Back to School
Bullet-proof bookbags; what a fucked-up time to be alive. The six o’clock news tells me they are resistant enough to stop a barrage of bullets from an AK-47, and are now available at Walmart for just ninety-nine-ninety-nine; pink or black, in a variety of little sizes.
I think to myself, the kids do start school next week. It’s not entirely unreasonable to think this product may find itself useful. I love my kids, just like everybody else. What’s a few hundred dollars for a potential lifesaver?
I drive my American automobile down to the only superstore in town. The radio DJ coming from my speaker makes ten-cent social commentary about concentration camps and unisex bathrooms in between “Let it Be” and “We’re Not Gonna Take It”. I drive the speed limit, and I use my blinker like a responsible motorist.
In the parking lot a sunburned tweeker in his late teens offers to wash my windows for a quarter. His washcloth is dirty, and his shoes are ripped. I hand him four bucks and tell him my windows are fine, but he looks dehydrated and should get inside for at least little while.
A discount rack in the men’s clothing aisle contains red hats with the president’s name on them. The florescent lighting leads to screeching migraines and plus-sized women walk kids on leashes.
Before I can obtain any of those coveted bulletproof backpacks for my children to wear to school, a white man, wearing black boots, a camouflage shirt, and one of those red hats on his bald head walks through the front door and shoots the elderly greeter in his wrinkled face.
That proud American makes his way through that capitalist’s wet dream of an establishment shooting everybody moving. He shoots me right in the dick and he laughs about it. Nihilistic millennials live stream the massacre on Facebook; #massmurder #howoriginal. A fifty-two-year-old democrat hides in the dairy cooler and tweets about how if this coward wanted a machinegun, he should have joined the police force, or the military. I agree.
If he wanted to kill people with an assault rifle, he should have done what every other white-trash-nationalist with a micropenis does, and became a cop, or enlisted in the army. What a fucked-up time to be alive, when the murdering of innocent people just going about their business is no longer restricted to the cops shooting an unarmed black teenager in the back fifty-five times for pulling a cell phone out of his pocket; or to an American soldier invading a country on the other side of the planet and mowing down brown folks for their oil.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a perfect person. I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life; but I tried my best, and I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve to get shot in the dick at a Walmart.