The Legend of Balinese DonMu – Book One (Part I of III) – Chapter 14

“... ok cool. But I will concede that a lot of people do use good causes for their own personal gain which can oftentimes give the whole movement a bad look. And that’s exactly what this girl has done. She’s sued every single company she’s ever worked for for racial discrimination and sexual harassment when I know for a fact that wasn’t the case. And that’s why I want to bring her into your ruse. To see justice done. Or karma. And make her see the other side of things and walk a mile in those shoes. And stop giving good people – and good causes – such a bad look.”

I squinted my eyes at her.

“So who is she Lakeisha? And is she here in Bali?”
“Yeah, she’s here. Down in Canggu. And she doesn’t know me so it’s perfect. And her name is ... well she’s a rapper now ... so her ‘stage name’ is ...”

“What stage name?” Wing interrupted.
Lakeisha hesitated. Trying to figure out how to answer that for him. “Well, you know how a lot of rappers change their names into – ‘stage names’ – to create different personas for themselves? Like Lil’ Kim, Megan Thee Stallion, Doja Cat, BootyChaaain, Gangsta Boo, Lil Mama, Junglepussy, Lil Kimchii. Well ... I’m actually kinda embarrassed to say this, but this girl’s name is Lil’ Shmoogy.”

“Lil’ Shmoogy?” I said. “That sounds kinda racist?”

“Yeah, no shit.” She answered. “But technically the way she spells it isn’t racist. It’s just close to an old racist word. And apparently she didn’t know it at the time and when she found out about it, or someone told her, it was too late. She had already amassed a bunch of followers and had her brand established and didn’t want to change it.”

I sat there puzzled.
“Wow. So she chose social-media followers and brand recognition over propagating racism?” Olof spit out his drink.

“Yeah.” Lakeisha said. “I know. But again, technically the way she spells it isn’t racist. The word’s not in Webster’s but Urban Dictionary defines it as ... ‘a short, cuddly person who smells nice’ ... and I think one of her boyfriends used to call her his ‘Lil’ Shmoogy’, so I think that’s how it all started.”

Wing then opened his laptop and started a search. Pecking away at his keyboard. Scrolling through some web pages.

“Yup. Here it is.” He said staring at the screen. “Urban Dictionary says... ‘a small cuddly person, typically very lovable and nice smelling.’”

Lakeisha then turned to him. “Now spell it with a ‘w’ after the ‘Sh’”. He resumed typing away. Clicking his little fingers. Mouth somewhat puckered. Then stopped. And his eyes got wide. “Oooohhh, yeah ... now it racist.”

“Yup.” She said shaking her head.

I thought about that. Wondering about it all. And how it actually went for Lil’ Shmoogy. And wanted to be fair about it and walk a mile in her shoes like I did with Karen and the others. And look at things from her perspective. Because I really did like a lot of those rapper names. They were pretty awesome. And apparently she was called that name lovingly by her boyfriend, which

made total sense for her to want to use it for her stage name. And then a year later, or whatever it was, someone came up to her and told her it was racist. I mean that’s got to be a tough situation to find yourself in. When everything’s going great, you’re amassing a bunch of followers on Instagram, YouTube and TikTok, building your brand, getting name recognition, then all of a sudden someone comes up to you and says ...

The Legend of Balinese DonMu – Book One (Part I of III) – Chapter 11

“... but they’re both such sweethearts. And really helped me out a lot when I first got here. Olof’s been like a big brother to me always looking out for me and protecting me. And the Lil’ Winger’s just my really good friend. Who also looks out for me and protects me. I mean when I first got here I was pretty messed up. I still had lingering issues from all the drugs and hormones they put into my body.”

“Huh?” I said looking at them rather confused. Staring at them with my head half-cocked to the side and face all scrunched up.

LC now looked at me with a new expression on their face. One that was a bit more reflective and revealing. Appearing to be a bit more serious now.

“My family was really poor growing up in northern Thailand and my father sold me into sex slavery when I was 14yrs old ... Holy crap! ... and I was taken down to Bangkok in a van for breast augmentation surgery, hormone treatments, puberty blockers and all that other stuff to become a Ladyboy.”

Oh my frickin’ God. My jaw went to the floor. I didn’t know what to say. Jesus H. Christ. How do you respond to something like that?

“Oh my God, that’s frickin’ horrible!” I said with my eyes wide open. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. Jesus H. Christ. Who the hell would do that to their own child?”

“Yeah, thanks.” She answered. “For saying that. But it’s ok ... I mean ... it was pretty rough at first, but I’m actually a lot better now ... I’ve actually had some great support around here so that’s been a huge help.”

I just sat there dumbfounded. Shocked. Horrified to hear that. I mean I knew sex-trafficking and sex-slavery existed in the world – unfortunately in many, many places – as I’d certainly heard quite a few stories about it. But this was probably the worst one I’d ever heard. Where they would literally buy-up young boys from poor farming villages in northern Thailand and then take them down to Bangkok to turn into Ladyboys. It’s literally the worst thing I’ve ever heard before in my life. And couldn’t even imagine having to go through something like that myself. And tried to put myself in LC’s shoes. To see their side of things. And their perspective. Of being a poor little boy out there in the rural parts of Thailand. Out in the farms and fields. Playing around with my friends. Having a good time. Then all of a sudden one of your friends looks up and out in the distance, gives off a puzzled expression, and says, “Dude, what’s that?”

And you look out there too.
“What’s what?”
“Is that your Dad down there talking to the weird guy in the panel van and holding a bunch of cash?”

And you squint down there harder. “Yeeaaaah.” Getting a bit confused.
“Ooooohhhh shit, dude ... Ooohhhh shit!”
And your eyes widen. “Oh shit, what? What do you mean oh shit?!”
“Oh dude, you’re fucked!!!”
“Huh?! What are you talking about?!”

“Oh dude, you’re fucked. You are so fucked. And now your dad is pointing up here at you. Oh shit, you’re so fucked dude!!”

And you look at him even more bewildered and nervous now.
“What do you mean I’m so fucked?!”
“That’s the Tran-Van!”
“The what?!”

“The Tran-Van from Bangkok. The van that drives all around northern Thailand buying up little boys and taking them down to Bangkok to turn into Ladyboys. Your dad just sold you to the trannie factory dude! He just totally fucked you. Your dad just totally fucked you! Now they’re going to inject you with hormones, slap some fake tits on you, and let old white men bang you for money!”

Now your eyes get really wide. “Wait, whaaaattt?!?!” Getting completely panicked. “I don’t want old white men to bang me for money!”

“Yeah, no shit dude! And you probably won’t even get a cut of that either ... not to mention you’re not even gay!”

Now your eyes get completely wide.
“Oh, Dude!! RUN!! RUN!!!!”
That stuff really happens. And it’s barbaric.
Thankfully there are many great organizations in Thailand you can donate to that are really doing a tremendous job of helping curb this criminal and horrific problem. Such as the Hands of Hope Foundation, the HUG Project, and Destiny Rescue. (hohfoundation.org, hugproject.org, destinyrescue.org). Where every single dollar really does help and does make a difference. And might just help balance out any horrible karma you might have. Who knows?

I couldn’t really argue with that. And there was no way I was going to. She might just Iron Claw me. So I just smiled and agreed with her. For some reason she liked me – kind of like Olof – and I wanted to keep it that way. Plus she didn’t seem like the type of person you’d want to get on your bad side. And truth be told, I really did think she cared for her girls there – and those close to her – no matter how she showed it.

I continued to sit there on my lounge chair as Olof told me more about Mama’san. Her backstory. Who she was. What she did. Why she did it. With me getting the sense that he might not have even known the whole story himself. And might have gotten bits and pieces from here and there. Possibly from the girls working there. Possibly from other sources as well. As it still seemed somewhat vague and mysterious. When all of a sudden. As if perfectly on cue. The set of giant double doors came bursting open. With a thunderous roar.

And there she was ...
Mama’san.
“Oloooffff!!” She roared out. Sending the Babybugs flying all over the place and knocking Olof off his pizza-slice pool floatie as she just stood there flanked on either side of her by the same two twin-Trainee girls from before. Looking like exact miniature clones of hers. Only in white medical lab coats.
“Where my moneeeyyy?!!”

The cry almost knocked me off my lounge chair as well. It was that alarming. As I quickly placed my hand on the ground to brace my fall, then glanced back up to catch my first glimpse of this puzzling North Korean matriarchal figure.

And the sight alone was rather impressive.
Mama’san looked like a North Korean Hugh Hefner. Only much angrier. With all the robes and scarves that ‘Ol Hugh used to wear but in all black, with pink cherry-blossom inlays running down the sides and sleeves. And not even close to as warm and smiling as ‘ol Hef used to be. She was angrier. Gruffer. More inconvenienced. Yet surprisingly regal. Like she was always posing for great portrait. Stoic and determined. Stern and watchful.

Olof quickly bolted back-up out of the water trying to catch his breath.
The Babybugs were long gone.
“Jesus Mama’san.” He said coughing up some pool water. “You gotta stop doing that. I mean every single time ...”

She just stood there. Surveying the scene. Hands on her hips. Defiantly. Like an angry Geisha. Or an old North Korean gunslinger.
Somewhat short and squat, she was maybe about 5’ 6”, but rock solid. With oversized glasses on her face and hair up in a bun. And two iron chopsticks running through the back of it. Giving her an incredibly bold and stately look. Tough but fair. With her two little twin-Trainees flanked on either side of her. Hands also on their hips. Boldly surveying the scene as well. Matching her every mood and demeanor.
She then let out a low-guttural squawking sound that didn’t make any sense to me now. But later would.
It was her signature call.
“Mmmmmwuuaaack!!”
It was the sound I imagined an angry parrot would make. An angry North Korean parrot. That she used to communicate with her two Trainee baby parrots and the other Babybugs, Ladybugs and Ladyboys around the Mansion. A combination of Mmmmm’s and squawks, with various- length grunts. It was a strange sound but for some reason made sense coming from her.

Olof finally climbed back onto his pizza-slice pool-floatie and looked back over at her almost exasperated. “Jesus, Mama’san. I already did pay you.”
“You pay last month! You no pay this month!” She loudly squawked back.
He groaned. “What you talking about. I pay you every month. You have my credit card on file here. All you have to do is charge it.”
She paused. And considered that. Then grunted again – or squawked – it was hard to tell with her. It was just a prolonged ... Mmmmmm ... sound she made while thinking things over.
“That thing broken! Wing-Wang no fix yet!”

Something then caught my eye and I glanced over and noticed a small figure lurking, or hiding, behind a giant potted plant. With his eyes darting furtively about. He looked like a little 12yr old Chinese boy. And I assumed it must be Wing.
He then looked at me and put his finger to his lips. Instructing me not to alert Mama’san or anyone else there to his presence. So I squinted my eyes back at him and nodded my head along in agreement.
Olof then replied back to her. “It’s not broken. You just no know how to use it.”
She contemplated that. And gave off another low ‘Mmmmm ...’ sound. And her two little baby parrots, or Trainees, looked up at her – as if for instruction – then looked back at Olof and gave off similar low ‘Mmmmmm ...’ sounds too.
She then noticed me. And her face queried up.
“Who you?!” She demanded.
I froze.
She had a formidable presence Mama’san did. Intimidating. Frightening. I was now incredibly nervous. And didn’t know quite what to say.
Thankfully though, Olof intervened.
“Mama’san, this is Jeff. He is here to talk some business with me.”
Phew.
She continued to stare at me. Giving off a curious yet puzzled look. Eyeing me up and down. Trying to make sense of it all. Then a very strange thing happened. One that I did not expect at all. Her voice and demeanor all of a sudden changed. A hundred times for the better.

“Oh, Mr. Jeeeeeffff.” She now purred. Drawing her words out all erotic and sweet. “How are yooouuuu?” Beginning to move her body around like a dance. A seductive North Korean dance. “You so handsome ... with big muscles.” Saying very flirtingly.
She was no longer angry. She was now sexual and provocative. Sensual and charming. Presumably trying to seduce me. Since I assumed the art of seduction was probably deep in her North Korean bones.
I just smiled back at her. Almost blushing. “Oh, hello Mama’san. It’s so very nice to meet you. I really love your place here. It’s so beautiful.”
“Ohhhh ... thank you Mr. Jeff. You soooo poliiiite.” She drew out longingly while totally big- eyeing me. “You want massaaaaaage Mr. Jeff? We have many massages here. With both Mudbugs and Ladybugs. But Ladybugs much better.”
I blushed again. “Oh, no thank you Mama’san. I really appreciate the offer but I’m all good. I just need to speak with Olof real quick and then get back to my villa.”
She now stopped and scrunched her face up. Looking confused. Almost sad. “But why no massaaaaage?” Now disappointed with a little frown on her face. “What wrong? We have many massages here. Single lava flow massage, double volcano massage, and triple Mudbug Firestorm massage. Which one you want?”

Triple Mudbug Firestorm massage? Hmmmm ... that did sound kinda interesting.
Then thought about Indah, and the ruse, and the work I had to do here. And tried to figure out the best thing I could say without upsetting her. Since she did seem pretty intent on me getting some kind of massage. And I certainly didn’t want to upset her. So this was a tough one. And figured maybe I could just tell her I was gay? Maybe that would work? So decided to give it a shot.

“Oh, thank you Mama’san, but to be honest,” I then lowered my voice so Olof wouldn’t hear me. “I'm kind of gay.”

“You gay?!!” She cried out. While Olof turned his head.
Well, there goes that plan.
“That ok, Mr. Jeff.” She said very calmly and sweetly now. “We have many gay men come here. Mama’san no discriminate. You want Ladyboy instead?”
Oh boy, I didn’t really expect that one either. And now found myself in quite the awkward predicament, as I was digging quite the hole for myself, and realized she might actually be kind of upset with me for finding out that I just lied to her. Dammit, this was another tough one. So figured the best thing I could do would be to just come right out with it and tell her the truth. So took a deep breath.
“Oh Mama’san. No thank you. The fact is ... you kind of just caught me. Now I feel bad and embarrassed to say this to you, but I kinda just lied. I’m not really gay. I just said that because I didn’t want to offend you, or hurt your feelings, since I really respect you and your place here. But honestly, I’m just really tired from a long flight and need to speak with Olof real quick and then get back to my villa to get some sleep. So I apologize if I lied to you, or insulted you, I’m just not good at telling people no, it just makes me feel bad.”
She now looked at me like she’d never heard anything like that before. A level of politeness she probably wasn’t used to back in North Korea.
“Oh, Mr. Jeeeefffff.” She said now rather surprised while taking a step back. “You so poliiiiite.” Eyeing me alluringly. “Mama’san like that.”

Then turned back to Olof and her tone changed back to gruff again.
“Olof!!” She barked. Then quieted down. She had an interesting way of switching from angry to sweet.
“You seeeee thaaaat, Olof?” Now sounding all sweet again. Like a purring cat. “You see how polite and respectful Mr. Jeff is? You need to learn from him. All you do is lie around my pool all day drinking beer with Wing-Wang, harassing my girls and keep them from making money. And not even pay bill on time. Make me come find you. And cause me big trouble.”
Olof just shook his head. Probably having this conversation with her many times before.
“Jesus, Mama’san. I pay my bill on time every month. You have my credit card on file here, you just don’t know how to use it. Plus I probably pay your girls more than anybody else in the entire world.”
“Mmmmmm ...” She grunted. Or groaned. Seemingly contemplating that piece of information. “That machine no work. Always broken.” Then began scanning around the pool area again looking for Wing, when her voice all of a sudden changed back to very loud.
“Where Wing-Wang!!”
“Stop yelling.” Olof pleaded. “I don’t know. Why do you want him?”
“He pervert ... must get clean.”
What the hell?! I thought. Then quickly glanced back over to the potted plant where Wing was hiding behind and noticed him also shaking his head like he’d probably also heard that from

her many times before. And I imagined her like a momma cat following him around trying to clean him. Cause he pervert.
Mama’san then continued.
“Wing-Wang always hide. But unlike you he pay bill on time. Probably so I don’t find him. But I still find him. Cause he need me. He need Mama’san. He not raised right. Own mother no do good job. He very confused. Mudbugs tell me stories. Need Mama’san to set him straight. Young boys need good mother to raise right. Not make pervert.”
Hmmmm ... she did have a point.
“You pervert too Olof. But too late help you. Wing-Wang still young. And learning.”
Olof rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. He around here somewhere. Don’t ask me.”
She let out another low-rumbling ‘Mmmmmm ...’ sound. Looking around the grotto area for Wing. While her two little Trainees also let off low-rumbling ‘Mmmmmm ...’ sounds. Looking around for him too.
“I come back later. Find him.”
“Oookaay?” He replied ... like whatever?
It seemed to be an interesting dynamic between the three of them. One in which I had to promise myself to find out more about later. Like how they all met, what happens when Mama’san gets ahold of Wing, what goes on in the back rooms of the place, and any other fun stories they could share with me. They were probably pretty awesome.
Mama’san then squawked something to her two little twin baby parrots, who squawked something back, and they were off. Back through the set of giant double doors to go do God- only-knows-what in there.
Wing then poked his head out from behind the potted plant.
“Geez. She never leave.”

The Legend of Balinese DonMu – Book One (Part II of III) – Chapter 21

Mama’san looked very regal standing there. Arms crossed. Staring out at all the workers. Impressed. Nodding her head up and down. With her two little twin Trainees flanked on either side of her nodding their heads up and down too. With the Ladybugs, Babybugs, and Ladyboys all standing quietly behind them at a respectful distance. Solemn and deferent.
Olof then whistled and Mama’san looked up on the verandah, tilted her head back, gave off a nod of recognition, and then began marching her way onto the little dirt path over towards the west-side of the matching 10’ marble staircases, up the stairs, and out onto the verandah with her accompanying entourage of Ladybugs, Babybugs, and Ladyboys all following several paces behind her.

She marched over to the edge of the marble balustrade/railing – about 40’ away from us – and looked out onto the rice fields. At all the workers setting things up down there. Then looked over to the eastern side of the rice fields. Where the other industries were. And gave off an impressed ‘Mmmmmm’ ... sound. While her little twin baby parrots looked up at her, then back out at the industries, and gave off similarly impressed ‘Mmmmmm’ ... sounds too.
The four of us just stood there watching all this until she finally turned back around and locked her eyes on Olof first.
“Olof!” She barked.
He stopped. And paused. And considered what to say.
“Yes ... Hello ... What’s up ... How are you?”
She just continued to stare at him. Then finally, “Mmmmmm ...” was all she said. With her two little twin Trainees giving off similar sounding “Mmmmmm’s ... too.”
She then noticed me. And her mood and voice changed back to the sweet and sensual one I remembered from the Mansion.

“Ooohhhh, Mr. Jeff.” She said with her eyes now widening and voice purring softly. “So good see you again. So handsome. Big muscles.”
Lakeisha then turned to me with an incredibly odd expression on her face. But I was too busy blushing and almost curtsying. I mean she really did know how to make a guy feel special.
“Hello Mama’san.” I answered back. “Thank you so much for coming up here and all you have done for us. We are so very grateful to you.”
She gave me another sweet and seductive look. “Yeesssss, of course, Mr. Jeff. For you anything.” And I think she might have even winked at me behind her oversized dark-lensed glasses then resumed scanning around the verandah when her voice all of a sudden changed back to loud and jarring.
“Where Wing-Wang!” She demanded. Sounding like she expected an answer rather quickly.
Though luckily, Wing wasn’t hiding behind a potted plant or anything this time. Just standing behind Lakeisha. Somewhat hidden behind her larger-than-him stature.
“I here!” He waved. Peeking around the side of Lakeisha and smiling back at her. Which was odd seeing him acting so nice and friendly towards her when I was used to seeing him try to hide and then talk smack about how bossy she was. And figured it must be one of those odd

mother/son relationships where he had to pretend to be annoyed by her in front of his friends but really secretly needs and loves her.
She then changed her voice back to that of a satisfied mother cat upon seeing one of her little kittens safe and secure. “Mmmmm ... yes.” She purred. “There you are.” And her two little baby parrots gave off similar-purring sounds as well.
“You behaving self?”
“Yeeesssssss ...” He groaned and rolled his eyes. “I behave self.” Like, c’mon mom, not in front of my friends.
“Good.” She nodded back. “You eat vegetables?”
“Yeeesssss, I eat them.” Very annoyed.
I quickly glanced over at Lakeisha who now had an even more bewildered look on her face.
“Why no fix Tuk-Tuk?!” She squawked at him.
“Ugghhhh ....” He groaned some more. “I fix it. No worry. I take care of it.”
“Mmmmmm ...” She grunted again probably not really believing him, while her two little baby parrot Trainees gave him disapproving little looks and Mmmmm’s as well.
She then noticed Lakeisha for the first time and stopped. And stared right at her. Somewhat puzzled by her.

“Who dis?!” She inquired. Focusing directly on her. Trying to figure out who she was and what she was doing there. Though luckily, Olof intervened to make the appropriate introduction since it was probably important that Mama’san like her and I assumed Olof had the best chance of making that happen.
“Mama’san this is our dear friend Lakeisha. She is from United States. And has Master’s Degree from prestigious University there. And is social worker. Helping poor and unfortunate. Giving back to community. And greater good.”
It seemed like Olof knew exactly what Mama’san was looking for.
“Mmmmmm ... yes.” Mama’san stared at her impressed. “Give back to community. Greater good.” Scanning her up and down while nodding her head along approvingly.
Lakeisha just stood there. Quietly. Completely still. Probably unsure of what was going on here. Or what might happen next.
Mama’san then walked closer to her. Continuing to examine her. Head to toe. Inquisitively. Admirably. Scanning her up and down. Now walking around her. Encircling her. Eyeing her more curiously. Seemingly pleased. “She no Mudbug.” She proudly declared as Lakeisha’s jaw dropped to the floor. “She already Ladybug.” Inspecting her closer. Walking around her some more. Padding her shoulders and squeezing her hips. Like she was on the ‘ol Ladybug auction block. “She like fine stallion.” Mama’san purred admirably. “Men pay good money for this.”
Oh my God.
Lakeisha looked right at me with the biggest WTF look I’d ever seen before. While I just stared back at her and clenched my teeth like, I’m so sorry ... she’s like your old racist Grandma who has absolutely no clue what they’re saying.
Though luckily, she just shook her head and started to chuckle a bit.
Phew.
Mama’san then grabbed her hands and inspected them closer.
“Good strong hands ... for Iron Claw.”
This time I had to look straight at the ground since there was no way I was going to be able to explain that one to her.

“Miss Lakeisha, we talk later. You very special. You come work for me anytime. I teach you art of seduction. Iron Claw. Make men yearn.”
Yearn?

The Legend of Balinese DonM– Book One (Part II of III) – Chapter 31

What the hell?

We all looked down at Wing’s phone. Sitting there on the desk in front of us. With this new voice coming out of it. And all of us wondering who – or what – it could be.
“Who’s dat out der?! Who’s dat rustling about out der?!” The voice called out again.
“What the hell’s that?” I said staring down at the phone while trying to figure out who – or what – or where – the voice was coming from. Then looked up at one of the side monitors and saw LC halfway up an Acacia tree – on the side of the woodshed – placing the portable Bluetooth speaker there. Then shimmying back down and scrambling out of there.
“Oh, sweet!” I said pointing at the monitor and almost forgetting about asking them to do that for us. “Check it out you guys. It’s LC putting the speaker up in the Acacia tree so we can mess with the Klan guys.” I said excitedly then turned back over to Olof and Wing getting ready to start this new ruse with them. “It must have been LC they heard ‘rustling about’ out there. Wing, can you put the woodshed camera up on the main screen and then pull the app up on your phone so we can communicate with them through the speaker?”
“Oh yeah.” He said grabbing his phone and starting to press some buttons, pulling the app up, then handing it to me.
Sweet!
I turned back to him. “Do I just press the ‘Talk’ button here when I want to communicate with them?”

He nodded his head up and down as I leaned back in my chair trying to figure out what I was actually going to do here. Or what I was actually gonna say to them.
Then put the phone right to my mouth.
“Hello??” I said all soft and confused. “Hello? ... is someone in there talking to me?”
“Yeah, we’re talking to you boy! ... whatchu doing out der? ... why you rustling about out der?!” Sounding a bit upset and ornery. In his high-pitched nasally voice as we all looked up at the main monitor and saw Keith-Kyle Klanz standing by the side of the woodshed – like trying to look through it or something – in his raggedy-old jeans, mullet haircut, Confederate Flag t- shirt, wrap-around Oakley blades, looking around all frazzled and confused.
“State yur naaaaaaame ‘n yur biz-ness boy.” He added.
I thought about how to best answer that. And what would constitute my ‘biz-ness’ here. As well as what my best course of action was considering we wanted to do all the Ancient Alien, CIA and secret magic weapon stuff with them. Then thought about Indah, and me wanting to show her some kind of good progress and positive results by the time she came back here, and me also wanting to get the Klan guys to not be so racist and antisemitic. Then realized it was probably going to be really difficult to get the Klan guys to not be so racist and antisemitic by six o’clock. So thought maybe there was something else I could do with them ... something more subtle ... and gradual ... like slowly ingratiating myself in with them ... and befriending them ...
earning their trust ... and doing the Made long-con kind of thing.
So rustled up the best southern-Appalachian-Klan redneck voice I could, and gave it my best shot.

“Well ...” I started. Then stopped. Then thought about it some more. “My name’s Jeff. And my biz-ness iz ... I’z not rightly sure. I’z just kinda rustlin’ about out here ... does dat count as biz-ness?”
We could see Keith-Kyle Klanz mulling that one over. Rubbing his goatee. Wunnerin’ bout dat. Then turning over to Cooter, Muskrat and Varmint, who were wunnerin’ ‘bout dat too.
Looking around all confused. Mumbling things. ‘N trying to figure out if rustling about counted as biz-ness ... or if I was just up to sum kinda no good.
“Well, how we spoze ta know you’z not one o’ dem minorities out der tryin’ ta git in here ta gits our freedoms from us?” Keith-Kyle said trying to look at me through the side of the woodshed again.
I thought about that a minute. Not really sure what constituted a minority in Bali – in a reverse-slave-based plantation ruse – or what their definition of the word ‘freedom’ was. So just answered as best I could. While also trying to ingratiate myself in with ‘em.
“Well, back home in Alabama ... in the good ‘ol U.S. of A ... they call me White Jeff. So does that prove I’m not a minority?”
Their eyes kinda widened. And mouths somewhat puckered. Looking around impressed. As we could see them mulling dat one over. Mumbling things to each other. And nodding their heads up and down.
“Yeeaaahhh, dat just might ... dat just might ... I mean, dats a purdy good start ... but how’z we’z supposed ta knowz you’z really ‘n ‘Merican ... ‘n not a minority ... only saying you’z ‘n ‘Merican ... ‘n notza minority ... whenz ya really arez a minority ‘n not ‘n ‘Merican ... just pretending ta be ‘n ‘Merican ... in orders ta try ‘n git in here ta gits our freedoms from us?”
I paused on dat. Wing and Olof paused on dat too. Looking over at me. ‘Wunnerin’ how I was going to get myself outta dis one.

“Ummmm ... hold on a minute der ... just hold on a minute. Dat just confused me ... dat just really confused me ... canya gimme a minute ta think on dat one?”
We then saw Cooter scratching his head, wunnerin’ bout dat too. “Yeah, dat just confused me too Keith-Kyle?”
“Quiet down der Cooter, gawdammit!” Keith-Kyle sounded somewhat upset.
“Hey!” I spoke up. “Can I ask ya sumpin’?”
He paused a second. “Yeah, what’s dat?”
“Can I ask ya who it is I’m talking to in there? Like can I ask ya what your name is?”
Cooter yelled out first. “Dat’s Keith-Kyle Klanz you’z talking ta boy! So you’d better show sum respect!”
“Gaaaaawwwddammit Cooter!” Keith-Kyle Klanz slapped his hand on his knee. “Don’t go yelling out my name like dat. We still haven’t figgur’d out if White Jeff’s a minority or not.
Jesus H. Christ, what da hell’z wrong witchu?”
“Ohhhhhh ... yeeeeaaah ...” Cooter sounded all deflated. “Sorry ‘bout dat Keith-Kyle. I just wuzn’t thinkin’ on dat one.”
“No’z you’z weren’t, Cooter. Noooo’z ... yoouuu’z ... weren’t. ‘N dat’s why you’z gotsta leave da thinkin’ ta me ... ‘n lets me be da one figgurin’ things out roun’ here.”
“Hey!” I called out. “Did I just hear your name’s Keith-Kyle Klanz?”
He hesitated for a minute.
“... uuuuhhhhmmmmaybe ....”
“Well, if it is ... den dat’s a purdy bad-ass name. There’s like 3 K’s in that, huh? I betcha everyone back home calls you Trip K’s, huh? Dat’s purdy sweet.”

We saw them all looking around at each other. Somewhat surprised. As well as impressed.
“Well, gawddammmnn ...” Trip-K’s now sounded rather proud and pleased. “Dat is a purdy bad-ass name.” Nodding his head up and down. “Yeah, I think I like dat name too ... Trip-K’s, huh? ... dat is purdy sweet.” Now turning back over to Cooter ‘n probably wunnerin’ why he never cum up wid dat name himself.
“Gaaaaawwwdammit Cooter. How cum you never cum up wid a bad-ass name for me before?
I mean what da hell? We’ve only known White Jeff for like two seconds here ‘n he’s already cum up wid a bad-ass name for me. ‘N I’ve known you my whole life ‘n you ain’t never cum up wid shit.”
Cooter looked around all confused. Scratching his head. Wunnerin’ ‘bout dat. While Trip-K’s continued.
“Well alright White Jeff ... Alright. Dat is a purdy bad-ass name. Dat’s for damn sure ... ‘n I’z glad you’z dun cum up with dat name ... but first things first ... if ya really wantsta prove you’z ‘n ‘Merican ... ‘n not a minority ... den you’z gotsta pass a test.”
“Ok.” I said.
“Alright den ...” He said straightening himself out. “Now der’s three questions on da test ...
are’z ya ready for da first question?”
“Yup, I’z ready.” I said.
“Ok den ... da first question is straight outta ‘Merican history ... so it’s ‘n easy one.” He glanced around at his buddies while clearing his throat. “... What wuz da greatest battle Ol’ General Stonewall Jackson of da Confederate ever fought against dem dirty no-good Unioners?”
Ol’ Stonewall Jackson?
I looked over at the guys. And motioned for Wing to do a quick Google search on his laptop. So he opened it up. Frantically started typing away. Clicking on different things. Then turned back to me.

“There too many results. I no know which one is best. You on your own.”
Dammit.
So I tried to collect my thoughts and did the best I could.
“Well shucks, Trip-K’s. Ol’ Stonewall fought so many great battles that it’s hard to say which one wuz da greatest. But if you’re gonna put me on the spot here ... den I guess I’z gonna say it’s da one where he kicked the livin’ heck outta that dumbass Ulysses S. Grant next to the greatest river in the whole world ... the Mississippi River!”
We watched them all looking around at each other. Nodding their heads along. Looking impressed.
“Well, ok den ... okay ... dat’s not too bad ... not too bad at all. I mean dat wasn’t really da battle we wuz looking for but dat wuz a purdy darn good battle. Dat’s for dang sure.” He said glancing around at the others. Rather pleased. “But ok den, White Jeff ... here comes da next question ... are’z ya ready for it?”
“Yup, I’z ready.”
“Alright den ...” He paused for effect. “What did ‘Q’ drop on December 21, 2020?”
Oh, sweet Jesus.
I looked back at the guys.
“Don’t look at us.” Olof said. “We don’t know that shit.”
“And I’m not Googling it.” Wing added.
Crap.
So I tried to collect my thoughts.

“Hey, Trip K’s? Do I get like a pass card here? Or like a Life-Line or something like that? I mean that’s gotta be fair, right?”
There was a quick silence inside the woodshed. Then a few quick mutterings.
“Yeah, ok ... Ok, fine. Dats your one pass card White Jeff. But da next question ya have to git or else you’z definitely a minority.”
“Ok, that’s fair. That’s totally fair.”
“Ok, den ... here we go ...” We saw them getting ready in the woodshed.
“What’s da 4th song, on da second side, of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s first album?”
I looked over at the guys. Where Wing was busily typing away. Then he turned back to me and showed me the result. And I smiled cause I definitely knew this one.
“Well gawwdammnnn Trip K’s. Dat’s an easy one. Dat’s only the greatest song ever recorded in the whole history of the world ... Freebird!!”
They all looked around at each other. Extremely impressed.
“Well hot-damn boys. Hotdamn indeed! I think we got ourselves a good ‘ol fashioned ‘Merican here. Whoooo Wheeee!”
“Hey White Jeff?!” Cooter yelled out all excited. “Dat’s da greatest song in da whole wide world, huh?!”
“Oh, heck yeah Cooter, dat’s a great ‘ol song!”
Trip-K’s now nodded along approvingly. “Well, alright White Jeff ... alright ... well done der ... well done indeed.” Now starting to look a bit more serious now and take things down a notch.
“But ok den ... we’z dun proved youz ‘n Merican ‘n not a minority ... which is good ‘n all ...
but we’z also gots ourselves in quite a bit of a situation here.”
“A situation?”
“Yeah, a situation.”
“Well what’s da situation?”

“Well ... we’z gots ourselves completely surrounded by minorities trying ta git in here ta gits our freedoms from us.”
Uhhhh ...
“Ok?”
“But not ta worry ... not ta worry at all ...” He started rubbing his hands together. “Cuz we’z gots ourselves a plan ...”
“Ok. Sweet. What’s da plan?”
“We’z gunna build a wall.”
I stopped. And scrunched my face up ... a wall? ... Then looked over at Olof and Wing. Who both scrunched their faces up too.
Awww, what the hell ...
“Oh, heck yeah Trip-K’s. Dat’s a sweet ‘ol plan. Dat’s something ol’ Stonewall would do.”
“Oh, heck yeah he would ... dat’s sumpin’ ‘ol Donald J. ‘Stonewall’ Trump would do too.” ...
Donald J. ‘Stonewall’ Trump?? ... “Keep dem minorities out ‘n make dem think twice before messin’ wid us ‘n trying ta git in here ta gits our freedoms from us.”
Then I thought about something else. Another part of their plan that was troubling me. And needed some help on.
“But, Trip-K’s?”
“Yeah, what’s dat White Jeff?”
“Are you gonna build a wall on da inside or da outside of yur woodshed?”
He paused.

“Hmmmm ...” Wunnerin’ ‘bout dat. “Let me think ‘bout dat for a minute.” We then heard him talking this over with Cooter and the boyz. Then get back to me.
“We gonna build it on da inside, White Jeff.”
Smart.
“Ok. Gotcha Trip-K’s. Dat’s smart. Dat’s real smart. ‘N does make a lotta sense.” Then stopped and reconsidered that. Cause I definitely needed a little more help on dis one.
“But wait .... hold on a minute der ... why on da inside and not on da outside of your woodshed?”
“Gaawwwdammit White Jeff! Dat’s a dumb-ass question. We’z already gots a wall on da outside. ‘N der’z no point in building another wall on da outside when we’z already gotz a wall out der. But if we build a wall on da inside den we’ll have an inside wall and ‘n outside wall ‘n dat’s better dan having two outside walls. Jesus H. Christ, White Jeff, what da hellz wrong witchu?”
“Ok, gotcha Trip-K’s ... copy dat ... dats a big 10-4 on dat one ... but wait ...” Wunnerin’
‘bout dis sum more. “... Hold on a minute der ... cuz ... I wuz just thinkin’ ‘n ... if ya build da wall on da outside den won’t dat just make your current outside wall ‘n inside wall which is da same thing as having an inside wall and ‘n outside wall?”
Trip-K’s paused on dat.
“No gawwdammit!! If we build a wall on da outside den dat’ll just make da current outside wall ‘n inside wall ‘n da inside wall won’t be ‘n outside wall ‘n den we’ll just be stuck outside da outside wall unable to git back inside da inside wall or da outside wall. Jesus H. Christ, what da hellz wrong witchu?!”
“Hmmmm ... yeah ... ok, gotcha. ‘N I do see your point on dat one ... ‘n dat does make a lotta sense ... cuz ya definitely don’t wanna be stuck outside da outside wall ... or stuck outside da inside wall ... ‘n unable ta git back inside yur woodshed.” Now wunnerin’ ‘bout dis sum more ‘n tryin’ ta figgur’ it all out ... “But, wait... what if ... maybe ... ya like built a secret tunnel or sumpin’ like dat unnerneath’ da outside wall ‘n unnerneath da inside wall so you can like tunnel yur way back unnerneath’ da inside ‘n outside wall ‘n git back inside yur woodshed?”
He paused on dat again.

“What Da hellz wrong withcu White Jeff?!! Have yu not been paying attention ta what I’z been saying to ya here?! I just toldz ya we’z gots ourselves completely surrounded by minorities who r da ones who purdy much invented tunnelin’ unnerneath’ walls ... so why da hell would we go doing sumpin’ like dat? Jesus H. Christ, I’z gotsta wunner ‘bout you sumtimes.”
Hmmmm ... yeah ... I guess dat did kinda make sense.
“Ok, gotcha Trip-K’s. Copy dat. ‘N dat’s a big 10-4 on dat one too. ‘N dat does make a lotta sense. But hey ... Trip K’s?”
“Yeah, what’s dat, White Jeff.”
“Well ...” Now thinking I should probably try and wrap this thing up and come up with a better plan later for these guys cuz this one wasn’t really working out the way I thought it would.
And was starting to get a little confusing.
“Well ... it’s been great talking wid ya guys ‘n all ... but ... I’z kinda gotsta run now.”
“Run?” He looked around all confused. “Whatcha talkin’ ‘bout run? Where’z youz gotsta run off to?”
“Well ...” Wunnerin’ ‘bout dis some more. “Der kinda like having a big ‘ol party out here, ‘n I kinda gotsta to get back to it.”

“A party?!” Now looking around even more confused. Cooter too. “What da hell you talking about a party? You aint’z cavoortin’ wid da enemy are’z ya?”
“Ah, heck no Trip-K’s. I wouldn’t be doing sumpin’ like dat. I’z just be working undercover here. Doing double-reverse trickery ‘n secret black-ops ... ‘n collecting intel ‘n stuff.”
“Oh yeah, dat’s smart. Dat’s good military strategery. Dat’s sumpin’ ol’ Stonewall would do.”
“Oh heck yeah he would.”
“Hey white Jeff?” Cooter now spoke up.
“Dat you Cooter?”
“Yeah, dat’s me.”
“Ahhh shucks Cooter. What’s going on der Big Dawg?”
“Well, shucks ... not too much ya know ... just kinda hanging out with da fellas ‘n all ...
having a good ‘ol time ‘n all ... but hey ... lemme ask ya sumpin’ ... whatch y’all doing out der at da party?”
I thought about how to best answer that. While also trying to ingratiate myself in with ‘em.
“We’z just kinda drinking sum beer and listenin’ to sum Skynyrd.”
“Oh really?!!” He sounded rather intrigued.
“Oh, heck yeah we are Cooter. We also BBQ-ing and playing sum cornhole.”
“Oh Sweet!!” He said even more intrigued. “Dat sounds like a good ‘ol time out der. Dat sounds like a real good time. But is der any women out der?”
“Oh, heck yeah der are Cooter. Der’s a lotta women out here ... now most o’ dem r minorities ‘n Commies ... but dat’s ok cause I gotsa secret plan to switch ‘em over to becoming ‘Mericans ... cuz I think I can do it. I mean deyz already drinking beer ‘n listening ta Skynyrd wid us ... so I reckon dat’s a purdy good start!”
“Oh heck yeah. Dat’s a great ‘ol start! ... ‘n dat’s what being ‘n ‘Mericanz all about!!
Whoooo Wheeee!!”

Now a new voice came out – one I didn’t recognize – from the back part of the woodshed.
“Hey White Jeff?!”
“Yeah, who dat?”
“It’s Muskrat.”
“Yo whattup Muskrat! How you living in there?”
“Oh, purdy good. Purdy good. Can’t complain. But can I ask ya sumpin’?”
“Sure Muskrat.”
He paused a second. “Dey uh ... dey uh gots any farms out there? Wid like cows ‘n sheeps ‘n stuff?”
Hmmmm ....
“Naahhhhh ... dey ain’t really got any cows or sheeps out here.”
Ugghhhhh ... He sounded dejected.
“But they got pigs and chickens.” I added. “Would that work?” Now looking over at Olof and Wing and just kinda shrugging my shoulders while we could hear him mumbling something in the background. To himself. Or to Varmint sitting next to him. Trying to figgur’ dat out.
“Yeah, dat’ll work.” He said a bit more upbeat now. “Dat’ll definitely work.”
“Ok, cool.”
Cooter now spoke up again. “Hey White Jeff?”
“Yeah, Cooter.”

“Hey ... uhhhh ... I’m a ... I’ma trying ta git out da door here ... so I can like join y’allz at da party ‘n stuff ... but for sum reason can’t quite git it open ... I keep pushing on it but it seems to be stuck or sumpin’?”
“Oh yeah,” I stopped and remembered what I’d asked LC to do. “There’s kinda a problem der Cooter.”
“A problem?”
“Yeah, a problem.”
“Well, what’s da problem?”
“Well, ya know doze minorities here?”
“Yeah?”
“Well ... dey kinda built a wall.”

The Legend of Balinese DonMu – Book One (Part III of III) – Epilogue

Intern B bites his lip. Realizing his buddy was probably right. Shuffles in his seat a bit more and then changes the subject.
“I hear he’s the new affirmative action hire here?”
“Shut the fuck up dude. Stop fucking around.”
“What?! I’m not fucking around. I really did hear that. Like he’s the first black affirmative action hire at the CIA?”
“Duuuuude ... stop it.”
“Well, is it true?”
Intern A takes a deep breath and reflects on that for a moment.
“Yeah, it’s true. And from what I’ve heard he’s real bad ass too. So you’d better be real careful what you say around him.”
“Huh? What do you mean he’s bad ass?”
“Dude, don’t even start with me.”
“What? I’m being serious. I really want to know?”
Intern A lets out an exhausted sigh.
“Well, I don’t know this for sure – this is all just what I heard from around the water-cooler – but do you remember back in the 80’s when the CIA introduced crack in the ghettos and had black gang members selling it for them?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, Deputy Director Smooove was apparently the first black gang member selling crack for the CIA. I think he was a Crip or something like that. And the CIA was supplying him crack to sell.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. And I guess he’s always worked for them ever since. Like doing little odd jobs and stuff.”
“Odd jobs? Like what do you mean odd jobs?”
“I don’t know. I guess like selling crack for them. Making crack for them. Teaching other people how to make and sell crack. And I heard he used to be on those planes that would carry cocaine back from Colombia to make crack out of.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah. And I also heard he used to hang out with Pablo Escobar and shit. Like they were homies. I saw a picture of him once with Escobar at some strip club in Medellin with all these strippers around them. Partying and doing blow off their tits. And he’s flashing gang signs with Escobar. And having Escobar flash Crip signs back. It’s a pretty lit photo.”
“Sweet!”
“Yeah, dude. And then after Escobar was shot and killed, he was all bummed, cause they were homies. And he got all pissed cause he thought the CIA was behind it. And then the CIA felt bad so they gave him a promotion and a new job doing undercover black-ops for them. Like destabilizing governments around the world by corrupting their leaders and turning them into our puppet dictators.”

“By giving them crack?”
“What?! ... I don’t know ... maybe? But he would like party with them and get them all hooked on our American lifestyle. Like partying, doing drugs, banging chicks. Whatever it took for them to be our political slaves and shit. And I guess he’s really good at getting people to want to hang out and party with him cause now he’s come full circle and they’ve promoted him to the Deputy Director of Archived Secret Projects because apparently he loves doing all that undercover black-ops shit.”
“Nice!”
“Yeah dude. And from what I hear he’s real old school.”
“Old school? Like what do you mean old school?”
“Well ... like he’s been changing things around here so they more fit his style and personality.”
“Really? Like how?”
“Well, I don’t really know. But it’s all like Mad Men around here now. Like how shit was done back in the 60’s. Bringing back all that stuff.”
“Like what stuff?”
“Well, from what I hear drinking’s back on the job. And he likes Hennessey too. On the rocks. So you’d better learn how to make that shit cause he’s probably gonna have you make him one.”
“Cool.”
“And smoking too.”
“Like crack?”
“No, not like crack you idiot. Like weed. In blunts. And you’d better learn how to roll that shit too cause he’s definitely going to make you do that for him.”
“Awesome!”
“And he brought back the old secretary pool thing too. Where he picks out a new secretary every morning. And he’s got like 12 chicks in his secretary pool. And where you’d think they’d all be black, they’re not, they’re all white. With big asses. He loves white chicks with big asses.
That’s like his thing. And he calls them all his bitches. Like he’s a pimp from the 70’s or something. And he has this one chick, his main chick, who is black, and she’s like super-hot, and he calls her his bottom bitch. I think that’s like an old pimp term from the 70’s that means his best bitch. But he doesn’t call her that to her face, cause she’ll fuck him up. And you don’t want to fuck with her either cause she’ll fuck you up too.”
“Seriously? Like what do you mean?”
“I mean she’s like one of those Black Panther chicks.”
“You mean like from that Wakanda movie?”
“No. Not from that gay-ass Wakanda movie. Like one of the original Black Panther chicks.
The badass ones from the 70’s. Who wore black gloves, with clenched fists, and fucked shit up.
Those Black Panther chicks. Not some gay-ass woke Wakanda shit.”
“Cool ...”
“Oh shit, here he comes!” Intern A starts shuffling around in his seat, re-organizing his papers, and fidgeting about as they both now look through the glass window where can they see the new Deputy Director walking down the hallway. Crip-walking. Wearing a jet-black pinstriped suit, black fedora, possible doo-rag underneath it, blue pocket square and black stainless-steel cane while holding a slightly-bejeweled chalice-style coffee mug. Flashy, but not too flashy. Like as flashy as you would imagine the CIA’s HR-Department would allow him to get away with after a long discussion and compromise on it.
“Is he crip-walking?”
“Shut up dude.”
DD Smooove enters the room.
“Whattup cracka’s.”

The Legend of Balinese DonMu – Book One (Part II of III) – Chapter 29

... the five of us then watched as Mama’san and her two Trainees parrot-stomped their way out onto the southern verandah, all the way over to the edge of the marble balustrade, place their hands on the railing and stare out at the chaotic scene of Karen, Beehive and Lil’ Shmoogy all yelling and screaming and fighting and causing all kinds of other problems when Mama’san gave off a quick grunt and raised her bullhorn right up to her mouth.
“What going on here!!” She belted out.
Karen turned around first. “This is bullshit! The people in charge don’t know what the hell they’re doing. Everything’s all fucked up and we should be the ones in charge just to get things done right.”
“Yeah, this is total bullshit!” Lil’ Shmoogy cried out too. “They don’t know what the hell they’re doing!”
“What you talking about?” Mama’san glared right back at them. “You both dirty little Level 1 workers. You know nothing.”
Beehive now turned around. “That’s offensive. You don’t call people dirty and little. It’s dehumanizing.”
“What you talking about?” Mama’san barked back at them. “You dirty little Level 1 worker too! You ALL dirty little Level 1 workers. Dirty little Mudbugs!!”
Lil’ Shmoogy reared back. “Did you just call me a fuckin’ Mudbug?!” Tossing her rice sickle on the ground.
Uh oh.
Mama’san looked right at her. With her piercing North Korean eyes. Staring directly at her. Eyes locked-in. “You worse than Mudbug! ... You more like ... Monkey!! A dirty little no-good monkey! ... all three of you ... dirty little no-good monkeys!!”
Lil Shmoogy’s jaw dropped. Beehive looked on horrified too. Even us in the control room knowing Mama’san probably had no idea what she was saying was over-the-top racist, were genuinely shocked by the comparison.
Oh crap.
“What the fuck’d you just call me?!” Lil’ Shmoogy snapped back. “Did you just call me a fucking monkey?!”
Mama’san glared right at her. Not even blinking. Staring directly at her. “Monkeys always take! Never give anything back. No contribute nothing. Always just ransacking and making mess. Just like you dirty little monkeys. Always scheming and manipulating. Taking advantage of others. Flinging poo around like own poo no stink. When it does. Monkey always think they poo smells the best.”
Deebag snickered in the background while Karen scowled over at him.
“Shut the fuck up Dirk. You don’t know shit. You’re more racist than she is.”
Mama’san looked right at him. “What you laugh at Deebag? You think that funny? You worse than all of them. You like lion!”
“Oh Jesus!” Lil’ Shmoogy threw her hands in the air. “You’ve got to be kidding me?! You call the white guy a lion? Yeah, that figures you fucking racist!”

Mama’san yelled back. “What you talk about. Lion worse than all of them. Even monkey.
Cause lion take everything for self. Never share. And take female lions as sex slaves. Have harem. And make them all do hunting for him. While he lies on ground and sleeps. So lazy.
Make everyone else do work for him and kill other male lions who come near him and try to take sex slaves. Only cause he stronger. Without strength he nothing. Worst animal of all!”
At this point it was getting pretty out of control. And felt like something had to be done.
“Lakeisha?!” I said turning over to her. Noticing her jaw halfway to the floor.
“On it.” She answered without missing a beat and hurried out of the secret control room while Wing and Olof were falling halfway out of their chairs.
I thought about looking over at Indah but didn’t know if I wanted to see that expression right now.
“You all need to be like ants!” Mama’san continued. “They work the best. Together. For community. You ever see ants fighting amongst selves? No. Cause they work together. Not like you greedy little monkeys. Always plotting and manipulating.”
“You can’t go around calling people monkeys, Mudbugs and ants, it’s racist.” Beehive spoke up.
“Quiet monkey!”
Wing giggled. “She like angry dragon.”
“At least Mudbugs know their place. And willing to learn. You all think you better than everyone. And no want to learn. Like selfish little monkeys!”
Mama’san then spotted Hippie Jon in the background doing something productive. And seemed impressed. “You see Hippie Jon over there?” Now pointing over at him. “You see how he work?” Then put her bullhorn right up to her mouth and her tone quickly changed back to sweet and sensual.
“Ohhhh, Hippie Jon.” She now purred through her bullhorn. “Look at you working like big strong worker ant. Providing for community and not just self. So sexy. Maybe you come and show dirty little monkeys how to work properly.”
“You need to stop calling people monkeys, Mudbugs and ants!” Beehive shouted out. “It’s incredibly offensive.”
“Your work offensive!” Mama’san yelled back.
“You need to be better.” Beehive stomped their foot on the ground.
“Huh?!” Mama’san now stopped. And looked at them. Utterly confused by that last comment. “What you mean?”
“You just need to ... be better. And ... do better.” They said again proudly.
“ You need to be better ... Better at work!” Mama’san barked back. “And life! ... That why you Level One worker!”
Lakeisha finally entered the screen ... Oh thank God!
“Ok listen up.” She spoke to the group. “Everyone just needs to calm down here. Let’s all just calm down and take deep breaths.” Then leaned over to Mama’san and whispered something in her ear. To which Mama’san looked back at her, politely nodded, then turned back to Karen and the others while putting her bullhorn back to her mouth. “I’ll be back!!” She roared-out as the three of them parrot-marched off.
“Now.” Lakeisha said looking around at everybody. “Tell me what’s going on here?”
“It was horrible! Just horrible!” Beehive cried out. “I mean the humanity of it all!” Now really selling it. “She was calling everybody monkeys and Mudbugs and ants, and being racist and

offensive, and causing micro-aggressions! I am so triggered and traumatized right now that I don’t even know what to do!” Wailing away.
“That bitch called me a fucking monkey!” Lil’ Shmoogy cried out. “I oughta sue that racist old bat!”
Karen yelled out too. “Yeah, this is total bullshit! Everyone’s all racist around here, and offending everyone, and now Dirk is over there trying to bang all those crazy cult chicks and form his own cult.”
“I’m talking about the incident with Mama’san?” Lakeisha said.
“Oh.” Karen pondered that a moment. “That bitch called me a monkey too!”
“I am so offended right now that I cannot even work anymore. I need to go heal!” Beehive cried out.
“Yeah, fuck this shit. I need to go heal too!” Lil’ Shmoogy shouted out throwing her rice sickle down and cursing as well.
“Yeah, me too.” Karen added angrily throwing down her rice sickle while Beehive looked over at her sideways.
“Ummmm ... why do you need to go heal?”
“Ummmm ... why the hell do you think?” Karen snapped back.
“I don’t know ... why?” Beehive said.
“Because that bitch called me a monkey.”
“Yeah, but you’re white. So you shouldn’t get offended by being called a monkey.”
“Yeah, well your Asian.”
“So?” Beehive looked offended again. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s supposed to mean that monkeys only refer to black people.”
“What’d the fuck you just say?!” Lil’ Shmoogy whipped her head around.
Oh shit. I thought. And looked over and saw Olof and Wing’s mouths drop open too.
This isn’t gonna be good.
We could see Lakeisha on the monitor just standing there, staring at them, shaking her head in disbelief.
Karen looked around confused. “Whaaaaaatttt??” Saying it almost desperately. “I’m just saying that word is only offensive to black people because white people used to call them ...”
“Bitch! You’d better watch what the fuck you say next!”
“Whaaaaattt?” Even more confused than before. “I’m not saying that word myself. I’m only saying what used to be said? Jesus, can’t we even talk about it?”
“No bitch! No, we can’t fucking talk about it. You skanky-ass ho!” Lil’ Shmoogy reared up.
“I don’t frickin’ know you. So muthafuckin’ No we can’t talk about it. Dumbass bitch. I oughta slap the white off your ass.”
Karen now looked pleadingly over at Beehive. To possibly help her out here. Only Beehive seemed to have turned on her too.
“Ummmm ... you just said that on camera. You just fucked up. And you are now a racist. It is official. So obviously I can’t be associated with someone like you, and you know what, I always suspected you were a racist too. And now it’s proven to be true. So you are now exposed. For the whole world to see. And you need to be cancelled.”
“Oh fuck you, you persnickety little bitch!” Karen shot back. “You’re so full of shit. You’re the fakest one of all. Going around saying how you’re all transitioning and gender fluid and shit, when I know for a fact you’re not.”

“Oh my God! She’s getting aggressive!” Beehive looked horrified and started talking in different octaves again. “Micro-aggressions!”
“You and your little gay boys used to say all the time how vaginas are the grossest things in the world and look like disgusting little alien clams. So fuck you Bobahn, or Bob, or whatever the fuck your real name is!”
“Oh my God! She just dead-named me! You all heard it. That was all on camera. She’s hostile. And I will not tolerate this type of abuse. And language! You saw her verbally assault me. And bully me. I am so triggered now.”
We then saw Hippie Jon start to walk over to them.
Ooooohhh, don’t do it Hippie Jon ... don’t do it ...
“Hello ladies, if I could just interject a moment and possibly share a tip I learned from my days at PBS ...”
“Shut the fuck up Hippie Jon!” Karen snapped back. “No one gives a shit about your days at PBS or what you did a million fucking years ago. So take your little fanny-pack and the dead rat glued to the back of your head and get your ass back over to your little Nazi buddy where you belong!”
We waited for Gunther to swear he’s not a Nazi, but Karen didn’t really have time for that.
“And you!” She reared back over at Beehive. Glaring right at them. “Who the hell ‘discovers’ they’re transitioning at 30 years old. I mean, puhhhhleeeeeaze. You don’t think the only reason you’re doing it is because it’s all of a sudden trendy and popular? I’ll bet you anything that in 3yrs from now you still have a penis only one that’s more wrinkled and riddled with AIDS.”
“Oh My God!!” Beehive was taken aback. “Transphobic!! Transphobic!!”
Lakeisha stepped back in. “Ok everyone, we all need to calm down here. Let’s just all calm down and take deep breaths.” Then pointed at Beehive and Lil’ Shmoogy. “You and you come with me.”
“What about me?” Karen yelled back. As she watched Beehive and Lil’ Shmoogy walk off to go heal.
“What about you?”
“I was called a monkey too!”

The Legend of Balinese DonMu – Book One (Part III of III) – Epilogue

“Ok then ... get me the Director on the phone. The Big Dog. Boss Man. Gotta see what he wants us to do. Clear this shit up.”
“Ummmm yes sir ... but ... the Director just called here sir ... looking for you. But is now on the other line talking with the U.S. Embassy officer still up at the hotel getting an update from him. And says he will call you back as soon as he gets off the phone with him.”
“Ok cool. No worries. Get me Muskrat on the phone then.”
“Ummmm ... I don’t think Mr. Musk likes being called that sir.”
“I don’t give a fuck what he likes being called. I’m the muthafuckin’ Deputy Director of the CIA. I call people what the fuck I want.”
“Yes sir!”
Intern A then grabs the main conference-room phone sitting on the table in front of him, hits position #3 on it, waits about 7 seconds, and a voice on the other end picks up.
“Hello, this is Elon.”
“Yo, whattup Muskrat!” DD Smooove says nodding his head up and down.
There was a pronounced ... Uggghhhhh... through the speakerphone.
“How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?”
“Shit Muskie! You know I’m just playing with ya big dog.”
“Ugghhh ... ok ... fine.” Groaning again. “What do you want now Deputy Director Smooove?”
“Well shit Muskie, I got some muthafuckin’ good news for you.”
“Oh, you do huh? Ok what’s that?”
“You can put down your AI-ChatBot, space rockets and sex robot shit cause that portal shit might be real.”
“Ummmm ... I don’t make sex robots.”
“Oh, yeah riiiigggggghtttt ... uh huh ... you still keeping that shit on the DL, huh Muskie? Don’t want people finding out about that pervy little shit you’re doing huh? Well, don’t worry about it big dog, you know you’re secret’s safe with me as long as you give me one those beta- models to test-drive out first. Like one of those big-ass white bitches from the deep south with those sexy-ass accents. Make her my sex slave and shit. Have her cooking my dinner and taking out my trash ... and yelling at me when she catches me tapping other robot ass. Awww, hell yeah, Muskie!”
There was another prolonged groan through the speaker phone.
“Can we please get back on topic?”
“Shit, no worries, Muskie. As I was saying ... all that Ancient Alien shit you love so much ...
about those caves and portals ... and teleporting crackas all over the place ... to other dimensions ... or consciousness’s ... or whatever the hell it is. Well, that shit just might be real.”
“Uhhhhmmm yeah, I’m gonna need a little more.”
“That Project-Alpha we told you about. From 1947. After that Roswell crash. When we found those aliens and tossed ‘em in that Area 51. And now they’re all like tied up in there ... as our sex slaves and shit.”

“Yeeahh, I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The ones that got torture-banged by the Illuminati. And then told us about those caves – from around the world – being all connected and shit. And those pyramids being like power plants.
Connected by Ley Lines and shit. Well, some hippie muthafucka just popped outta our cave in the Peruvian jungle, all announcing himself and shit, but two-seconds before that he was in muthafuckin’ Bali, Indonesia.”
“Oh, really?”
“Oooohhhhhh yeeaaah. That cracka done tripped our motion detector so his ass is all on camera and shit. But we don’t know what the hell got him there. I mean, we’ve probably tossed a hundred crackas in that cave trying to portal their asses all over the place and none of ‘em ever did shit. So we don’t know what the hell caused it to work this time. And your ass has gotta figure that out.”
“Oh, I do, do I?”
“Oh, hell yeah you do.”
“Oh, really?”
“Don’t be playing with me Muskie. You wanna keep running your AI-Chatbot, Neuralink and sex robot shit, don’t ya? Cause if you do ... and you don’t want us to have to come over there in the middle of the night and just snatch that shit from ya ... and fuck you up ... and make you disappear and shit ... then yeah, ya pretty much do.”
“You don’t scare me.”
“Oh, I don’t huh?” DD Smooove starts laughing and nodding his head up and down. “Well, ok Muskie ... ok ... but you know who my boss works for don’t ya?”
There was another pause on Muskie’s end of the phone.
“I believe he works for the President of the United States of America?”
“Cracka puhleaze ...”
“Ugghhhh ... Ok, fine. I’ll help you.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. That’s what I thought there Muskie. And that should scare ya plenty.”
“But I can’t go myself. I’m busy with other stuff. So I’m gonna have to send a rep for me.”
“No worries, Muskie. Just send that fine-ass white bitch of yours who does all those psychological Neuralink experiments for ya. The one with a stick up her ass who looks like she hasn’t been laid in a decade. I might be wanting to tap that.”
“She doesn’t like you.”
“Bitch puhleaze. You know she will once I tell her I gotta secret cave that can portal her ass all over the place and give her special powers and shit. She’ll be begging for me to tap that ass once she hears that shit.”
There was another pause and long groan from the other end of the phone.
“Ok fine. I’ll send her.”
“Yeah, that’s right Muskie. That’s my boy.”
DD Smooove hangs up the phone up looks back over at the two interns.

The Legend of Balinese DonMu – Book One (Part III of III) – Editing Room Floor

DD Smooove is back on the phone with the main Director of the CIA while his two little interns are on their laptops at the other end of the table gathering up more information, trying to figure out what’s going on, watching and listening to all the different audio and video feeds from the Hotel Colonial. Figuring out who’s all there, what their roles and purposes are, taking notes, doing background checks, collecting old secret files, coordinating a plan, and basically getting everything ready to go for their upcoming trip to Bali, while also getting really excited.
“Oh man, this is going to be so awesome!” Intern A smiles over at Intern B.
“Oh yeah, this is going to be lit!”
“I’m so stoked!”
“Yeah, me too. And DD Smooove is so frickin’ bad ass man!”
“Oh yeah. He’s straight fire.”
“Yeah, he’s the bomb ... but hey ... let me ask you something?”
“Ok, what’s that?”
“What do you think about him calling us his little cracka’s?”
Intern A pulls his head back. “What the fuck, dude?! Why you gotta ask something like that?!”
“What? ... it’s just a question?”
“Well don’t ask questions like that dude people might think you’re a racist.”
“But I don’t understand. It’s just a question?”
“Well people don’t like those kinds of questions. So don’t frickin’ ask ‘em.”
“Well ... to be honest, I actually like it. And think it’s pretty cool that he calls us his little cracka’s.”
Intern A pauses on that. Placing his finger to his chin. “Yeeaahhhh ... I actually think I like it too. And think it’s pretty cool. I just think it means he likes us and we’re part of his team now.” “Yeah totally. And he doesn’t say it in a mean way or anything like that. It just seems like he’s joking around and really does like us.”
“Yeah ... totally. I think he really does like us too and is just joking around with us.” Intern A says nodding his head up and down while Intern B nods his head up and down too. Big old smile on his face. Though now tilting it to the side and thinking of something else. “But could you imagine if we were little black kids and he was white calling us his little n-words?”
“What The FUCK Dude?!!” Intern A rears his head back. “Why the fuck would you say something like that?! Jesus H. Christ. What the fuck’s wrong with you. Besides that’s like sooooooo different. There’s like a whole history behind that word.”
Intern B ponders that. “Yeeaaaahh, true.” Reflecting on it some more. “But isn’t there like a whole history behind the word cracker too? I mean isn’t there like ...”
“Shut The Fuck Up Dude!! Jesus H. Christ! Stop saying that shit. Oh my God what the hell’s wrong with you?! We shouldn’t even be talking about this shit anyway because it pisses people off. Not to mention there’s the whole issue of slavery to deal with here. Ok you frickin’
dumbass?!”

“Yeah, I guess so ...” Intern B says contemplating that and furrowing his brow a bit. “But wasn’t slavery also ...”
“What THE FUCK Dude?!! Stop it!! Just stop it!! Don’t even say the word slavery. I already told you it pisses people off. What the hell’s wrong with you?!”
“But you just said it?”
“Oh My God!! ... But I said it in response to your first dumbass question and in more of a solemn and respectful way. Like I acknowledged it was bad. While you’re just poking around or something.”
“Yeeaaahh ... I guess so ... sorry about that. I was just curious and wanted to ask a question.”
“Well don’t! Don’t ask questions like that dude. Jesus H. Christ. How many times do I have to tell you it pisses people off.”
“Okay ... I hear ya.” Intern B pauses. Giving it some more thought. Waxing reflectively on it. “But ... I still like him calling us his little cracka’s.”
Intern A pauses on that too. Waxing reflectively on it.
“Yeeaaahh ...” Nodding his head along. “I definitely like it too.”
DD Smooove finally gets off the phone, hangs it up, and turns over to his two interns. “Alright my little cracka’s that was the Big Dog. The Boss Man. And I just got some news dropped on me. He says we gotta take that new HR/DEI chick with us too. That little twenty- something year-old white chick who goes around telling everyone how great they are, and loved and supported, and is always encouraging them with positive reinforcement and shit, and telling them how appreciated they are, and being all woke and politically correct and shit.”
“Oh yes, sir. We actually know her, sir. She’s the one who gave us our CIA onboarding session. She’s actually really nice and super helpful, sir.”
“Oh, she is huh?”
“Oh yes sir. And she’s also super respectful and accepting, and listened to us, and made us feel good about ourselves, and went out of her way to make us feel valued and acknowledged, and was incredibly sensitive to our needs.”
“Oh yeah ... I like it when chicks do that shit.”
“Oh yes sir, we like when chicks do that shit too. It’s really awesome. But it’s also kinda confusing because when you’re sitting there and she’s telling you how valued and included you are, and nurturing you and being all attentive to your needs. She’ll also do something like ask your permission to give you some kind of affirmative touch – which of course you say yes to – and then she’ll like touch you on your knee and start rubbing you, and look you in your eyes, like gazing deep into them, and it totally feels like she wants to bang.”
DD Smooove nods his head along. “Oh yeah, that shit can be confusing cause you totally think she wants to bang.”
“Oh yes sir. You just know she wants to bang.”
“And you know if you got a couple drinks in her you could totally bang her.”
“Oh, yes sir. You just know if you got a couple drinks in her she’d be all wild and nasty and shit and just begging for you to bang her.”
“And you little cracka’s wanna bang that shit, huh?”
“Oh, well ... I mean, yes sir ... I mean that’d be really sweet and all. Cause she is like super- hot. But we actually think you should be the one to bang her.”
“Oh, you do, huh?”
“Oh yes, sir. That’s for you, sir!”

DD Smooove starts laughing and nodding his head up and down. “Oh, ok ... ok ... I think I like that shit. Stepping aside for the big dog, huh? Well alright then. Alright. We might be able to make that shit happen. But first ... the Boss Man said we gotta take this chick with us ... and he also says it’s a new day and age where muthafucka’s be all sensitive and shit. And cracka’s be getting all butt-hurt and offended and shit. And he tells me I gotta ask you little cracka’s something.”
“Ok, sir. What’s that?”
“If you mind me calling you my little cracka’s?”
The two interns both look at each-other. A bit surprised. And impressed. Eyes wide open with big ‘ol smiles on their faces.
“Oh no. Not at all sir! We were actually just talking about that, sir. And we both agreed that we like it when you call us your little cracka’s. Cause it makes us feel like we’re part of your team now and part of your crew.”
“Oh, hell yeah ... that’s what I’m talking about here. Muthafuckin’ teamwork and shit.” DD Smooove says eyeing them appreciatively. “Myyyy cracka’s.”
“Yes sir!!”
“No, ya gotta say Myyyy Sir.”
“Myyyy sir!”
“But pronounce the first word more. Like Mayy’sir.”
“May’ssir.”
“Longer. With a ‘Yes’ in front of it.”
“Yes, Ma’ssssirr ...”
“Now draw it out a little more.”
“Yesssss, Ma’ssssiirrrrrr ...”
Yeeaaahh ... that’s it my lil’ house cracka’s. That’s good shit right there. But first, let me ask you little cracka’s something ... cause I need you to get me up to speed on something here ... about those four Klan guys locked-up in that woodshed ... cause that shit’s been tripping me out and I gotta know what that shit’s all about?”
“Oh, yes sir. Yes sir. And were actually just listening to them on the audio feed sir. And get this ... their leader guy ... well ... you’re not going to believe this ... but his name is Trip-K’s.”
“Trip-K’s?!” DD Smooove scrunches his face up. “Like in the KKK, Trip-K’s? Like the muthafuckin’ Ku Klux Klan?”
“Yes sir. Apparently his first name is Keith. Middle name Kyle. And his last name is Klanz. I mean how fucked up is that, sir?”
“Oh yeah, that is seriously fucked up.”
“Yeah, and his three little buddies are named Cooter, Muskrat and Varmint.”
“Varmint?! Like the animal Varmint? Like the one you’d find on the side of the road?”
“Yes sir. And we’re guessing those are just their nick-names but you never know with these dumbass cracka’s and if their tard-ass parents just named them that shit on purpose?”
“Oh yeah, you never know with these tard-ass parents and what the fuck they be naming their kids these days.”
“Oh yes, sir. Total tard-ass parents. Probably voted for Trump too. And wear those gay-ass hats.”
“Oh hell yeah, those hats are seriously fucked up. All redneck and racist and shit. But tell me this ... cause this shit’s got me all curious and shit ... what are those four dumbass Klan guys doing right now? Are they still all drugged-up in that woodshed?”

“Oh yes sir ... and get this sir ... that one guy Cooter is so drugged up that he keeps talking about how Lynyrd Skynyrd is the greatest band in the world. Cause there’s like 7 guys all playing electric guitar together. In like perfect rhythm. With long hair flapping up and down. Bobbing their heads up and down in some kind of holistic synergy with the universe. I mean what a total dumbass, huh?
“Oh yeah, total dumbass cracka.”
“And get this sir. Cause this is even more fucked up. He’s also talking about how they should try and walk a mile in other people’s shoes. And see things from other people’s perspectives.
And he’s so fucked up that he’s feeling all guilty about his dumbass cracker ancestors being all redneck and racist and shit. And owning slaves and shit. And now thinks he should try and walk a mile in a slave’s shoes to see their perspective on things ... and what it’d be like to be a slave. I mean how fucked up is that, sir?”
“Oh, yeah, that is really fucked up. But I actually think I wanna see that shit. So can we pull that up on your laptop? Tap into that live feed? Cause this shit might be too good to pass up on.”
“Oh yes, sir! We can totally do that for you, sir. We’ll pull that up for you right now.” Intern A says now pulling up the audio and video feeds on his laptop as DD Smooove walks around to the other side of the table and peers down at the screen seeing four drugged-up Klan guys locked-up inside a woodshed while sitting around a wood-burning stove.
Intern A turns the volume up.
“Hey Trip-K’s ...?” Cooter pokes his head up while Trip-K’s lets out a long-annoyed groan.
“Uggghhhhhh ... what now Cooter, gaaawwdammit.”
“Do you think slaves would like Skynyrd?”
DD Smooove’s eyes bug out.
Trip-K’s’ too.
“What da Hell, you talkin’ ‘bout Cooter?!! No, I don’t think slaves would like Skynyrd. They’re slaves. Why da hell would dey like Skynyrd?”
“Well, I wuz just thinkin’ ...”
“Well dat’s your gawdamm problem Cooter ... you’z been thinkin’ ‘n wunnerin’ ‘bout stuff ‘n eating dat dang-darn trail mix.”
“But I wuz just thinkin’ ‘bout what White Jeff said ‘bout tryin’ ta put yourself in udder people’s shoes ... ‘n I wuz just thinkin’ dat if I wuz a slave working out in da fields I might wanna hear a little Skynyrd.”
“Jesus H. Christ Cooter! Slaves ain’t gonna wanna hear a little Skynyrd while der working out in da fields! What da hell’s wrong withcu?!!”
“But why not, Trip-K’s? We like Skynyrd?”
“Well, we’re not slaves Cooter!! For da love of God! And besides, slaves like dat old gospel ‘n spiritual music ... ‘bout swinging low with chariots ‘n stuff.”
“But dat’s exactly what I wuz thinking!” Cooter’s eyes get all wide. “Cuz dat music’s all sad and depressing ... ‘n if I wuz a slave working out in da fields I might wanna liven’ things up with a little Skynyrd.”
“Jesus H. Christ Cooter! Slaves ain’t gonna wanna liven’ things up with a little Skynyrd! Oh, my Lord! Have dun lost your mind boy?!”
“Well, I dunno ... I’z just been sitting here wunnerin’ ‘bout stuff ...”
“Yeah, I’z been wunnerin’ ‘bout stuff too!!” Muskrat now perks up.
“Oh, Jesus H. Christ! Now you too Muskrat?!” Trip-K’s throws his hands in the air.

“Yeah ... I’z been wunnerin’ ‘bout stuff like maybe da Jews don’t control the world? ... ‘n maybe da Jews have der own secret websites dat tell ‘em who dey think controls da world ... ‘n maybe dey thinks we’z control da world ... ‘n just been blaming dem da whole time ta git ‘em off our scent?”
“Oh, my Lord!!” Trip-K’s slaps his hand on his forehead.
“Yeah, Muskrat!” Cooter chimes back in. “’N maybe all da udder minorities have der own secret websites too, ta git der own idears bout stuff ... ‘n maybe we gotta go der too ... ta learn from ‘em ‘n give us a brand-new way-a looking at things?”
“Yeah!” Muskrat gets all excited. “‘N maybe ya gotsta put all da different idears ‘n websites together ... from all ‘roun da world ... so dey all-inclusive ... ‘n dat’s what it takes ta figgur’ da whole thing out?!”
“Gaaawwwwdddammittt!!” Trip-K’s slaps his hand on his knee. “Would you two stop talking ‘bout putting all da different idears ‘n websites together ... from all ‘roun da world ... so der all- inclusive ... Jesus H. Christ have you two dun lost yur minds?!”
“Well, I dunno Trip-K’s ...” Cooter now gazes ‘roun da woodshed. “I’z just starting to feel all tingly inside ‘n starting ta feel like things are starting ta become more clearer now ... ‘n starting ta make more sense ... like I’z be seeing things for da first time ever – all o’er ‘gain – but from a different perspective or sumpin’.”
“Yeah, I’z be feeling all tingly inside too!!” Muskrat livens up. “’N seeing things for da first time ever ... all o’er ‘gain!”
“Jesus H. Christ!! Dat’s cuz you’z been eating dat dang-darn trail mix ‘n r starting ta turn into a couple a goddang hippies!”
“Well, I tell ya, Trip K’s ...” Cooter now lifts the bag of trail mix up examining it closer with his eyes going in and out of focus. “Dis here trail mix sure is good ... I mean, it’s chock-fulla all different kindsa nuts ‘n seeds ... ‘n shapes ‘n sizes ... ‘n colors n’ textures ... like all mixed up together from da trail o’ life or sumpin’ ... like maybe it’s one ‘o doze metaphor things White Jeff wuz talking ‘bout?”
“Gaaawwwwdammittt Cooter!!” Trip-K’s slaps his hand back down on his knee. “For da love o’ God ... gimme sum ‘o dat dang-darn trail mix den ... I might as well see what da hell you’z talking ‘bout!”
DD Smooove turns back over to his two interns.
“Ooohhhhh ... I can’t wait to fuck with these dumbass cracka’s.”
“Oh, yes sir! ... fucking with demz gonna be sweet!!”

Smoking Weed and Heckling a Hippie

Lil’ Shmoogy & Trip K’s are sitting on top of the Cave of Enlightenment smoking weed, talking shit, as Lil’ Shmoogy is yelling at him while he’s trying to light the bong.
“What tha fuck you doing to that thing?” She says.
“I’m trying to light it.”
“Nigga that’s not how you do it, you gotta put your finger over the hole first then you light it.”
“Gaaaawwdammit, I know how to smoke weed bitch, don’t be telling me what I already know.”
She throws her hands in the air. “Well you ain’t doing it right muthafucka, you’re just wasting all that shit.” Then all of a sudden she hears something – or someone – like a hippie – rustling about in the distance and pokes her head up.
“Huh? What tha fuck? ... who the fuck’s this nigga?”
“What nigga?” Trip K’s pokes his head up too.
WHACK! She cracks him across the face.
“Owww! ... bitch!”
“You fucking can’t say that word!”
He rubs his nose.
“But you say it all the time.” Then pauses. “And to me.”
“I can say it cause I’m black.”
He looks all confused.
“But dat don’t make no sense?”
“Don’t have to make sense. Doze are da rules. Made up by you white-ass cracka muthafuckas cuz black people have been discriminated against, marginalized, oppressed, beaten, enslaved, and forced to live in ghettos while you white-ass honkey muthafucka’s been living all high on the hog all privileged and shit.”
He turns his head to her.
“But I live in a trailer on da side of a swamp and have to hunt squirrels for food.”
She looks at him oddly.
“Seriously? ... you hunt squirrels for food?”
“Yeeaahhh ...” He shrugs his shoulders.
“And eat ‘em?”
“Ummmm ... yeeaahhh ...”
She pauses a second.
“What the fuck they taste like?”
He turns his head. “I don’t know, like squirrels?”
“Nigga I don’t know what da fuck a squirrel tastes like ... tell me what normal animal – that normal people eat – it tastes like?”
“Ugghhh, I don’t know ... I guess it kinda tastes like possum?”
“Nigga.” She raises her hands up. “I don’t what the fuck a possum tastes like!”
“Gaaaaaawdammit! I don’t know what da fuck a squirrel tastes like it just tastes like a fucking squirrel, stop asking me these dumbass questions!”
The hippie now gets up in front of them and stops.
“Ummmm ... Hello?” He says.

Lil’ Shmoogy looks at him rather annoyed.
“Sup nigga?”
“Yeah, sup nigga.”
WHACK!
“Owww ... bitch!”
“What da fuck I just tell you!”
“But I thought I just couldn’t say it to a black person ... and this guy’s white!”
She looks at him oddly.
“Why the fuck would you want to call a white person the N word?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. Cause it’s funny.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.” He concedes. “It’s funny cause then they get all confused and offended. And some of ‘em get outraged. Which can be really funny.”
Lil’ Shmoogy starts snickering.
“Oh yeah, it’s funny when white people get all offended and outraged and shit.”
“Oh yeah. Cause a lot of ‘em are all liberal – and woke – and hate themselves for being white, and then get all offended and outraged for other people, they don’t even know, when they get called words they don’t even understand. Like if I called you a piece of shit, you’d be all pissed off but if I said you were ‘the shit’ you’d be like, oh hell yeah.”
She looks back at him.
“Oh yeah, it’s funny when white people get all pissed off and outraged for other people and shit.”
“Oh yeah, cause you know if the roles were reversed and black people had been enslaving white people all this time and now it’s a hundred years later and white people were still complaining about it ... black people would be all ... fuck you cracka ... yeah I enslaved your ass keep it up and I’ll enslave your ass again.”
“Oh yeah, black people would be all ... fuck you you dumbass cracka, yeah I enslaved your ass, keep it up and I’ll enslave your ass again and toss your ass back out in the cotton fields and then bang yo Mamma.”
“Ha ha. Oh yeah, black people would be all fuck you you lazy-ass cracka, get a goddamn job, stop lying around smoking weed all day and trying to get reparations from me, now send your momma over here cuz I’m gonna bang her.”
“Oh yeah, black people would be all ... fuck you you dumbass liberal cracka, quit trying to get reparations from me and shit for free. Now go get a goddamn job.”
“Oh yeah totally ... like this dumbass liberal cracka hippie in front of us ... he probably doesn’t have a job either and wants some shit for free.” Trip K’s now looks right at him. “So is that it hippie? Do you not have a job and want some shit for free?”
The hippie just stands there looking around all confused. “Ummmm ... did you guys just call me a dumbass liberal cracka hippie?”
“Yeah we called you a dumbass liberal cracka hippie boy, whatchu gonna do about it?”
“Yeah you dumbass liberal cracka hippie, what the fuck you gonna do about it? You gonna cry? ... You gonna cry and run off to your dumbass hippie momma and have her jerk you off?”
Trip K’s starts laughing.
“Yeah, this dumbass liberal hippie probably has his mom jerk him off. They’re all free love and shit. Hey mom, come jerk me off ... Free love!”

Lil’ Shmoogy starts laughing too. “Yeah, this dumbass liberal hippie probably has his mom jerk him off ... So is that it hippie, you gonna cry and run off to your momma and have her jerk you off?”
The hippie just stands there with a very confused look to his face. “Noooooo ...”
“Well what tha fuck you want then you dumbass liberal hippie?”
“Yeah you dumbass liberal hippie, what tha fuck you want?”
“Ummmm ... I just won this secret mystery card for the cave of enlightenment?” He holds up a gold-colored card in the air.
“Ooooohhh ...” Trip K’s face lights up. “Oohhh, look at me. I’m a dumbass hippie and I just won a secret mystery card for the cave of enlightenment. Ooooohhhh, I’m gonna get special powers in there or maybe meet DonMu and have him take me to enlightenment.”
“Yeah.” Lil’ Shmoogy jumps back in. “I’m a dumbass liberal hippie and I just won a secret mystery card for the cave of enlightenment and think there’s a magic genie in there who’s gonna pop out of a bottle and grant me three wishes.”
Trip K’s busts up even harder. “Ooooohhh yeah ... look at me, I’m a dumbass hippie and I’m gonna get three wishes from a genie ... Oooohh, and let me guess what a hippie wishes for ... I wish I had more weed!”
“Haha, oh yeah!” Lil’ Shmoogy continues. “Look at me, I’m a dumbass liberal hippie and wish I had more weeeeeed.”
“Yeah, what a total dumbass hippie. Probably smoking that shwag weed too and can’t even get high. Is that it hippie? You been smoking that Mexican shwag weed and can’t even get high?”
The hippie just shrugs his shoulders.
“Ummmm ... noooo ...”
“Yo hippie. You want to smoke some of this good weed? The shit we got right here? Some chronic-ass indo that’ll take you high up to hippie heaven?” Lil’ Shmoogy holds her bag up in the air.
“Noo, I’m ok.”
“Oh! ... Oh really?!” Trip K’s exclaims. “Is our weed not good enough for you, hippie? Is that it? You think you’re too good for us?” He now turns to Lil’ Shmoogy. “Did you hear that? I think the liberal hippie thinks he’s too good for us.”
“Is that it hippie?” Lil’ Shmoogy looks at him. “You think you’re too good for us? Don’t want to be putting your white privileged hippie lips on the same bong as a black chick and some dumbass Klan redneck?”
“Hey!” Trip K’s snaps his head over.
“Noooo ... I just want to have a clear head when I go in the cave of enlightenment.”
“Ooooohhh ... ohhh, look at the hippie now. He wants to have a clear head when he goes in the cave of enlightenment. Oooooohhhh ... don’t want to have DonMu thinking he’s some kind of dumbass hippie who likes to smoke weed and hang out with black chicks and racist Klan rednecks and then clouds his judgement before he gets enlightened. Is that it hippie?”
“Ummmm ... aren’t you the two who got thrown in this new jail area?” The hippie now inquires.
“Oh! ... Oohhh!! ... look at the hippie now! He thinks we’re the ones who got thrown in the new jail area. I think he’s judging us? Is that what you’re doing hippie? Are you judging us?”
“Noooo ...” The hippie says.
“Oh no??? Is that not what you’re doing hippie?”

“Ummmm ... can I just go in the cave now?”
“Oh!! Look at the hippie now! He don’t want to talk with us no more. He think’s too good for us. What’s a matter hippie, don’t want to be seen talking to a black chick and some dumbass Klan redneck who eats squirrels?”
“Hey!”
“Well alright then hippie. Get your ass on in there then. Go on. Get your ass in there. Say ‘Hi’ to DonMu for us.”
“Yeah hippie, say ‘Hi’ to DonMu for us.”
“Peace Hippie!”
“Yeah, peace you dumbass hippie!”