The Feet of God

84 - OUR FATHER’S LAND

Tired as tater-water, I burrowed down into the loose hay and wriggled around a bit to let the dried grasses rub against places I couldn’t get at.  Hay makes a great insulation, so I warmed right up, and it didn’t take no time a’tall before I’d fallen into a comfortable deep, deep sleep….

This place was bright with strung lights and carnival music playing all around.  I stood proud with my green scales shining, making Cathy and Patti Kennedy smile up at me with both heads.  I put my hands on my hips and flexed my muscles like the resident strongman, and I smiled back at them.  I was feeling the power of my lizardness.  I reached out and caressed the two sisters in my arms and teased, “Which one of you two do I get to love first?”

“Me, me, me,” Patti’s lips pouted.

“Oh, please take me,” Cathy begged.

I half-closed my eyes and parted my lips to plant a succulent smacker on Cathy when out of my mouth darted a long, pink, gooey piece of flesh that flicked a fly off Patti’s ear.  That shocked me as much as anyone else.  We all screamed.  Now I begun to shrink in size, and the next thing I knew, I grew four stubby little legs and shuffled under a pile of hay.  Then I heard a male voice, “What was that?  Did you hear that?”

Suddenly my eyes opened.  I had the realization that someone’d actually said, “What was that?  Did you hear that?”

Wide awake now, I laid low and real quiet.

A second male voice said, “All I hear is that damned music they play all goddamned night long.  I hate these freak fuckers.”

Very slowly I raised my head up to take a peek over the wall of my hay fortification.  I spotted three men who I recognized as circus roustabouts, standing by the open doors of the semi.

The tallest and skinniest of the three spoke, “You know like I know this country’s been hijacked by socialists, libruls, job-stealing wetbacks, gay child fornicators, atheists, and the leftist-Marxist media.”

One of the others joined in, “Yeah, yeah, that’s the truth!  We’re in the shitcan when red-blooded white citizens can’t get a decent job and live in our own free country.  Hell, no wonder they wanna confiscate our guns.  But we won’t let ‘em.  Armed patriots will rise up and reclaim this land of ours before it’s too late.  I learned all this at my daddy’s knee when I wasn’t bent over it with my britches down.”

“Well, there’s no turning back now.  We are being overrun by swarms of illegal immigrants.  And correct me if I’m wrong, but illegal means by definition it’s against the law.  Right?”

“Amen to that,” one of the men said.

“You said it,” another one agreed.

The taller one continued, “But the moneychangers in the temple and their guvment whores wanna lay down a big fat welcome mat for Pedro and Martina and their sixteen little brown ones.”

I heard a chorus of boos.

“That’s right.  Then they birth a seventeenth brown one here in the United States of America and they think they earned themselves a one-way ticket to paradise, using up social services paid for by us real Americans I might add.”

One of the men asked, “What do we do?”

“We fight back.”

“Fuck yeah.  How?”

The taller man said, “My cousin’s got a compooter and he’s gone on the innernet and he found a recipe for making bombs.  No joke, he said it was a piece of pie, easy as cake.  And he told me we didn’t have to learn A-rab to make it.”

There was a murmur.  “You wanna go bomb some A-rabs?  In A-Rabia?  I thought the gumment was already doin’ that ‘cause of their hatin’ on our freedoms?”

“I ain’t got no problem with it,” the other dude said.  “They blow up guys that’s supposed to be fighting on our side, and hell, they’ll blow up anybody just fer bein’ around.”

“No, no, no,” the tall one raised his hands in irritation.  “We ain’t gonna blow up some A-rab foreigners.  We’re gonna drive this truck to Florida, see, and blow up some Jews and gays and Cubans.”

“Sounds like good target practice to me.”

“Let’s blast ‘em to bits with some home-cooked bombs, see, and blame it on the Mooslim terrorists.  Everyone’ll start jumping up and down like chickens with their heads cut off, and we get some upright Christian white guys to step in and take over, like it’s supposed to be.  And then we might have to make a few executive decisions about rounding up and detaining all those illegal aliens, immoral perverts and other pond scum tryin’ to stick it to this nation.  And then….”

“But, how do we make bombs?  Is it hard?”

“Got it all figured out and written down, don’t worry.  All we gotta do is mix nitrates, see, like in fertilizer, and some store-bought stuff we can get real easy over the counter, and that’s it.  You got yourself the makings of a high-yield improvised explosive device.  But the FBI’s got agents keepin’ a close eye on who’s buyin’ all that shit and where it goes, so I hatched us a plan.”

“What’s that?”

“Chicken shit.”

“Chicken shit?  Are you crazy?”

“Nope.  Serious as a heart attack.  We can steal a truck from this clown show and head on down to Florida, stopping at every family farm we pass along the way offerin’ to clean out all the bird crap in their hen houses and chicken coops for free.  Nobody will suspect us, see, and if anything, we’ll just be leaving some grateful farmers behind.  By the time we hit Florida…blammo!  We’ll have enough fertilizer to blow that fucker halfway to Kingdom Come.”

“Wow, I never knew you could make chicken shit bombs.”

“They’re not just chicken shit bombs,” the tall guy sounded a little agitated.  “They’re Freedom Bombs.  Biiiiiggg difference.”