
“Don’t matter,” Henry Lee said. “I get tired of this crap.”
“What crap?” Bea asked.
“The color crap. You ain’t done so bad. And you ain’t complaining when he down there doing what you want him to. In fact, you old hussy, you like him doing that, don’t you?”
“That’s beside the point.”
“That is the point. Either you like him or you don’t.”
“You ain’t got to say nothing Bea,” Mary said. “Henry Lee right. We need to drop this discussion cause it don’t lead to no good. And don’t blame the boy for giving me drugs. Last time I looked, I’m almost old enough to be his mother. I got a boy who ain’t that far from his age, who calls him ‘cracker’ to me at home and to him in his face when they working together. That’s the end result of this goddamn conversation, and the more we keep that up the worse it is for everyone.” She nudged Bill and told him let her up.
Bill slid out of the booth. It seemed clear to him, or kind of clear, that something had happened there at the table, something no one had expected or anticipated. He carried his lunch dishes with him into the kitchen and left them over by the dish machine. Mary followed behind him and did the same.
Mr. Jim had put everything on the stove that Mary would need for the evening meal. When Bill came around, just before he busted down the steam table, Mr. Jim told him all he had to do was wash baked potatoes and set them in the convection oven as usual. Bill acknowledged and then went to bust down the steam table and clean up the line.
Bea and Henry Lee lingered out in the dining room a bit longer. Mr. Jim, at two-forty-five, said good night. Just before he left, he told Bill to make sure he took care of Mary. Bill promised he would.
Pick up a copy of my published works here: Books by Peter Weiss.
In Chicago a Police Commander who was attending a meeting responded to a radio call, was ambushed in a stairway and shot to death by a man with a long criminal record.
In Florida, seventeen are dead, killed by a lone shooter, a nineteen year-old with a reportedly disturbing social media profile. It is being reported as a premeditated attack.
Another day another two shootings! And so it goes. This has become life in America. On one level, in some ways, we get used to it, become numbed to the feelings so that we can move on with a “there but for the grace of God.” But on another level we never get used to it. We find it incomprehensible and we look on in anguish. We wonder how those who’ve just lost loved ones go on. We thank God it wasn’t us personally. We look for answers, for whys, for some insight into what’s going on in this country. We look for some understanding of what we’ve become as a people.
Maybe you know about guns, not necessarily about handling them or shooting them as much as about the information regarding them. Maybe you don’t. One thing is sure, if whatever you do know is from anti-gun talking points posted on social media would-be news, then maybe you don’t have a real sense about the gun situation in America. So just a couple of simple facts.
- All guns start out as legal guns.
- Legal gun owners commit less than a fifth of all gun crimes.
- More than 80 percent of gun crimes are gang related and perpetrated by illegal gun possessors with illegal guns.
- 30 percent of guns that end up at crime scenes are stolen guns.
- While the number of guns in America can be counted, the number of illegal guns cannot.
- The overwhelming number of gun dealers are law abiding and relatively few of them have guns they’ve sold traced back to them as used in a crime.
- More than 70 percent of Americans favor the ownership of guns.
As I write this and go through my own feelings, like what might be going through my grandson’s mind—he attends high school in Florida—and what’s it going to be like in several years when my youngest child attends high school, I can feel from the reporting I am hearing that we are headed back into the ridiculousness of the old arguments about gun control. I fear that like with the whole Russia collusion story the big picture of what is really going on in America will be obfuscated by the selfish political interests of the power-hungry American Politburo who now lead us into what appears to be our decimation.
The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Resorting to the gun control debate is that insanity. The facts belie the story being propagated. That’s how it is with the gun control issue and many other narratives we are being force-fed by power-hungry politicians and biased media outlets.
It is important to understand that we are being lied to and we are being hoodwinked by an elite group of people who, for the most part, live in gated cities, who travel with armed bodyguards, and whose only interests are their own well-being and personal wealth.
The heat was rising in Mary. The Black Beauty had perked her up some and along with Mr. Jim she’d started in on the afternoon’s work. But on one trip to the storeroom she’d stopped into the meat room for a drink of the bourbon. That had brought her down several octaves and she was thinking another Quaalude would do wonders. Or at least that’s what Bill found out when he sat next to her in their lunch booth.
Normally one of them would do orders, usually Mary, if any came in while they were eating. Sometimes Bill ran off to the liquor store while they ate too. Today, Mr. Jim stayed in the kitchen and worked ahead for Mary. Bill sat next to her and Bea and Henry Lee were across the table. Henry Lee and Bea were fooling around, kind of like kids did. They ate and then they slapped at each other. Henry Lee, in a fun mood, took a good feel of Bea’s hefty tits, but it wasn’t sexual at all, just a “so there.” But Bea reciprocated. She reached under the table and took a feel of him. He slapped her hand away. She persisted until she had copped a good feel. Then they took bites of their food and just slapped at each other.
Mary, very quietly, reached under the table and settled her hand in Bill’s lap. As she did so, she asked him if he had any more Quaaludes. Bill said yes, but he wasn’t giving her any. If anything, he told her, she could have another upper.
Mary got huffy. She nibbled on her sandwich, one Bill had made for her. She liked her roast beef well done on a hamburger bun with tomato and mayonnaise. Bill had piled the meat on and made what he thought was a grand sandwich.
“I ain’t too hungry,” she said as she quietly fondled him under the table.
“It’s the uppers,” Bill said. “Drink a beer and we’ll take some bourbon after we eat. But you got to eat. It’s time for you to be coming down off the stuff.”
“You shouldn’t be giving her nothing,” Henry Lee said.
“Just worked out this way,” Bill answered.
“We old school,” said Bea. “We drink, and maybe we smoke some weed. But them drugs you white boys do…”
“What you mean you white boys?” Bill asked.
“Well,” Bea said, “you white boys got money and you do all them drugs.”
“I look like I got money?” Bill moved Mary’s hand away from his lap and slid slightly away from her. “What you think? You think we all got money and shit? You think cause we white we can’t be poor?”
“Ain’t the same,” Bea said. “Even if you poor white, you still got opportunity. Blacks ain’t’ got no opportunity.”
“That’s bull shit,” Bill said. “I saw plenty of blacks at the university and they had plenty of opportunity, same opportunity as me.”
“That ain’t real,” Bea said. “Anyways your white pushers sell us cheap heroin and keep us messed up. We stay high, we don’t get uppity.”
“Ain’t nothing worse than an uppity nigger,” Henry Lee said. He laughed. “That’s what I was when I stabbed that white bastard. He started the shit, drew his knife thinking he was going to kill me. Didn’t work out that way. Didn’t matter though. They didn’t charge him. Only me. Only me and only I went to jail for it, for protecting myself. It was self-defense. And I lost my damn leg too.”
“You should have killed him,” Bea said.
“Damn right I should have.”
“Listen to you two,” Mary said. “Yeah, you should have killed him. And you’d have been in jail for life. Your kids wouldn’t know their daddy. You wouldn’t be getting no pussy from Marie.”
“Oh, you gotta go there, huh?”
“Look where you two going,” Mary said.
“Where we going?” Bea said.
Writer's play 