Read Online The Good Slave by Franklin Sellers - Free Book Online
Authors: Franklin Sellers
Ads: Link
chuckled.
“Right you are, Bart!” Pete boomed. “But even after Stephen Messinjure was found guilty by a God-fearing, Christian jury, his father still spoke out against the conviction and proclaimed his son’s innocence.”
“At that point I think it was clear that Josef Messinjure had gone from denial to delusional in his hopeless defense of his disloyal and unrepentant son,” said Paul.
Pete turned and looked into the camera.
“Let’s go down to the field now where Jimmy Valentine is waiting on the sidelines with some excited young Christians. Jimmy?”
Jimmy Valentine, a handsome young man with an incandescent smile, wore a black suit just like the old guys in the anchor booth, except his tie was maroon silk, not blue cotton. His short blond hair was gelled, parted on the left, of course— Everyone knows only girls and fags part their hair on the right —and molded into a whimsical backward wave at the apex of his forehead. He stood at the edge of the field surrounded by a group of a dozen shirtless teenage boys, some fat, some thin, and all sporting red, white and blue “war” paint on their faces with matching crucifixes, some burning, on their chests. One boy’s cruciate was simply two sloppy slaps of scarlet paint, but it did the trick. All that mattered was that he was one of them. He fit in. He was normal. Important characteristics for survival in his America.
“That’s right, Pete,” Jimmy shouted above the cheering crowd. “The atmosphere is electric in the Family Values Center here today. It’s standing room only, with an estimated crowd of twenty thousand men!”
The boys behind the reporter cheered, laughed and yelled. Turning to a small boy on his right, Jimmy Valentine asked, “And what’s your name, little man?”
The boy leaned in toward the mic. “Seth McDonald!” he shouted, and a wide grin spread across his face. He was missing a front tooth.
“And where are you from, Seth?”
“I’m from the great lone-star state of Texas!” The boys behind him cheered again. “We all are!”
“And how old are you, Seth?”
The boy hesitated, then stammered, “Teh... uh, t-twelve. Twelve! Just old enough to be here!”
“I wouldn’t worry,” Jimmy said with a wink. “You look ’t-twelve’ to me, sport. And is this the first lapidation you’ve ever attended?”
“Yes, sir, it is!”
“And what made you want to come here today?”
“I came ’cause God don’t make no mistakes and He don’t make queers neither! That’s the devil’s work!”
His companions cheered him on.
“Right you are, Seth!” Jimmy agreed as he stood up. He turned to a husky older boy to his left. “And what’s your name?”
“My name is Johnny Whimpleton!” The boy had a dimpled smith and a mouth full of perfect white teeth.
“And why are you here, Johnny?”
“I’m here because the Holy Bible says faggotry is an abomination! Leviticus 18:22 ‘Thou shalt not lie with mankind as with womankind’!”
“We’re here to watch that faggot get his ugly face smashed in!” shouted a hulking brute behind Johnny Whimpleton.
The boys began to chant, “Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!” And they laughed as they jumped up and down, engulfing poor Jimmy Valentine.
“That about sums it up!” the reporter yelled with a laugh. “Back to you, Pete!”
The three men at the anchor desk were all chuckling to see such merriment.
“Thanks, Jimmy,” Pete said.
“It’s nice to see good, wholesome, normal boys turn out to witness the dispensation of American justice,” Bart said.
“And with normal Christian names, too,” Paul added. “Did you know, Pete, that the name Stephen is only mentioned thirteen times in the Bible?” He shook his head in disgust. “Talk about an evil omen! His name might as well be Judas!”
“Anyone With an ounce of common sense knows that every homosexual is a Judas,”
“Right you are, Bart!” Pete boomed. “But even after Stephen Messinjure was found guilty by a God-fearing, Christian jury, his father still spoke out against the conviction and proclaimed his son’s innocence.”
“At that point I think it was clear that Josef Messinjure had gone from denial to delusional in his hopeless defense of his disloyal and unrepentant son,” said Paul.
Pete turned and looked into the camera.
“Let’s go down to the field now where Jimmy Valentine is waiting on the sidelines with some excited young Christians. Jimmy?”
Jimmy Valentine, a handsome young man with an incandescent smile, wore a black suit just like the old guys in the anchor booth, except his tie was maroon silk, not blue cotton. His short blond hair was gelled, parted on the left, of course— Everyone knows only girls and fags part their hair on the right —and molded into a whimsical backward wave at the apex of his forehead. He stood at the edge of the field surrounded by a group of a dozen shirtless teenage boys, some fat, some thin, and all sporting red, white and blue “war” paint on their faces with matching crucifixes, some burning, on their chests. One boy’s cruciate was simply two sloppy slaps of scarlet paint, but it did the trick. All that mattered was that he was one of them. He fit in. He was normal. Important characteristics for survival in his America.
“That’s right, Pete,” Jimmy shouted above the cheering crowd. “The atmosphere is electric in the Family Values Center here today. It’s standing room only, with an estimated crowd of twenty thousand men!”
The boys behind the reporter cheered, laughed and yelled. Turning to a small boy on his right, Jimmy Valentine asked, “And what’s your name, little man?”
The boy leaned in toward the mic. “Seth McDonald!” he shouted, and a wide grin spread across his face. He was missing a front tooth.
“And where are you from, Seth?”
“I’m from the great lone-star state of Texas!” The boys behind him cheered again. “We all are!”
“And how old are you, Seth?”
The boy hesitated, then stammered, “Teh... uh, t-twelve. Twelve! Just old enough to be here!”
“I wouldn’t worry,” Jimmy said with a wink. “You look ’t-twelve’ to me, sport. And is this the first lapidation you’ve ever attended?”
“Yes, sir, it is!”
“And what made you want to come here today?”
“I came ’cause God don’t make no mistakes and He don’t make queers neither! That’s the devil’s work!”
His companions cheered him on.
“Right you are, Seth!” Jimmy agreed as he stood up. He turned to a husky older boy to his left. “And what’s your name?”
“My name is Johnny Whimpleton!” The boy had a dimpled smith and a mouth full of perfect white teeth.
“And why are you here, Johnny?”
“I’m here because the Holy Bible says faggotry is an abomination! Leviticus 18:22 ‘Thou shalt not lie with mankind as with womankind’!”
“We’re here to watch that faggot get his ugly face smashed in!” shouted a hulking brute behind Johnny Whimpleton.
The boys began to chant, “Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!” And they laughed as they jumped up and down, engulfing poor Jimmy Valentine.
“That about sums it up!” the reporter yelled with a laugh. “Back to you, Pete!”
The three men at the anchor desk were all chuckling to see such merriment.
“Thanks, Jimmy,” Pete said.
“It’s nice to see good, wholesome, normal boys turn out to witness the dispensation of American justice,” Bart said.
“And with normal Christian names, too,” Paul added. “Did you know, Pete, that the name Stephen is only mentioned thirteen times in the Bible?” He shook his head in disgust. “Talk about an evil omen! His name might as well be Judas!”
“Anyone With an ounce of common sense knows that every homosexual is a Judas,”
Similar Books
