INDIANA JOE AND THE WALMART OF DOOM
PT. 4
FLAVORS OF SHITSVILLE INDIANA
…“I will never be alone with you again, ever, without a witness present!”…
Carole remembered the words of her ex husband, and they stung. She desperately needed more of his money. Carole looked angrily at the unopened spy-cam box on the kitchen table; maybe she could get a refund. Deonte would be no help.
Carole couldn’t sleep because of the money situation. When she split from the herd and became the Indiana chapter president of “Real Women have Real Vaginas”, her fellow feminists turned their backs. Women Carole had marched with for twenty years at Pussy Slut protests cut off all contact, and the worst, worst part was all the funding dried up, dried up like menopause!
How dare they not care? How could they not see, not be on her side? Everywhere Carole looked, women’s causes were being hijacked by men! Carole was past consolation, she no longer cared about the politics; even if you cut it off, if you were born with a dick, then you are still a dick!
The idea of phony fake females dominating real biological women, taking over the meetings, doing the thinking, calling the shots, giving the orders, leading the protests; made Carole’s blood boil!
Trannies, with their fucking fake pussies, hideous surgical gashes (which the human body tried to heal up), were sick, sick, disgusting freaks! Carole shivered with revulsion, she had a good idea who was behind her losing all her funding too. She sipped her pumpkin spice tea, and thought about taking more revenge on her ex…
Carole’s iPhone buzzed to life with a mystery text…
‘ALERT LGBTQ protesters heading your way. Rainbow bus/Jewish Transgender League activists passing right by your house on MLK Blvd. Twenty minutes. Counter demonstration required. Call out the troops! Block the street! Stop them! Stop them! Real women/real cunts must stick together’…
‘OMG! Those are the very rat bastards that are behind me losing all my funding!’ thought Carole. She was so excited that she forgot she didn’t know where the text had come from. Time to gather the troops, and talk about last minute! Deonte would be no help of course.
Carole dragged her teenage son Tristan, and her wrinkly mother out of bed, as Deonte snored. She put pink pussy hats on both and ushered them into the station wagon.
They could see the rainbow bus speeding their way in the pre-dawn as Carole parked the car. They grabbed their banner and the three of them ran into the middle of the boulevard.
The three family members blocked the lane. Tristan (who preferred to be called Biff) and the wrinkly grandmother chanted,
“Real Women Have!”
And Carole answered back, loud and clear, “Big hairy vaginas!”
“Real Women have!” they called.
“Big hairy vaginas!” Carole responded loudly.
Biff noticed the headlights of the rainbow bus go dark as it speeded towards them.
“Real Women have!”
“Big hairy vaginas!”
The rainbow bus did not stop for their small protest. Instead it plowed into them, 65 in a 30 mph zone. Splat! 14 tons of Korean Detroit steel sent the dissenters flying into obscurity; broken, bloodied and dead. Their 15 seconds of fame over, with no witness. No one to care, no one would care; there would be no real investigation. The rainbow bus with its deranged passengers and FBI escort continued towards Walmart.
BACK AT TRAILER PARK HQ
“They have passed the first line of defense commander.” Announced Lump, Indiana Joe’s adjutant.
“Very good.”
The final preparations were being made before most of the Crusaders would take up position in the Walmart itself. Joe’s wives handed out Starbucks to the men. This would be the last coffee they would drink for hours, depending on how long the battle took.
“Hey, I ordered an Americano.”
“This is war soldier. Suck it up.”
THE SECOND LINE OF DEFENSE
Quantavious LaDravid Smiff slowly came to consciousness as the emergency alert on his iPhone sounded. It made the same noise as the lockdown siren at the supermax he was recently released from. He swung his gorilla like frame out of bed.
“Whatup nigger!?!”
The recorded message spoke “Air Jordans my nigger. The Rainbow bus has them for free my nigger. Ask the trannies and they will gib-mes for free Air Jordans. The bus be on MLK, be in yo’ hood any minute my nigger. Stop de’ bus and help yo-self my nigger. Dis’ bes’ a righteous gift my nigger.” The recorded message ended.
In 5 minutes there was a feral mob of project niggers blocking MLK Blvd. Sitting on their stolen bicycles, eating their morning chips, they eagerly awaited the rainbow bus and its booty.
Air brakes hissed and the bus and the FBI limos trailing behind stopped. Instantly the niggers surrounded the rainbow bus and began pounding on its windows. The transplanted jungle bunnies screamed gibberish about free sneakers and faggots and shit.
The FBI stayed safely locked in their limos, but the door to the rainbow bus opened, and out stepped the physically imposing Counselor Loren Greenblatt of the Jewish Transgender League.
Counselor Loren’s appearance momentarily stunned the Africans. It stood over 6 feet tall of pure muscle, yellow wig, yellow sweater, pointy imposing tits, red lipstick and green tartan. The morning sun highlighted the Jewish activists hairy legs! Greenblatt had the effect of a brightly colored poisonous animal. The blacks involuntarily took a step back.
‘Enough of dis’ shit.’ thought Quantavious LaDravid Smiff as he stepped in front of the other blacks and locked eye contact with counselor Loren. Loren flexed its muscles, Quantavious flexed his.
Maniacal trannies pored out of the bus and the blacks stepped back again. They had seen many things in the hood and in the joint, but they hadn’t seen this. The trans-persons were mingling and sniffing around.
“I like this one.”
“Hmmm, yummy chocolate!”
Bicycles, which blacks use to great effect most of the time, now hampered their movements. Quantavious could sense danger, and he tried plan B.
“Look, we know you girly fags got the Michael Jordans, so give us the sneakers and you can go on your merry ferry way, Bitch!”
“You big handsome black man, of course I’ll give you anything, I’ll give you everything.” Loren had been taking tiny unnoticeable steps, and now…
Like lightening, two of the tranny commandos, Scary Mary and Precious Lady, snatched Negros off their bikes, and pulled them, struggling and screaming, inside the rainbow bus. Quantavious, shucking and jiving, froze when he should have moved, and Counselor Loren caught the bull-nigger with its beefy, powerful hands, and hoisted him above its head.
“Time to play basketball black man!”
Loren launched the project ape sailing thru the air, it hurled him clear across MLK Blvd. and onto the basketball court.
“Ahahahaha!” Counselor Loren cackled as the remaining nogs scattered, leaving a pile of ghetto bicycles. The bus with its FBI escort resumed the journey.
MEANWHILE BACK AT THE TRAILER PARK
“The second line of defense has been breached boss.”
“Thank you Lumps.”
Indiana Joe stood facing the map of Walmart on the wall with his back to his men, his hands clasped behind him. Joe was now wearing a 1916 pattern helmet.
The men of the Traditional Crusaders were nervous, they were not easily frightened, but, this new kind of threat, the gender queer, skin crawly…
“Commander, what do we do if they touch us?”
A tough veteran who had served with the car cavalry at Charlottesville added, “Yeah boss, what if they try to do stuff to us?”
Joe wheeled around and faced his men, and his fierce gaze pierced thru thick granny glasses. All eyes were upon him. Joe’s jet-black uni-brow furrowed with purpose, his burly man-beard showed true crusader-like character. Joe spoke.
“Men, the 5 second rule applies. If you have physical contact with a tranny for more than 5 seconds, you’re out!”
They would go to Walmart now. Joe would move his command post, he would lead from the front like Alexander.
And with cries of “Deus vult!” and “Hail Victory!” They were off…
To be continued…