HAPPY HOLIDAYS, EVERYONE!!!
Steve Grogan is an ongoing contributor to Writer to Writers. He has published several short stories on the site, which can be found on the main page under the heading “Steve Grogan’s Fiction.” He has had several poems and short stories published over the years, some of which are available on Amazon. (See the announcement at the end of this post.)
He is the writer and creator of the ongoing, zombie, post-apocalyptic, Romero-meets-Dungeons-and-Dragons webcomic REDemption. Alternatively, Steve describes the comic by saying, “It is to zombie fiction what KILL BILL was to kung fu movies: everything I love about the genre housed under one roof and mixed with my voice.”
October 10, 2008
I woke up to the annoying sound of Rosie O’Donnell’s voice. A bad stand-up comic turned bad talk show host turned bad magazine editor, or whatever the hell her role for that lame periodical was. Also, dare I say it, bad lesbian turned role model.
How could people be fooled by her? This is a woman who would do anything for ratings and/or money. I remember the all-powerful lesbian Rosie used to go on and on about how cute Tom Cruise was. Last I knew, Cruise was a man. So why would she do that? Simple: to win over all the lonely housewives who were home masturbating about Mr. Cruise! Also, let’s not forget that Ms. Lesbian Superstar is a major advocate for heavier gun control laws. Then she turns around and does commercials for Kmart. Aren’t they one of many chains that has a history of selling guns to people they shouldn’t?
Although her voice is barely tolerable, it’s the woman’s hypocrisy that pisses me off. If I were a lesbian, I wouldn’t call her a role model. Why doesn’t anyone else give a shit about how conflicted she is? Maybe it’s because people are afraid what the repercussions would be if they came down on a lesbian, especially in today’s politically correct climate. These days, you don’t need people thinking you discriminate against any minority. If that happens, you have signed your own death warrant. You might as well hop in your coffin because there’s no coming back once people think you are a godforsaken bigot.
I remember one time in high school when one of my classmates (for posterity’s sake, his name was Ronnie) was talking about how none of the comedians on Russell Simmon’s Def Comedy Jam were funny, which was a sentiment I agreed with.
He said, “All they do is curse. They think the swearing itself is funny. Jokes are funny, not swearing!”
Later that same day, two things happened to him: (1) someone spray-painted the word “racist” on his locker, and (2) he got his ass kicked by some black students who said they heard how he’d been making fun of “nigger comedians.” And the real pisser about that? Ronnie was dating a black girl at the time! But that’s the way things were back when I was in high school, and it’s only gotten worse since then. Speak out against someone who is a member of a minority, and it must be because you’re against the entire group, right? Well, that’s what people think. On the other hand, did you ever notice how it’s acceptable to say whatever you want about heterosexual Caucasian males?
Let me write down a tale here that I have never shared with anyone. It took place during my sophomore year at college, and it involved my black roommate Errol.
The first day he came in, I introduced myself and stuck out my hand for him to shake. He was carrying a stereo, and he said, “My hands are kinda full.”
I remember thinking: well, why don’t you put your shit down and shake my hand? While this made our first encounter a little odd, it certainly didn’t prove he hated whitey. No, that came later a few weeks later.
One night, I was in my room studying. Errol came in and walked over to my bed. He stood over me, using his massive height as a tool for intimidation.
“Yo, I got some friends comin’ over to chill, so you got to leave,” he said.
“I’m studying for a test,” I said.
“I said you got to leave,” he repeated.
There was a loud commotion in the hall, and five of his friends came into the room. I think the shortest guy was around 5’10”. None of them looked like guys I’d want to mess with. They came in laughing and joking. When they caught sight of me, their laughter immediately stopped. That was enough to scare the hell out of me, so I got up from my bed and started to pack my backpack. making sure I took my time. They might have been forcing me to leave, but this little cracker was going to delay his departure for the longest amount of time possible. That way I wouldn’t feel like as big of a bitch.
With my bag packed, I went to my closet to put the padlock on my footlocker. That’s when one of Errol’s friends spoke up.
“Yo, man, get the fuck out of the closet!”
I didn’t know which one spoke, so I addressed them all when I said, “I’m just putting the lock on this. Then I’ll be gone.”
A mere two seconds later, a knee slammed into my side and knocked me over. I looked up to see Errol.
“Whatchoo tryin’ to say, white boy? You think us niggas gonna steal yo’ shit while you gone?” he asked.
I stood up and brushed myself off. The only thing visible on Errol’s face was pure hatred. His façade of civility had been completely erased.
“I don’t think I mentioned stealing, but it’s funny that you did,” I said. “That implies you have a guilty conscience.”
“And you gonna have a busted face if you don’t get that fat white ass out of here right now,” Errol said.
All his friends got a good chuckle out of that one.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m leaving now.”
Somehow I managed to get out of there in one piece. My first destination was the Resident Assistant’s office so I could tell them what happened and see about getting a new room. They told me there was a moving freeze at the beginning of each school year, and I couldn’t switch rooms until October 15.
“That’s a month and a half away,” I said. “I don’t want my stuff in the room with him. Where could I store it all?”
“Are you from around here?” the RA asked.
“No, I’m from upstate New York.”
“Well, you could look for storage rental businesses in the phone book. Or see if a friend will keep it in their room for you,” he said.
“And what about me? Where can I sleep?” I asked.
“Again, see if you can stay with a friend,” the RA replied. “Either that, or you may have to start looking for a hotel room.”
“I can’t afford a hotel room for a month and a half!” I exclaimed.
“Write a letter to the school. They’ll probably reimburse you,” he said.
How lovely. Here I was the innocent guy, the one who was not causing trouble, but I was the one that had to jump through all these hoops and be inconvenienced. Not only that, but now I face the daunting task of trying to decide which friend I should ask to take on the burden of holding my belongings and giving me a place to sleep.
Luckily, things did all work out in the end. The first friend I called said staying there wouldn’t be a problem. As for my belongings, whatever couldn’t fit in his room could be stored in his car. I didn’t dare go back to my room that night, so I just crashed at my friend’s place with the intention of cleaning out my room the next day, and that’s just what I did, although I didn’t quite expect to find the scene that was waiting for me. My friend came along to help me move, so I do have a witness that could prove the following statements are true.
My clothes had been dumped out on my bed. The fridge had been raided. I opened the crisper to see if they ate the food out of there, and my nose was assaulted by the most awful stench. It took me a moment to realize one of Errol’s friends had puked in it. On top of all that someone had broken the padlock off my footlocker. Errol and company had rummaged through it, but nothing was missing.
I called the RA’s office to tell them about all the damage. The person who took my call recorded my information with half-hearted interest. In fact, I could have sworn I heard the person snore several times during my report.
I hung up from the monotone RA and commenced with the packing up and moving out process. It took about an hour and a half. We managed to get everything out without seeing Errol at all.
Although I never saw him again, his memory didn’t fade from my mind. I called the RA office to follow up on how they followed up on my complaints.
And you know what kind of punishment that bastard had to face?
They let it fade away, like it never happened, like I never crouched in that closet, quickly packing my backpack with pure, undiluted fear shivering up and down my spine. Who cared if the tall imposing black man had picked on a honky? After all, white people had been the most privileged race for centuries. It’s about time we knew what it’s like to be hated for the color of our skin, right? It’s fair, isn’t it? I mean, who would think we should make people equals by lifting the oppressed ones UP, when it is so much easier to knock the oppressors DOWN?
Some people would say that “discrimination” isn’t an accurate description of what Errol and his friends were guilty of. They say minorities can’t be racist because they don’t have any societal/institutional power. Last I knew, being a racist had nothing to do with the power to pass laws or anything like that. All it meant was that you hated a person just because they weren’t the same race as you. And besides, if the shit Errol’s little troupe pulled wasn’t racist, then what the hell was it?
A lot of people would blame what happened to me on the liberal media. They say shows and movies depict how it’s cool to be black and awful to be white. Personally, I don’t blame media. Whether the “anti-white” message of shows/movies/books is intentional or not, it’s up to the person consuming that form of entertainment to agree or disagree with it. You can’t blame the media for the fact that people are like sheep.
It’s very late. Just thought I would notate here that my dong has decided to remain normal size all day today. That’s a nice change of pace.
If you like what you have read and would like to purchase this serialized novel as one complete PDF, then please send $3.50 to Steve via PayPal: firstname.lastname@example.org
Also, don’t forget to check out his other writing at the following links below:
Author: Redemption Comics
Steve Grogan was born in the often-filmed city of Troy, NY. He has written in a variety of formats (novels, short stories, poems, screen and stage plays, blogs/articles) and genres (horror, science fiction, fantasy, mystery, drama).
Steve is also a father, a boyfriend, a musician, a fitness fanatic, and a martial artist. He has been studying Wing Chun Kung Fu since 1995, and he maintains a blog/YouTube channel that describe his training habits, epiphanies, and advancement. It also candidly discusses his stumbling blocks, such as his struggle with nutrition and mental health issues.
He is no relation to the New England Patriots quarterback from the 1980’s.