What will happen to intractable hate-filled racists like us after The One becomes President of the World?
Jim at Parkway Rest Stop has an idea:
Letters From the Camp. (Vol. 1)
April 22, 2009
(Note: Around here, we are not permitted to say “2009;” we must say, “0001, in the Year of The One”)
I’ve been here for about a week now. Communication of any type with the outside is forbidden, but I managed to give this note to a sympathetic produce delivery man. I didn’t think I could print so small.
Here’s the story.
When I heard the knock on the door, I peeked through the window and saw the same two young, twenty-somethings outside my door. They call themselves “The Messiah’s Witnesses.” They had been coming to my house about every two weeks since the election last year and even more often since January, each time wanting to discuss my “aberrant” politics and to explain to me the wisdom of The Change.
The first few times they showed up I politely told them I was not interested in talking with them, but more recently, I had become more adamant in my refusal. Since their most recent visit, I had resolved that the next time they came knocking, I was going to tell them for once and for all to stay the hell off my property.
I opened the door, prepared to tell them to get lost, but before I could say a word, two men, each the size of an NFL lineman, leaped from the bushes on either side of the door, pinning my arms behind me and placing me in handcuffs. Once I was cuffed, another man, well-dressed and appearing to be in his forties, appeared from behind one of the bushes.
“Who the hell are you, and what the hell is going on here?” I screamed.
“My name is not important. My purpose is to advise you that, by order of Secretary of Education, William Ayers, effective immediately, you are directed to report to the Education Center in your Sector. We are here to transport you there.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I believe I spoke clearly. We are here to transport you to the Education Center in your Sector.”
“And what if I refuse?”
“Refusal is not an option.”
“Precisely, what have I done wrong?”
“You have done much wrong, starting with your failure to vote for The One, and, worse yet, your writing and saying things that question the wisdom of The One, not to mention your obvious resistance to The Change.”
The letter writer is transported to the Education Center. After orientation, he is issued his new uniform:
– – – – – – – – –
Each person was issued underwear, three grey shirts, three pairs of grey trousers, socks and black shoes. The shirts bore a name tag and the “O’ logo on the left sleeve. I noticed that my shirts all had a one-inch red “B” sewn on the front in the region of my chest.
I asked the person issuing the shirts why mine bore the letter “B.” He responded, “You must have been a Blogger.”
I said that I was indeed a blogger.
He smiled and said, “Bloggers get special attention.”
Read the rest at Parkway Rest Stop. It’s not really fiction…
Hat tip: Fausta.