WMD Ch. 02

"I have to get to class," I told her. I kissed the top of her head again which resulted in Brandy pressing her head into my shoulder and her breasts against my torso. "I'll catch up with you later." I separated from her. I wasn't going to rip her about letting Darius get away with whatever happened. That wasn't an argument I could win.

Twenty minutes later the Samsonov triplets were sitting in the Vice Principal's office, listening to her bitching us out. She was going to roast our chestnuts on an open-fire, BBQ our ham hocks and exile us from school.

"For what?" I inquired.

"You beat up two nice, young, upstanding African-American men," she growled.

"Evidence would be nice," I grinned.

"They saw you three bastards attacking them. That's all the proof I need," the VP glared. Somehow, she sensed a trap.

"So, these two unnamed guys claim the three of us beat them up...where? When?" I kept at her.

"That doesn't matter, you little bastards. They made the complaint and I believe them. You are looking at a one week suspension and you are being booted off the basketball team," she turned viciously victorious. We three kept smiling.

"Wait, are you recording this conversation?" she gasped. Three phones came up, we all hit 'upload' and showed her the screens. "Give me those," she snapped. We handed her the phones - the 'burner' phones dedicated to this round. Mom was a prophetess for some Dark Pantheon - no doubt. "How do you delete those files?" she mumbled as she played with the buttons.

"That would require a password which I doubt any of us recall right now," Alexander informed her. The VP, Mrs. Janice Russell, looked ready to erupt. "I will make it easy on you, Ms. Russell. Ms. Blanchard can verify I was with her from 12:35 to 1:10 when you summoned me here. Before that, all three of us were in the cafeteria. Your cameras will prove that."

"That means, B...," Mikhail snarled, "The three of us couldn't have beat up anyone since before home room. That means those whiny, little natty-haired bastards lied to you on an official complaint."

"Yes, my brothers and I can't thank you and your 'boys' enough for getting overly-greedy," I added.

Vice Principal Russell's mouth gaped like that of a drowning fish.

"None of us are going to sweat about these false accusation," I smirked. "We three are going to drop hints to everyone who counts you were super-nice to us and let us off with a 'stern warning'. I'm sure so very many of your fans will be pleased with you giving the three most hated White boys in school a pass."

"I did no such thing," she protested. I could see that creeping fear in her eyes.

"Well, unless you want to be brought before the State Board of Education, you are letting us walk," I pointed out.

"You have nothing," she shook her head.

"We have had several run-ins with you, we have you setting up our Mother by threatening Mikhail and we have you facilitating the Principal's attack," I reminded her.

"I did no such thing," she protested.

"Nice try. Either you are an idiot to not know what has been going on under your nose the past ten years as you handed female student after female student and concerned mother after concerned mother over to our former Principal, or you were in cahoots. Either way, you are toast," I countered.

"You can't tie me to that," she gobbled with some real concern.

"Like us, you are White, Ms. Russell," I snorted with amusement. "The Black community will rally around that fat bastard. Who has your back? If you think it is the Coach, you clearly haven't noticed how he looks at the female student body." The 'Ms.' was on purpose; an indicator she wasn't being much of a wife in our eyes.

"Hell, they might even pin his extracurricular activities - you manipulating a man with a sexual addiction he had no control over - on you because you pretty much made him a victim too," Alexander piled it on. "There goes any hope of a teaching job anywhere."

"Your husband will lose all his Black clients ... and most of the White ones too," Mikhail grinned like a shark.

"No...no, that wouldn't happen," she muttered.

"You are having a rather indiscreet affair with the Coach although you are a married woman. Basically, both of you are liars, deceivers and abuse your authority," I continued. "If the Coach really wanted you, you'd be his wife by now ... but nah ... he's stringing you along."

"Yeah, that's loyalty for you," Alexander tagged in. "Except you aren't loyal to your husband, so why would any man be loyal to you?"

"Shut ... Shut Up!" she screamed. "Get out ..." Out we went.

"We beat that because of one little lie," Mikhail chortled. "One lie - had they stuck with the facts - stupid bastards."

As we headed down the main corridor, classes let out for sixth period. As we passed Darius and some of his hoodlums, we laughingly chorused,

"LOSER," at him in front of a whole crowd of students. Darius' face darkened with rage. We stumped him then by doing the unexpected - we ran for it.

The pattern for many basketball practices were set. The Ass Coach split up our alliance every chance he got - because we repudiated and ridiculed his style of coaching. It was hard for any of our group to score in individual scrimmages when our 'team mates' would never give us the ball. The guy whose jaw was broken by Mikhail was sidelined.

Every time one of the Black athletes popped Kaja, Mikhail tied a knot on a piece of cord and waved it in the direction of the offender. Curiosity finally got to one of the other guys.

"You practicing to be a Boy Scout?" he scoffed.

"Nah. When I get angry, I tie a knot. When the time comes, I'll remember what each knot was for and untie it ... if you get my drift," Mikhail didn't even bother to look up.

"You think that makes you scary, needle-dick?" he took a step toward my brother.

"I don't give a damn what you think," Mikhail said as he stood. "What I do know is that, unlike you and your buddies, I possess a personal code of Honor. I'm worthy of respect because of that. In turn, I show respect to those who show they've earned it ... people like Kaja. Your sorry ass? ... You don't matter," Mikhail's temper was simmering.

"I'm not afraid of you," the Black player postured.

"That's your mistake," Mikhail chuckled. "There is a world full of the graves of dumb-fucks who didn't know when to be afraid. By no means consider yourself unique."

"Yo, Raymond," Shaquille came over, "didn't Mik here break up your cousin last week?"

"He hasn't paid for that either," Raymond grumbled. We chuckled over that. Later, as we showered, we let Shaquille know Mikhail was never called 'Mik'. We avoided letting the rest of the team know because we knew they'd have been childish and annoying.

Kaja caught up with us as we made our way out to our motorbikes.

"Mikhail," she groused. "I don't want you fighting my battles for me."

"Tough," Mikhail shrugged.

"Kaja, Mikhail isn't pissed because they are picking on a girl. He's pissed because they are picking on a friend," I clarified.

Neither response was what she expected.

"Oh ... Hey, I found something else out when I went to talk to our coach," she brightened up slightly. She showed us a few pictures on her phone. Raymond was standing up, feeding his BBC down our Ass Coach's throat, while the White man was on his knees before him.

Shaquille appeared to be embarrassed. Kaja was expecting some level of outrage, disgust, or confusion. Sadly, she was giving us old news. This was SOP for the cult of the BBC.

"So, what are we going to do about this?" Kaja inquired.

"Save it," I grinned. "Our time will come."

(WTF! And Killing Dreams)

[Yes, this is a parody of another author who shall remain Name-X-less]

Tuesday, we didn't have home room, we had Assembly. As it turned out, we didn't have a first, or second period either. And for that privilege, we had the Black-dominated School Board to thank. Fate put we three troublemakers and Darius only a few feet apart on the front row. Someone had decided the Cheer Squad would look cute sitting on the floor in front of us.

I had corralled Kaelyne and Victoria. Leona was up in the bleachers with her boyfriend. Kaja, Shaquille and Shaquille's GF, Monique, migrated our way as well. The Vice Principal did her thing then introduced our interim Principal. He was sternly erect and projected pride. That first impression worried me. I shouldn't have bothered. How to describe this train wreck?

He was a six foot tall, somewhat blocky-shaped, overweight and bespectacled Black man named Dr. Pierre O'Rourke Jean-Georges He had been born in Massachusetts, educated in the US and Canada and was here to heal the racial and social rifts in our community. Those sounded like lofty goals and I found myself wishing him luck. Then his rambling began.

Why would we, his students, care what colleges he'd attended? Most of us had never heard of any of them before. Did we care what sports his schools excelled in? No. They were not NCAA Division I schools, so their championships were rather meaningless to us. Lacrosse was different from Field Hockey how? Tennis? Crew? Equestrian?

About fifteen sports in, it dawned on us he wasn't talking about sports he'd actually participated in ... unless there was some freaky Yankee custom that allowed men to play on female teams that is. The revelation of this information was mixed. A few, like Victoria, were enchanted by this unforeseen turn of events, other were confused and the majority were zoning out, or falling asleep.

Did he notice he'd deviated from any sort of coherent message?

Noooo ... he was just getting started. Thirty minutes into this pointless exposition of information that had no relevance for anyone still listening, even I was about to nod off. That's when he dropped 'The Bomb'. He abruptly jumped back to his earlier pledge to heal the rifts and unite the community.

"See," he slammed down his hand on the podium, waking the sleepers, "I know about being White (huh?), I know about being Black (um ... okay?) and I know what it is like to be on the outside looking in." He was sounding pretty passionate. "I am not a Black man, though some see me that way. No, I am a bi-racial man. I am a bisexual man."

"I know what it is like to face the patriarchal backlash fostered by ignorant and frightened Black and White American communities, trapped in their bigotry and race hatred."

I caught Darius looking my way with suspicion. I gave him an exaggerated shrug and shook my head in the negative. This wasn't a Samsonov ploy.

"My Father was NOT a Black man. He was Haitian - a free Black man who defeated the White colonial slave masters," he espoused. "My mother was a proud, White woman. She was Boston Irish and proud of her Irish legacy as they were oppressed by the British in the same way the Haitians were oppressed by the French. I was born into a world of hatred and misunderstanding."

"To the Black community, I had a White mother. To the White community, I had a Black father," he preached. How this evolved into him being a good principal wasn't obvious to us. Then something occurred to me. Here was a man who 'looked' very (dark) Black, who had a quite extensive education and who had undoubtedly written many published works. And this man loved pontificating his ideas to the masses.

I was now betting when the School Board offered him the job, none of them had actually read any of his published articles. He was big on talking about the 'fight against racism'. That was as far as any of them read into his background. Like all good citizens of Kingston, racism only mean White racism. They weren't racist. Besides how could a Black man become famous fighting Black racism?

And then came the 'bi-sexual' part of this calamity. Understand, my family's tolerant view of sexuality was not widely shared. Also understand that ass-fucking and face-fucking White boys didn't make a Black man gay, or even bi-sexual - just ask them.

That's correct; there was no homosexuality on that side of the color divide. Rich White boys were all considered gays, closet-gays, or 'in denial'. Being a redneck gave you the extra options of being into bestiality and incest. Lesbianism is what White girls did to one another to excite their Black stud-muffins before the main course. Of course Black girls could contribute, but that was on the 'down low'.

"Now, I know Black men feel threatened by true sexuality. Victims of centuries of indoctrination by a hypocritical Christian religion and a repressive African male stereotype. White men are just as afraid of their desire for Black male companionship," he spouted. "I want you to know, my White and Black brothers and sisters, you can be free."

"My parents opened that road for me at birth," he declared. "They fought back against the White establishment and refused to have me circumcised. Yes, my cock is a proud ten inches of uncircumcised, bi-racial manhood." I was almost grateful that he got back to the regularly scheduled spewing forth of his own bigotry.

"In my long quest for sexual fulfillment, I found the perfect mate - a bi-racial, bi-sexual woman who appreciates my confidence and my embrace of liberal feminist principles," he smiled at his 'captive' audience. "I am here to guide you all on that journey. Shed the shackles of the past and free your minds to the natural desires of brotherhood and toleration."

Had he ended it there, he might have made a lasting point. He didn't, instead going on for another twenty minutes about 'being sexually liberated' and the freedom gained by embracing non-Judeo-Christian religious ideals. Way past the point of coherency, the good doctor slammed down his hand on the podium one last time and eagerly declared he was going to make us all better than we ever were before.

Abruptly, he stopped talking. It took everyone a few seconds to realize he was awaiting his ovation. Not only had less than ten people paid attention throughout this whole affair, he was ranting at the wrong target audience. This crowd was 99% Christian with 80% being part of regular congregations that embraced homophobia with a passion.

Liberalism wasn't about the difference between democrats and republicans. It was about turning all the racial dirty dealings in this town into openly accepted practices. That meant Black women could actually hang out with White men! Oh no! Feminism meant ... the bitches would unionize and make the playas pay for their treats.

'Repressive African male stereotype' was the college educated way of saying Big Black Cockery. Expunging 'cock-slavery' was the last thing these Black men wanted. What saved us from a riot then and there was the plethora of $10 dollar words he'd used.

Ms. Blanchard and the Ass coach stood up and started clapping first. With varying degrees of reluctance, the rest of the faculty joined in. Maybe a third of the student body made some noise before the silence resumed. A highly flustered VP Russell quickly stepped up and dismissed the assembly to what little time remained of our second period classes.

We'd wasted 90 minutes listening to our new 'Academic Captain's' message. The scope of Principal Jean-Georges' failure meant our normal feud was put on the back burner as the real message was translated and digested by the brainer classmates, who then let it trickle down to the rest of the student body. Anti-Christian bias, endorsing homosexual behavior, female empowerment ... none of that was going to fly.

Darius's majority considered themselves Christians by default, and the 'Samsonov' faction practiced our faith in private and with an on-line congregation back in Alaska. The locally strong, rural Christian foundation was a huge stumbling block. Had Jean-Georges not clearly been a wack-job, our small group might have supported his policies of sexual tolerance and female equality.

Not only did we have no faith in his leadership, his declarations weren't educational - they were condescending. He was claiming to teach tolerance while being intolerant. Circumcision had what to do with any part of this? It was a widely accepted medical procedure. His long list of academic accomplishments included a PhD in Modern Spiritual Revisionism (whatever that was) from Ottawa. He was in no way, shape, or form an MD.

More controversy boiled up around his wife. She had missed his diatribe, but showed up at his office afterwards and several students had snapped pictures of her. The two main questions were A) what was that Nubian Queen doing with this mentally maladjusted martinet? And, B) how bloody expensive was her get-up - clothes, jewelry, footwear, make-up and hair style?

Victoria's caption evoked its own firestorm - 'Guess who wears the strap-on in that family?' Kaja had to explain to my brothers and me what the problem was. See, in this pocket dimension, Black men fucked other people in the ass; they didn't get fucked - 'yes' to pitching; 'no' to catching. It hadn't occurred to the BBCs to think that way ... until Victoria kicked open the door.

A woman bending a Black man over and pounding away at his butthole was right up there with Satanism in their book. It got better. Mikhail added fuel to the fire by circulating the text 'I bet she makes him do Ass-to-Mouth too'. He might as well dropped fire ants on the BBCs. The threat of some serious role-reversal was stirring them up.

I thought they were worrying about nothing. Our new Principal had alienated everybody with his long-winded speech. He'd basically accused the student body, the faculty, and the community they all came from, of being brutish, backwoods bigots and announced he, and he alone, would be our Messiah. Truthful, or not, that wasn't the way to win minds and influence people.

After lunch, the old tempo reasserted itself. The Blacks came after us, the teachers created their own set of mischief for us and we convinced Kaelyne and Victoria to spike the football teams Gatorade with a powerful diarrheic which had the unexpected side effect of Brandy and Taliyah waiting by Mom's Mustang when Kaja, Shaquille and the three Samsonovs exited basketball practice.

We had expected the Men's locker room to be smelling pretty foul by the time Ass Coach dismissed us and it was. The whole team decided to forgo showering due to the stench.

"Brandy, Taliyah," I greeted the two, "What's going on?" Brandy shot me the strangest look. She was obviously unhappy, but I couldn't tell why.

"Hi Vlad, Alex, Mikhail, Shaquille and Kaja," Taliyah greeted the group.

"Vlad, we were wondering if you could give us a ride home," Brandy requested. Where the girls' cars had been parked remained unclear. I looked over the crowd. Since it looked safe and the weather was fair, Shaquille would be walking home. We'd already promised to give Kaja a ride so things would be a bit tight with six.

"Sure," Mikhail spoke for us all. "Alexander," he tossed my other brother the keys, "you drive." What followed was a bit of emotional communication. Mikhail and I got in back. Brandy came next, aiming for my lap. Kaja and Taliyah collided over who would be on Mikhail's lap. Kaja was uncertain about her relationship with Mikhail so Taliyah ended up slipping past her.

Kaja found herself in the front seat. That wasn't too bad as Kaja was the first stop. Brandy wasted no time pressing her body against mine. Taliyah didn't know what to make of Mikhail offering her the front seat after we dropped Kaja off. She gave the Alexander the address and directions, but ...

"Why don't we go by you guys' place?" Taliyah suggested before we were half way there.

"Because you are one of the fucking enemy?" Mikhail mocked her. Taliyah looked offended.

"What makes you say that?" she glared.