EXCERPT: "Memoirs of An Extraterrestrial, the Negro Conundrum"

Chapter 5

 Return to the back of the bus 

Fairmount West Virginia - May 1983

Having entered the bus, what I saw made me think the whole idea was a big mistake. Sitting towards the rear, which was converted into a nice comfy living area with tables and a kitchen, were four huge men.

Two were clearly of eastern European heritage, regular behemoths they were, and the other two were definitely blond haired Aryan warriors, which was shocking considering the average looking crowd just outside the bus. But these were young guys, late twenties early thirties, and I could sense they were all cock-sure and full of themselves. The four of them continued staring as if I had lost my ever-loving mind, and for a moment, I couldn’t have agreed with them more.

Dressed in an assortment of overalls, fatigues, blue jeans, and wife-beater T-shirts, it was like stepping into a scene from the 1953 movie called, The Wild One. No one made an attempt to move, but I recognized Paula’s brother instantly, because of jaw line and shape of the nose they shared. Stopping to within a few feet of the table, with the six-pack of beers outstretched, I said…

“You boys look thirsty, have a beer. Mind if I sit?”

They looked at each other with expressions that can only be described as amazement, then back at me.

“Go right ahead,” replied the one I had assumed was John.

I handed out the beers, pausing to look each man in his eyes with kindness, before sitting down.

“So… people call me H, and I hear you boys don’t like Niggers?” I said laughing. “Well gaddamn-it, I can’t stand them either!”

With that, all four men looked at each other again and then burst into uproarious laughter, with Paula’s brother laughing the hardest. He was the first to hold out his hand to shake mine.

“I’m John, this is my buddy Eddie, that’s Louie, and the big guy is Benjamin.”

John had blond hair and chiseled features, the picture of Aryan perfection (Berliner… no wonder) I thought. (They must worship this guy). Eddie was a stout, dark fellow with a square jaw, typical of northern Europeans. He also had sneaky, shifty eyes like a thief and a physiognomy to match. Louie, had the eyes and mouth of a straight up killer; cold, blank and crooked, with pencil thin lips and a face so tight I though his skin would crack. A long horizontal scar on his forehead accentuated his imposing presence.

Benjamin was the biggest of them all — built like a storm trooper, with tattoos that began at the wrist and disappeared under the short-sleeve shirt he wore. He was definitely of German decent — square-jawed, serious eyes, haughty, but with jet-black hair, fair skin, and deep-set blue eyes.

“So what don’t you like about Niggers?” Benjamin asked, still laughing to himself.

“Well, a Nigger by definition is a shiftless, lazy, dirty creature that lives in ignorance, squalor and shame. I can’t stand people like that. What kind of Niggers don’t you like?”

They were momentarily confused. Finally, Eddie stepped up to the plate.

“I hate Niggers that don’t know how to keep with their own kind,” he said, sneering at me, “and then start going round sniffing up on white woman,” he continued, with a degree of seriousness that made me think he’s joking. But as soon as I realized just how serious he was, it was quite disturbing.

“I hate Niggers that whine about affirmative action, while taking jobs away from deserving white folks!” John said.

“You look at the TV and you see all them dirty, lazy-assed Niggers living in fucking dirty cities,” Louie began, “and they be a-having one goddamn baby after anotha! Where the hell you think they get the money for all them welfare checks? Out of my goddamn pockets to pay for some lazy-assed nigger’s kids!”

“That’s right, I’m sick of my tax money going to take care of some kid that ain’t mine, and I don’t give a shit about,” cried Eddie.

“Yeah, all they care about is selling drugs, getting high, and breeding like fucking monkeys!” said Benjamin, studying my expression to see if their comments had hit a nerve.

“Fifty years from now the White race will be extinct!” John said.

“You got that right! But long before that happens, there’s going to be a race war in this country,” Louie proclaimed.

“A race war between whom?” I asked.

“Between the Niggers and the Whites, who else?” he insisted.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Then you don’t know much about Niggers do you? Niggers have more important vermin to kill than whites people my friend — and that’s each other! Please… you guys are pussies compared to the violence Niggers are going to unleash upon themselves over the next twenty to thirty years. All you gotta do is sit back and enjoy the show.”

They were stunned to silence. So I continued. “If you boys really want to get ‘em good, then save up all your pennies and move to the cities with the most Niggers, and open a liquor store or a fried chicken joint!”

Slowly, what began as a nervous chuckle turned into raucous laughter!

“Damn. That’s some funny shit,” John heaved, “Open a fucking liquor store!”

“I’d bet you’d make a ton of money operating a liquor store in the ghetto,” Louie said, catching his breath.

“And selling fried chicken,” said Eddie.

“Niggers can’t resist it,” I said. “I loves me some fried chicken! And for that matter, so do ya’ll! Saw a ton of it out there, as well as a couple dozen watermelons. So I heard what you said,” I continued, “and a lot of it seems to focus on losing the purity of the white race through vile displays of the race-mixing a-happening in America today. That, along with Negroes living in squalor having too many babies you’re taking care of with your hard earned money — am I right, or am I wrong?”

“Uh… that about sums it up,” John said, a little stunned.

“Ok, so I want you boys to take a good hard look at me — what color am I?”

“Black,” replied Louie.

“Black, are you color blind? My skin is tan, not black. And how the hell do you think it got this way, genetically?”

“What do you mean?” Asked Louie.

“I am what you call a mulatto. And why am I a mulatto? My mother is white, and my father is a Negro. But it really goes all the way back to your white plantation owners — your great, great, great, great granddaddies, who literally lost their minds over Nigger pussy! Those boys would mate with the prettiest Niggress on the plantation, mixing their DNA together. The resulting breed of children they created, turned out to be gorgeous, half-blood gods and goddesses, that neither wives, daughters, or sons, could keep their greedy paws off of.

Everyone was laughing.

“Can you imagine… a whole plantation filled with Nigga pussy and all they had to do was go pick it, just like the slaves was a-pickin’ da cotton? I’m telling you there was so much fucking going on, that your ancestors completely changed the North American DNA of both Whites and Blacks.”

They were rolling with laughter.

“Uh huh, see… you know what I mean. You boys got that love of the nigga-pussy gene from yo great, great, great, great granddaddies. So here’s the news flash for yah boys: your people started all-this race mixing in America, not the Negro!”

END OF EXCERPT 

Folks, I am probably the only person of color who has literally spoken to dozens of Ku Klux Klan, Aryan Nation, Neo Nazis, and Racist Skinheads, for the purpose of understanding the origins of their individual hatred towards others. So even though my novel is a work of fiction -- well, as they say; the best fiction is dirived from real events. 

But, Memoirs of An Extraterrestrial, the Negro Conundrum, isn't just about race. The main character, Homam is an extraterrestrial searching for answers about HU-man life on planet earth. The reviews on Amazon are excellent! Click the link to see the reviews as well as a synopsis here: