Fairy Tale Friday 2
BIOU's Fairy Tale Friday 2
It was a beautiful day in Alabama. Schvatzoblack plopped her grotesquely dimpled ass onto the strained and creaking rocking chair in front of her nasty, cockroach infested shack. She leaned back, with imagines of tuna noodle casseroles made with the tangy zip of Miracle Whip dancing in her head, and breathed deeply of the trash- laced aroma of her horrible, ignorant life.
From within the Shit Shack, there was suddenly a clatter! Schvatzoblack hauled ass into the house to find her favorite Precious Moments figurine, a tiny tow-headed klansman, his arms spread wide with a banner reading "I Wuv You This Much!", smashed to pieces on the grimy floor. "GUHH???" she exclaimed, and the gears of her imagination began to churn slowly.
"Negros!" she concluded. And she picked up the phone to call the sheriff of Parts Unknown, Alabama.
The Sheriff came by, and looked around, and wrote down blathery transcripts about the mysterious black intruder who hates art, but all the evidence pointed to rats.
Later that night, Schvatzoblack was lying on the couch watching classic tapes of "The View" and scratching the scabs off her upper arms when nature called. She waddled off to the bathroom and lifted her assflaps to plop down onto the toilet, when she suddenly felt a smacking sensation against the back of her head. "Blacks!!" she shrieked, and dropping her assflaps like they were on fire, raced into the kitchen to call the Sheriff, slamming the bathroom door behind her.
The Sheriff showed up, and listened to her tale of the wild black smackery from the depths of the Alabama plumbing system, but all he could find was a half suffocated bat that had been living in her folds for days.
"Schvatzoblack," he said, "You can't blame everything on black people. Clearly this incident was simply a matter of a desperate ass-bat, struggling for its life. I'm not coming back here again tonight, so the next time you start feeling hysterical, just put your head between your legs and take a deep breath."
And he left.
Moments later, there was a knock on the door. Schvatzoblack thought, "this must be the sheriff, come back to offer me a stay at home job in law enforcement. I like donuts and I DON'T want to have to buy a uniform and I don't think I should have to pay parking tickets if I had a car but I don't because after 12 years my job stopped paying me because I stopped showing up but that's not the kind of fair treatment a good decent american should expect I mean unless you want to order something from the dollar menu at mcdonalds every other week or so it's not asking too much unless you can't stand to see anyone else make a buck like corporate boogerbutts..." and she opened the door.
But it was not the Sheriff.
It was a pack of thirteen giant jet-black tribesmen from darkest africa, of the Cosby tribe, with bones through their noses and plates in their lips, wielding spears and machetes and torches and a giant black kettle and sporting thick black yardsticks that swung two and fro beneath the hems of their leopard skin loincloths.
And they all partied with that pasty rump until the break of dawn, before chopping her to pieces and making of her a fatty stew that would sustain them through the coming season of frost.