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Goldidreadlocks, a Values Tale

By Des, A Modest and Concerned True Christian Man

Once upon a time there was a transsexual female to male to female cross cross dressing militant lesbian satanist socialist drug user named Goldidreadlocks.

Having blown her-his-its welfare check on the dope and being out of money, she-he-it went for a walk in the woods because the peace-enforcing police officers had rightly and legally peppersprayed the ragtag filthy camp she-he-it and her-his-its freeloading doped up anarchist comrades had been squatting at in front of a Hobby Lobby. She-he-it hoped to find some marijuana growing wild in the forest because her-his-its kind think everything should be free.

She-he-it came across a modest four bedroom split-level cottage with detached garage, standard heated pool, and an unassuming jacuzzi & guest house . After looking through the trashcan and peeking through the windows, she-he-it barged right in because her-his-its kind have no respect for personal property and are not constrained by anything resembling morals.

She-he-it, well, let’s just call the person it from now on, because that’s exactly what it is, smelled a delicious aroma coming from a room in the house.

This was because earlier in the day the owner’s cook had prepared a plain American meal and the young and petite, standard Asian maid, Yuri, had set the table.

Prior to this, Yuri had thoroughly dusted the dining room. Her taunt, lithe body moving fluidly from place to place. Stretching to reach the ceiling trim with her feather duster, her modest breasts strained against the fabric of her uniform while her calves tensed. Her gluteals tightened and relaxed in a captivating hypnotic manner as she pushed upward on her dainty toes again and again to dust. Tense, relax, tense relax, her face a vision of serenity as her almond eyes cast attentively about. Her olive skin was flawless, with not a blemish or disgusting freckle to be found, nor could any of those revolting blue-green veins be seen upon the gentle swell of bosom revealed by the tight-fitting uniform. Her nimble tongue flicked swiftly across her ruby lips, providing a natural gloss that made one think of delicious ripe cherries.

And so it was that the table was set with modest twelve ounce ribeye steaks with all the trims. Goldidreadlocks, being a dope fiend, was chronically hungry, so it sampled the foods. Being a vegetarian PETA terrorist, it first flung the steak into the wastebasket. It tasted the broccoli on the first plate.

“Day-um, ho! Dat shiznit be haut!” it exclaimed.

So, it tasted the broccoli from the second plate.

“Dat shiznit be colder dan Eskimo pootnanny!” it said.

So, it tasted the broccoli from the last plate.

“Mmmm hmmm, dat be da bees knees!” it said happily and it ate it all up.

After it had eaten the food it decided it wanted to watch some television. So, it walked into the living room where it saw three chairs. Goldidreadlocks sat in the first chair to rest its feet.

“Dayum! Dis heah chay-uh be way too big fo mah lil ayus.” it exclaimed.

So it sat in the second chair.

“Laud ah-mighty, dis heah chay-uh be way too small fo’ mah ayus! Dis heah chay-uh mus’ be fo’ dah ayus’a onna dem skinny lil white beahches.” it whined.

So it tried the last chair.

“Mhhh hmmm! Dis heah chay-uh be jus’ like the ones at da gubment welfare office. It be nice an’ cushy.” it sighed. But just as it settled down into the chair to channel surf, it (the chair, not goldidreadlocks) broke into pieces.

“Cheap ayus Ikea shiznatch!” it exclaimed.

Not having a chair to watch the modest 56″ television in, Goldidreadlocks wandered into the den where it found the family computers.

It tried the first computer.

“Ah sho don’ know no command line interface!” it exclaimed when faced with the Linux OS.

So it tried the second computer.

The next computer was pink and said Vtech on the back, so Goldidreadlocks assumed it was made to look at the porn. Goldidreadlocks was wrong.

“What da hayull be dis heah thang! Why it don’ eben be no computah!” it whined.

So it moved on to the last computer, a Dell laptop with Windows OS and no parental lock.

“Mmmm hmmm. I’ma gonna be lookin’ at da powahn now. I’ma gonna be gittin’ mah grove on!” it said, satisfied.

After a few moments of browsing page after page of hard-core bestality porn as its kind is known for favoring, Goldidreadlocks wiped its fingers across the screen and yawned.

“Lawdy, all dat powahn an’ da self violatin’ sho do make a mangina tared. I’s gots ta finds me some ol’ bed to crash in!”

So Goldidreadlocks tried the first bedroom.

“Dayum! Dis heah bed be hawd! It be hawd like a GED test or a Micky Dee application!” it exclaimed.

So it tried the second bedroom.

“Heavens to Betsy, dis heah bed be all squishy an’ stuff. It be all squishy like an’ ol’ tomater what been in da crisper draw fo a month!” it whined.

So it tried the last bedroom.

“Mmm hmmm! Dis heah bed be juuuuuust right!” it said, then promptly fell asleep.

About this time the Bear family returned from their afternoon walk. While they were the Bear family, they weren’t really bears. Unlike some snakes and donkeys, bears don’t talk.

No, they were a perfectly average family whose surname was Bear. There was ‘Papa’ Beauregard Bear, the kind and gentle patriarch of the family who worked long hours several times a month adjusting his stock portfolio to keep the family provided for. There was ‘Mama” Beatrice Bear, dull of wit and slack of jaw, who baked pastries in the kitchen and wasn’t really good for much of anything else And there was ‘Baby’ Billy Bear, polite, well mannered, and who knew all the answers during the pop quizzes at Sunday school.

After washing their hands they headed to the dining room table. So devout was the family that they did not even look at the meal before them. Instead they bowed their heads in silent prayer, offering up thanks onto Jesus for the perfectly ordinary and modest meal of steak, loaded baked potato, steamed broccoli with garlic butter sauce, freshly baked dinner rolls, white truffle risotto, and a simple tiramisu with raspberry sauce desert. Only after this did they realize something was amiss.

“Someone’s been eating my broccoli. And they threw my steak in the trash,” growled Papa Bear.

“I think mine is okay.” said ditzy Mama Bear, having not noticed her nibbled-upon broccoli and missing steak. Papa gave her a distracted backhand cuff to the side of her head. She picked herself up from the floor, giggling, and ran off to the kitchen to bake some cookies.

“Someone’s been eating my broccoli. And they ate it all up.” Cried Billy.

They decided to see what else had been sullied, so they went into the living room.

“Someone’s been sitting in my chair.” growled Papa.

“I think I reversed the salt and the flour in the recipe.” said Mama as she came from the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron.

“For heavens sake, woman, do you never shut your pie hole?” bellowed Papa while smacking her across the lips affectionately with the back of his hand. She giggled and ran into the kitchen to bake a pie.

“Someone’s been sitting in my chair and they’ve broken it all to pieces.” cried Billy.

They then checked their work stations in the den.

“Someone’s been touching my computer. And they typed YOMAMMAOBOMAGOGOOBAMA into shell.” growled Papa.

“The cow says woof!” said Mama while touching the screen of her Vtech.

“Someone’s been touching my computer. And the keys are sticky and smell like anchovy paste, the homepage has been set to XXXhollabackhosdodonkeyshows.com, and I have a virus.” cried Billy.

The family proceeded to the bedrooms.

“Someone’s been sleeping in my bed.” Growled Papa.

“I’m still wearing my oven mitts.” exclaimed Mama.

“Someone’s been sleeping in my bed and he, no, she, no, no, I’m not sure what it is, but whatever it is, its still there.” yelled Billy. Papa and Mama Bear came running.

The noise woke Goldidreadlocks up. It sat up, rubbed its eyes, belched, and looked upon the family.

“Sup, beatches?” it asked.

The Bear family looked on in shock and wonder. Finally Billy spoke.

“What is it, Papa?” he asked.

“I think its what Fox News would call a common black Democrat, son.” Papa replied.

“Wha’chu talkin’ ’bout, cracka?”Goldidreadlocks asked.

“What is it saying, Papa? I can’t understand it.” Billy said.

“Few people can, son. That dialect is the result of the public school system. Now uhh, miss, err, mister…?” Papa continued.

“You don’ gets ta de-fine me, honkey!” Goldidreadlocks bellowed. “Da gendah roles be da tool oh da Patri-arky. Da Patri-arky be keepin’ us down! You’se jus’ a cracka mofo membah oh da ol’ cracka Patri-arky what be tellin’ us what junk we gots inna trunk, an’ ah aint’s gots ta take dat no mo now what Obama be up in da crib! Oh-bah-mah, Oh-bah-mah, Oh-bah-mah!”

“Now see here, whatever you are, this is my house, and I am asking you to leave, now!” Papa demanded.

“Ah ain’t gots ta leave. I’s be occupyin’ dis heah crib. I’s a Sociologist, an’ Linens an’ Harpo Marx, dey wrote da book on da socioligyism an’ dey says I kin occupy ’cause ahm da repressed minority what cause’a ah gots a vajayjay aftah ah hads me a Johnson aftah ah hads me mah first vajayjay. Dat dere make me be three times a minority repressed bein’ ah color cause’a i’m bein’ black an’ a lezzie asexual. Dat dere mean you cain’ go kickin’ me out!”

“Nonsense.” said Papa. “You’ll get out, and you’ll get out right this minute or I’m calling the police!”

“Goes on ahead an’ call da po-po. Ah ain’t ‘fraid a no po-po. Po-po cain’t touch me ’cause I’s a minority an’ black lives matter an’ da CNN gonna be followin’ dem an’ dey gonna record ever’ ting dey do an’ dey gots ta be nice to me ’cause a Obama. I’s guine occupy dis heah crib an’ I’s guine turn it into a crack hause abortion clinic.”

“Papa, I’m scared.” said Billy. “This person talks gibberish, but from what little I can understand, it sounds like the…person isn’t going to leave.”

“There, there, son.” chuckled Papa. “The book of Isaiah, forty one ten tells us Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness. We have to pray on this, then all will be clear.”

“Of course, Papa.” agreed Billy.

And so the family retreated to their modest panic room/prayer closet. There they prayed and prayed. Then Papa raised his head and smiled.

“Come, family. God has shown me the way.” he beamed.

They found Goldidreadlocks in the kitchen smoking herbs from the pantry. Goldidreadlocks coughed and sputtered.

“Wha’chu wan’ now, cracka? Di’n I tells y’all I’s be occupyin’ dis heah crib? Y’alls gots ta gits out!” Goldidreadlocks snarled.

“Just a moment now, man woman thing.” Papa said. “Let’s make this civil. We will ask each other riddles, and the one who does not know the answer must leave.”

“Ohhh ho ho!” Laughed Goldidreadlocks. “I’s knows all ’bout Uncle Remus an’ da tar baby an’ all dat shiznet. Ain’t no cracka fool gonna gits da best’a me wit’ no riddles. G’won an’ axe yo dumb ol’ riddle.”

“Very well then.” smiled Papa. “I’ll go first.”

“Jus’ like da white man.” sneered Goldidreadlocks. “Always gots ta be first. G’won wit’ yo cracka self, den, axe.”

“What is brown and sticky?” Papa queried.

“Papa,” Billy whispered. “That’s too easy. A stick.”

Papa shushed him, still smiling.

“Dumb ass cracka, dat be easy. If it be brown an’ all sticky an’ shiznet, it gots ta be a Messikan lezbean.”

“Fair enough.” Papa said agreeably. “Your turn.”

“But Papa…” protested Billy. Papa just smiled and held a finger to his lips.

“Brace yoself fo an E-viction, honky. I’s gonna axe you…”

“Say that again?” Papa interrupted.

“I say-ud I’s gonna axe you…” Goldidreadlocks repeated.

“One more time, for clarity’s sake.” Papa interrupted again.

Goldidreadlocks grimaced in frustration. Inhaling a deep breath it bellowed

“I’s gwine axe you…”

And at that, Papa Bear pulled out his American made Colt .45 and emptied the magazine into Goldidreadlock’s chest.

“Papa!” yelped Billy “You shot it and killed it!”

“That I did, son. That I did.”

“But..but why?”

“Because it threatened me with bodily harm, son.”

“It did?” Billy asked in disbelief.

“It certainly did. You yourself heard it threaten to axe me, not once, not twice, but three times. Castle law, son. If I’m threatened in my own home I can use deadly force to deal with the danger. Now you take your mama and go to the guest house for the evening.”

“But was there no other way?” Billy asked “The blood made a terrible mess of my room.”

“Well little bear, to be honest, I was expecting Jesus to handle it. But then I realized that unlike in second Kings two, twenty four, we already had bears.”

Billy thought about this for a moment, then he and his Papa laughed and laughed at the pun. Finally he composed himself.

“What are you going to do while Mama and I are at the guest house, Papa?” asked Billy.

“I’m going to call the police to come investigate the scene. And while I’m waiting for them to arrive I will buzz Yuri on the intercom and have her come into the study and give my pistol a thorough cleaning.”

And they all lived happily ever after.



Jeb Stuart Thurmond (08-05-2016 03:18 PM): It's almost ready for Playtime With Jesus, but it needs colorful pictures, or maybe just emoticons, or something to break up the drab text. How about giving each character a color, as in, "Hi I'm Bob" ...
Des (08-05-2016 04:38 PM): It's almost ready for Playtime With Jesus, but it needs colorful pictures, or maybe just emoticons, or something to break up the drab text. How about giving each character a color, as in, "Hi I'm Bob" ...
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