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A sensitive essay by:
Theodore Johnston VI

Preposterous, you say? Impossible? Silly, even?

Well, before I begin, allow me to shrug you off as a skeptical, cynical, stupid reader.

Now then, you wonder how the black man can hamper a chap whose net worth is greater than the poorest 7% of the country? You find it unfair to complain of prejudice when my descendents crossed the Atlantic on the Mayflower?

Granted, I own six corporations and hold the collective fates of 16,000 families in my hands. I fly around on a private jet and perform atrocities on a whim. I can make or break a man without so much as a second thought and I do it to pass the afternoon. I am oppressed, however, I swear it.

Not in the traditional manner, of course. Men prostrate themselves before me on a regular basis, begging for my favor or my mercy. If I find their groveling entertaining, I may feign indifference and not crush them for months or even years. More likely, I’ll tire quickly from their insipid, utterly gray presence, and destroy their lives piece by banal, pathetic piece as they slobber and cry on the floor.

Where was I? Robert….ROBERT!!!  Hello  Robert, do you know where I was? Robert?! By God, answer me you harlequin! Are you a personal advisor or a 160 pound pile of flesh and fecal matter that pretends to hold a brain? Get out! Get out and consider that pen I just stabbed into your shoulder as your severance pay, you worthless, pathetic excuse for a…wait a minute. Come back, Robert. Please come back. Oh, thank you. Now wipe this spittle off of my chin. Yes, yes. Thank you. Now GET OUT, you vile creature that obliged me to spit on myself. Dirty fool.

Sigh. I seem to have lost my train of thought. Allow me a moment to refer to my notes…where are my notes? Ah… here they are. Oh nooo! Robert’s blood has covered them. Look at this filth! I hope the idiot didn’t have a communicable disease.

I shall have to continue this essay at a later date. Maria! Come and clean up this blood.





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