Indiana Joe and the Walmart of Doom part 3



PT. 3


There was a media blackout, but the locals knew something big going down. Driving by the trailer park, one could observe the Storm Troopers of the Traditional Crusaders political party, every man-jack of them over 88 kilos, doing jumping jacks.

The Crusaders had a heavy presence at the adjacent Walmart as well. All departments from Office to Auto had big tough men wearing black; many with Doc Martin boots, but most wearing Walmart freebies. The in-store Starbucks was heavily defended.

Trapped in the ladies room was Frederica. Every time it poked its head out, a scary skinhead wearing a ‘Zyklon B’ T-shirt barked out

“Get back in the shithouse right now Tranny!”

At the command trailer Indiana Joe, hands clasped behind his back, paced the few steps his bearlike frame could take before turning back the other way. On the wall was a layout of the Walmart and surrounding territory. Joe wondered what was taking sheriff Beegsley so long.

The door swung open, and Joe’s adjutant, Lump announced. “Deputy Dogbone here to see you sir.”

Joe sighed, “Send him in.”

Deputy Dogbone was a weasel of a man. He puffed himself up and pushed out his palm towards Joe.

“Before you start in Joe, let me tell you that Sheriff Beegsley couldn’t come because he’s busy doing important things.” The little lawman waited to be interrupted, and when he wasn’t, he continued.

“That’s right Joe, the FBI’s in town. They want to know all about you Joe, you and your crusaders.” Joe let him talk. “Now the sheriff is watching what he says, he’s a good man Joe, sheriff Beegsley is looking out for you, but he’s not scared of you Joe…”

“What about you deputy Dogbone, are you scared of me?” inquired Joe.

Dogbone swallowed hard, and changed the subject. “Hey Joe, is it true what they say, are you going to re-take the holy land?”

“Someday, God willing.” Replied Joe.

“I know you have to weigh more than 88 kilos to join the Traditional Crusaders party, but I’d sure love to come along!”

Joe assuaged Dogbone’s doubts. “Of course you can come on the crusade deputy. We’ll make room for you.” Joe smiled, and deputy Dogbone relaxed, then asked.

“Hey Joe, how many Moslems we gonna’ kill when we get to the holy land?”

“Every mother-fucking one of them!”


Flying at altitude, there was raucous, unsavory behavior on the Tranny plane. No one was in their seats.

“Open the windows somebody!”

“God, what a smell!”

A colored crack-ho he/she screamed gibberish and yanked at the door hatch, while fellow freaks tugged it away.

“Some one open a window!”

The police pilot was having flashback PTSDs from too much burnt nerve agent smoke, feces, IEDs and STDs he had experienced in Iraq, courtesy of Uncle Samstein.

“Counselor Greenblatt! Control your troops! We’re flying at pressure, you or one of your LBTGQs open a window, and we’ll all die!”

Counselor Greenblatt laughed in the police pilots face.

“I’ll turn back! Everyone knows you’re the darling of the mayor, but I’ll turn around if you can’t control your goddamn trannies!”

Again, counselor Loren laughed a haughty mocking laugh, full of irony with a little bitterness.

“You control my psycho-trannies captain. Haha! Just try. They can’t be controlled! Haha!”

Greenblatt leaned in close to the pilot, it was physically imposing, its synthetic blond wig brushed the pilots cheek. Loren smelled of locker room Jew and pumpkin spice; close, too close for comfort.

“As for turning back, my cys-gendered, white bread friend; there is no turning back!”

After that warning counselor Greenblatt lightened up.

“Girls. Girls.” It called out. “Lets try and call Frederica on the phone. See if she’s still hiding in the ladies room at Walmarts, or if the Nazis have got her yet!”

The trannies calmed and quieted down, and indicated their approval.

“Hi Freddie!” Counselor Loren spoke, then covered the phone with its palm and stage whispered, “Every one say hi to Freddie.”

“Hi Freddie!” rose the chorus of sour and shrill nasal trans-voices; voices of mentally ill female impersonators and pseudo-women.

“We’re coming to rescue you Freddie!”

Counselor Greenblatt returned the phone to its ear, “How are you surviving in the ladies room sweetie? Are you getting along?”

On the other end of the line, in Shitsville Indiana, Frederica the victimized transsexual huddled in a toilet stall. Yellow sweater no longer clean, it was trapped in the ladies room at Walmart, across from the in-store Starbucks.

“Counselor Greenblatt, it’s so great to hear from you!” It let out a fart. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down. But the truth is I’m terrified. Terrified of Nazis!” Frederica whispered dramatically.

“Is anyone feeding you at least sweetie?”

“This one lady, she took my money and bought a corndog, but she ate it in front of me!?! (Sob, sob, gurgle). I’ve been eating these things, they’re gross, I think they’re rat turds.”

“That’s gross.”

“But I have plenty of pills; I’ve been nibbling on my meds, and I’ve been staving off starvation.”

“We’re on our way sweetie! We’re going to take that Walmart back from Indiana Joe and his Traditional Crusaders! We’ll punch those Nazis! We’ll get you your job back at Starbucks + you’ll be rich from lawsuits! Hurray!”

The trans-plane cheered!


Joe, surrounded by his lieutenants, who eagerly waited his orders, considered the tactical options and strategic implications of the looming battle. If Joe won, the Walmart would be undisputedly his, but this great fight was about so much more.

If he lost, Joe would certainly be destroyed by the soulless globo-homo at the direction of the Jewish deep state. He would be toppled by neo-liberal do-gooders, like a statue of a white man. Joe would be treated like the Trump supporter he was and could expect no quarter. Losing was not an option.

Joe studied the map of Walmart pinned to his wall; Kids shoes, Outdoors department, Home electronics, entrances and exits. Of course, the Crusaders could attack before the tranny army even got to Walmarts. Why not ambush the perverts? They could machine gun them all as they exited the airport in the rainbow bus, but Joe had his political future to think of.

In Joe’s place, what would Pope Innocent III do, or Baldwin of Jerusalem? How would Hitler handle it?

Outside, the clouds cleared, and the sunshine lit up the map on the wall. Joe swung around and faced his officers.

“We will destroy them inside Walmart. We will first divide our forces in two, then into three prongs…”

To be continued…