Celebrating Kwanzaa at Christmas in Mitchieville
Yee Haw, it is Boxing Day … the best day to take the nephews out shopping. I am out with my brother’s sons Gluten and Spud to spend a day bonding. Like most white people, our fun making culture celebrates making fun of cripples in public places, like fast food joints and shopping malls. But political correctness raises its ugly head: cripples are now to be called gimps, ‘tards, and mutants. Ah So. So join me, Fenris Badwulf, and my nephews, Gluten Badwulf and Spud Badwulf, as we make a trip to the shopping malls this Boxing Day, to shop, eat, and have fun.
It was the artistic revolution that was Piss Christ that raised my awareness of how much fun it was to make fun of cripples. My Mom, my parents would have disapproved of Piss Christ, much as they would have disapproved of making fun of cripples. But my parents are racist white right wing baddies. All their moral judgements are suspect. Question Authority, eh what? And besides, the nephews have had a snoot full of sensitivity training in their public education. They can do no wrong. We were having a vegan burger and alfalfa shakes when the gimp waddled into the fast food joint with his caregiver, his mother.
The gimp made funny sounds when eating. The gimp slopped food all over the table. It was performance art worthy of Mozart. Young Gluten is a member of the Ventriloquism Club at his High School (he wanted to get into the Mathematics Club, but there were only spots for Lesbian Aboriginals) and has made a study of the art, the art of ventriloquism. His claim to fame are the race riots he starts on public transit whenever he comes to visit his Uncle Fenris here in Toronto, the City of Light. Boy, is consciousness raising ever fun. The N-people will chimp out with the mere mention of a cotton plantation, urine on their shoes, or that magical N-word. Anyway, we were in this fast food joint, being Piss Christ politically correct with a gimp a few seats over. His mother left him unattended. Fun began. Some lady thought the gimp was talking, making suggestions, to her. She left.
I think the lady who left thought the gimp had Tourette’s syndrome. Maybe she was considering the offer of fetish sex. But there were too many details to be believable coming from a drooling ‘tard. She stopped by the service counter to complain, but complaining about someone with Tourette’s syndrome is racism, so they did nothing. Maybe they thought she was just another white racist woman. The serving counter girl, a Mulatto as they would say in that novel Mandingo, mouthed the word bitch as the lady left, behind her back. Me, I laughed.
Not to be outdone, young Spud had brought some fish line and managed to trip some young baby daddy taking out his baby momma for some burger. Baby with Baby Momma was probably the spawn of young baby daddy. Always nice to see your biological father on Boxing Day. If it was not for your biological father, how could your baby momma collect her momma checks for eighteen years for your baby self? Then, young baby daddy tripped on the trip wire. Young baby daddy lost a tooth on the table which broke his fall. He became angry. Did he not learn in his anger management course that violence is never an answer? The trip wire lead back to the gimp’s hand. There was more anger. It sounded like the gimp called him a stupid oaf. Gluten and Spud, what a team.
The fast food team retreated into their safe room, leaving the patrons to settle the altercation using the law of the jungle. So much for the law of toyland. The gimp’s mother came out of the washroom, finally. She saved her ‘tard from the rain of blows being delivered by the baby daddy. He was mainly hitting the ‘tard’s chair, anyway. Good thing she did not have a gun; instead, she gave the young baby daddy a concussion through the means of a blunt force trauma injury to the side of the head. Firing a warning shot with a pistol would have just been more ammunition in the cause of banning automatic clip fed weapons. The baby momma got involved then. They, mother of ‘tard and the baby momma started arguing. Baby daddy did some serious bleeding; and the ‘tard did some serious groaning and spraying of drool.
Nothing really happened for a good long time. Gluten yawned. Spud finished his onion rings. We left. The police still had not arrived.
As we walked through the mall, where the milling shoppers were gossiping about ‘the fight in the burger joint’, I took the opportunity to spread rumors. Gluten and Spud are always impressed when Uncle Fenris uses his stage hypnosis skills. Gluten put words in people’s mouths and I incited panic, hysteria, and chaos. It was fun. I was doing the job of the main stream media. Maybe the main stream media could do a better job of story telling if they studied stage hypnosis.
When we got home, we had soup and sandwiches.
I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this. I care.