The Little Brown Ones

Back in 1988 the Philip K. Dick simulacrum “Ronald Reagan” got off a plane, and, there on the tarmac, the simulacrum’s “vice-president,” George I, introduced the simulacrum to some of his alarming number of grandchildren, distinguishing this particular batch by identifying them as “the little brown ones.”

These grandchildren were brown because one of reagan and son George I’s sons, George III, had unaccountably run amok, and married a brown woman. Who proceeded to pump out children of a color heretofore considered Not Acceptable in Kennebunkport and the other blindingly white enclaves in which the George people had traditionally congregated and frolicked.

The Reagan simulacrum, he was so appalled that George I’s pure-white blood had mixed with that of the duskier races, that he, then and there, decreed that George I should succeed him for but one term. After which time a crazed wild Arkansas foam-head Clenis, that all its life had ceaselessly sprayed sperm all across the land, would serve in George II’s stead, wandering wildly about the White House, spurting semen all over all and every, except onto and into his wife, because, she, yea verily, was allergic to the stuff. All because. George I. One of his sons. Had gone brown.

How my sho nuff god almighty times they have since surely changed.

For George III, he pretty much kicked off this 2016 presidential campaign-season by admitting he had once upon a time identified hisself as Hispanic. Though all for decades believed his nickname was “Jeb,” actually, we learned, it was all along “Heb.” Though his skin is so friggin’ white that when sun reflects off it, it blinds those directly gazing into the glare, we were told that Heb was in truth brown as fresh dirt, and so everyone who be in any way a blood-Hispanic, should vote for him at once, and forever.

Immediately, all the other candidates for president in melting, melting2016, they trampled one another, to, too, declare their total and unassailable browness.

Because, apparently, in 2016, brown is the color to best be.

First, Ted Cruz, an insane man whose face is forever melting, like a bit player’s in The Devil’s Rain, announced he would be the next president, as he was brown, because his father was an embarrassing Cuban splat of chickenshit who ran off like a squealing coward when Real Brown People kicked the gringos’ asses off the island of Cuba in 1959. Said father then moved to Canada, where he dribbled into some woman some weak sperm that eventually became the mewling crawling creature known as Ted.

Then Marco Rubio—whose real name is Nebby Meeko—descendant of another strain of chickenshit bawlers who ran off like cowards from Cuba, said he was more browner than Cruz, and should therefore be better as president, because he would maybe allow a couple hundred thousand or so of the 12 or 15 million brown people currently in the country Hiding every day from the INS, to, Maybe, come Out from Underground, to work, so long as they worked as glorified Negroes, for save meRich People, for, oh, 600 years or so, at which time they will then get a citizenship Paper.

The batshit insane “When Can I Start The Nuclear War?” harridan Clinton II meanwhile rolled into the presidential plaza at the head of a column of tanks, bellowing that she was brown as god and that her name had always been “Hidalgo” Clinton, and all those who said otherwise would immediately be taken into custody by uberfuhrer David Brock, who would rip out their spines and throw them into a Hole.

At the same time, Ayn Rand Paul flapped in, foaming that Proof he had always been Totally Brown was contained in the legendary video of his father (seen below), in which the crazed crackpot mouths “the hardest part is to shoot Ramon,” which Ayn Rand Paul asserted meant that, when dad would set about genociding all those Not LIke Him, he would leave the Brown People for last.

The sudden Browness of the 2016 campaign caused both Mike Huckabee, and Carly Fiorina, who had previously planned to announce their presidential disabilities about now, to shove said announcements off till early May, so that both and each could enter those clinics where Keith Richards used to get his blood transplants, when he was a junkie; Fiorina and Huckabee, determined to have brown blood run into their veins, so that they can emerge as “Miguel” and “Carlota,” respectively, and claim they have always been brown as the day is long, and Forever.

All of these people are Wrong, and should go into a Home. None of them will be president. We should pay no attention to them. They are not Real. They have a Problem in their Brains. They need to be in a Clinic. We can safely and comfortably go about our lives. For, they won’t get us. None of them. Somebody, else, they may Try. To Get Us. But, of those who might Get Us, it won’t be any of these current, fake, brown people. All of them, they are Over. Buried. Beneath the good brown earth.

All the white people are over. It’s a good thing. No blood will be shed. All of all of us. We will just go. Into the great wide open.


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When I Worked

April 2015
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