FaceBook Tales:

Reflection of a TeaBagger

By

D.S. Brown

 

In our modern world of unprecedented exposure, visibility, the power to see, and be seen, we often broadcast that which we want to 

share with the entire world.  Just as often, we share a bit more than we intended.  Through the power of WEB 2.0 does this new 

wondrous thing come alive in ways we could not have imagined, sometimes with unintended consequences.  This is the combined 

world of our shared existence.  The world through the looking glass is real, Alice.  It exists, in the electric pulses generated on the other 

side of typed keys.  Our doorway to this world?  FaceBook. 

Welcome, to FaceBook Tales.

The status.  The status was such an important thing.  Update, update, update on a daily basis.  One must post one’s status.  Through the LCD screen do we enter, our metaphoric looking glass, when dark it is the mirror that reflects our faces and the dark places in our mind, when brightly illuminated it is the window, the gateway we utilize to enter other worlds.  Our minds walk across the digital break to enter the world of Winifred Weeks.  All lives carry value, all lives have a story to tell. 

Winifred’s life was one filled with constant emotional highs.  She was a happy well-adjusted middle-class girl from Aurora, Illinois.  She was in her sophomore year at Northwestern University.  She was lucky.  She had her own dorm room, a single.  She loved school.  She loved the challenge.  She was looking forward to a life of prosperity, family, and independence.  She saw the power of her Lord and Savior deeply woven through all three of her life themes.  Nothing was mutually exclusive.  However, for the last six months her emotional high had been one of constant disruption and anger.  She kept her smile on her face, and reveled in her new daily role.  With each passing day she felt herself becoming more and more … a revolutionary. 

If you think the Black Panthers were something … wait’ll they get a load of me!

This sentence had been on rewind in her head for the last few days.  She was an avid Jack Nicholson fan, and loved his role as the Joker in Batman.  Yes, she would be the Joker, instead of the joke.  Out there, on campus, they saw her as part of an insane minority.  They were so blind.  Her and her friends would show them the truth, by any means necessary, to quote one of their so-called heroes.

Winifred didn’t even have to think about today’s status.  Well, she didn’t have to think about it all that much.  Still, out on the periphery of her mind, there was an itch, an itch she was loathe to scratch.

Winifred: Still basking in the afterglow of the Chicago Tea Party.  And, still angry about that CNN fascists Susan Roesgen playing the typical Obama Mania Media game, and not letting Americans speak their mind! 

She picked up twelve five like responses almost immediately.

           

Jennifer Colson at 1:39 PM:

Still glowing here in Boston, Winnie!  Keep shining sister!  Keep shining!  We’re going to wake this country up and get that madman out of office yet! 

 

  Lori Denson at 1:39 PM:

Osama Obama not only looks like a monkey, but thinks like a monkey.  And his wife looks like a dog!  A Shar Pei!  She is no ROLE MODEL!  She hates real Americans!  And I HATE HER!!!!!!!!!!

 

 “Ha!” Winifred said, after snorting, almost loosing a gob of snot from her nose onto the screen.  She loved her FaceBook friend Lori, even though she was crass as hell.  Honestly, Lori was ignorant too some degree.  Still, Winifred knew you needed people like Lori in a movement, people that would say the mean thing, the hurtful thing, stir the pot and get it all cooking just right.  And what was just right?  Depending on the situation, that might mean ready to explode.            

 

Winifred at 1:40 PM:

 ROFLMAO! He’s not that ugly, Lori.  Just dumb.  Try not to be so mean … all the time.  Just some of the time.  J

 

 Terrence Carter at 1:41 PM:

  President Slobama is an ugly, stupid as hell, walking, talking dog biscuit! 

 

  James Madison at 1:41 PM:           

 The Leftists and the Obama-Mania Media dare to call themselves Americans. They better take a look around because they have awakened a sleeping giant.  Try and hijack this country, they won't succeed.  Try and destroy our Constitution, they won't succeed. Try and be a friend to those in the world who aim to destroy us, and they will make 9/11 look like a trial run. Sit down with the Iranians & N. Koreans, for what purpose?  Do they think they can be trusted?  They need to EARN our trust.  Obama might as well bow when he shakes their hands as well.  Leftist all over this country!  Wake up and smell the...tea!

She wondered where was Ansel The Democrat, David Williams, or that fag-hag Brian Leeds?  They were some of the most difficult, intractable, pain-in-the-ass people on FaceBook.  Winifred liked to call them the dancing meatheads, thick on protein, way too smart for their own good.  Dancing meatheads, please meet my Daddy’s barbecue grill.  Or better yet, my little George Forman grill I have in my room.  Yes, how appropriate. They called themselves Thinkers, but were really nothing but Liberals.  Still, sometimes David did make her think.  He got on her nerves.  She couldn’t help getting frustrated when he jumped into her conversations.  Often enough, even through the fog of anger, he made her think.

 

            DeAndre March at 1:44 PM:

            I am so sorry I voted for him.   Don’t be mad at me my friends!  It wasn’t because he was black.  I really thought he was the right guy for the job.  I had no idea how wrong I was.

           

James Madison at 1:45 PM:

Don’t worry about it, DeAndre.  You’ve got your head on straight now.  You made a mistake.  We all make mistakes.  What counts is that you’ve joined the movement to set things right again, to put the Constitution back in place, and end this fascist regime. 

 

Lori Denson at 1:45 PM:

                I won’t fly down and kick your ass, DeAndre, as long as you promise to help me kick Osama Obama’s ass.  You have to 

promise!

 

Winifred at 1:45 PM:

                 We welcome you DeAndre.  You’re on the right side now.

 

Jennifer Colson at 1:46 PM:

DeAndre, as you already know, I have so many diverse connections through my work.  I can’t even begin to tell you how many African-Americans I have met that feel just like you.  However, please don’t feel bad.  Not at all!  You made what you thought was the right choice.  Obama is a shrewd salesman and a huckster.  You just got caught up.  We welcome you to the right side, and look forward to working with you.

 

DeAndre March at 1:47 PM:

                Thanks guys.  I’ll never make a mistake like that again.  And Jennifer, I’m ready to start working right now.  He has got to GO!

 

Winifred’s blackberry buzzed.  She glanced at the time on her monitor.  It was 1:50 PM.  Punctual as usual.  The message said: I’m out front.  Ready?  She typed out her response with her thumb.  Yes. On my way.

 

              Winifred at 1:50 PM

              Gotta go guys!  See u later!  

Winifred didn’t wait to see what kind of response she got.  She minimized the window, but didn’t log off.  She actually could keep Facebooking from her blackberry, but he didn’t like it.  Joshua Tinsdale was a man of technology to be sure, but more importantly he was a man of purpose.  When he spoke, people listened, especially his girlfriend.  The thought made her smile.  They had been together for three months, most of the semester.  They were an official item.  Together they were formidable, seen as movers and shakers on campus. 

Winifred knew more than one teacher viewed them as irritants.  She didn’t care.  She openly invited them to conflict.  They continuously tried their liberal indoctrination crap on her.  She reveled in tossing it back in their faces, stomping their dreams, and creating apoplexy, leaving them discombobulating in spit, and daring them to change her grades.  She was smart and she knew it.  They were dumb, and she wished she could get them booted off campus.  It was hard, especially when the entire administration was a quagmire of liberal slime.  Still, she could handle it.  Like one of her heroes, Ann Coulter said, you have to leave the liberals a quaking, quivering, shivering mess.

She walked out of her dorm room and took the stairs to the main lobby.  As she walked across the lobby she smiled and waved at a couple of her friends, a few more acquaintances, supporters was what she liked to call them.  Of course, the majority of the people in the lobby were bleeding hearts, liberals to a fault, willing kool-aid drinkers, supporters of the establishment, about as un-American as she could imagine.  She felt their eyes on her as she walked by.  Not now, she thought.  There would be time enough for debate later, time enough for crushing. 

Crush my enemy, leave them sputtering!  Never say no, never say die!

She walked out through the doors.  She looked for him, but didn’t see him immediately.  She glanced to the right.  There he was.  Slowly ambling along the concrete path.  He appeared to be mindlessly staring across the quad.  However, she knew better.  Joshua Tinsdale did not stare mindlessly.  His mind was forever active.

She walked quickly, catching up to him.  “Hello!” 

He glanced back, a half-smirk painted on his face.  “Hello yourself.”

He turned and swept her up in his arms.  He was very lean, would definitely qualify as skinny.  However, he had muscle.  You couldn’t see it through his baggy jeans and shirt, but they were definitely there.  She had seen all of him, every part of him, in every way a person could imagine.  To her his skinny body was a thing of beauty, and a reservoir of inner-strength.  Not to mention he had a massive intellect, a massive conservative intellect.  The distinction was important.

“Cup of mud?”  He asked.

“Absolutely!”

“Good, let’s go.”  He said the last with a bit of intensity, a touch of sharpness.  Winifred smiled, glossing over the subtle warning.

“I just got off Facebook,” she shared.  “Had to let the world know I’m still feeling the glow.”

“Is that right?” 

“Hell yes, that’s right!  I’m telling everyone, just like you and I discussed. This is going to come down to writing, engaging in debate, spreading the word.  We have to let the world know that we are the ones with real American ideals, and ideas.  We have to convince them of the truth.”

“Maybe it’s time for a little bit more than just talk.”  He said in a flat monotone.  “Obama has to go.” 

Her insides tingled as he spoke, she pushed the tingling aside, mistaking the feeling, confusing its intent.

They continued to walk, turning down a side-path between buildings that was shrouded by trees and bushes. 

“Well, of course he has to go,” she said.  “We have got to vote that clown out of office.”

“I hate him,” said Joshua through gritted teeth.  “I hate all his kind.”

“Don’t say that,” she said, thinking about many of her friends.  “Don’t be that way.”

“Ignorant niggers!  They actually put a half-nigger, and his nigger-bitch in the White House. 

She stopped.  She had never heard him talk like this before.

“Fuck ‘em all!”  He continued.  “I’m tired of slant-eyes and wetbacks.  They all need to get the hell out of America and leave it for us real Americans.”

“Joshua,” she said, raising her voice.  “Stop talking like that.  You’re sounding ignorant!” 

It happened so fast she didn’t even see it coming.  Before she could react her vision flashed white/blue.  The whole left side of her face stung from the blow.  She blinked once, twice, looking at him.  Now, she could really see.  The tingling she had felt was her innate response … to this.  His eyebrows were furrowed, his eyes seemed to bore into her.  His anger was palpable. 

“Don’t you ever talk down to me,” he said in a low voice.  “I am the man.  You are the woman.  If you believe the words you say, if you’re going to be with me, you had better remember your place, woman.” 

She touched her cheek with the palm of her left hand.  She was shocked, but shock was only a small part of what she felt.  More than anything, she was angry.  She could feel her eyebrows furrow, her heart rate was soaring.  No man had ever done such a thing to her.

“Joshua,” she said, slowly.  “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but are you crazy?  Have you lost your fucking mind?!?” 

He moved swiftly.  Her stomach seemed to flip-flop twice in the moment it took him to close in on her.  All she could think to do was raise her hands.  She wasn’t fast enough to block the blow.  It came sailing right on in.  This time, her eye felt like it had been stung by a bee, a big, huge, blunt bee.  This time, no flash, instead she saw stars, one, two, three, four, stars and pain, stars and pain.  A slight yell escaped her lips, as she got madder and madder.  She refused to scream, like a little girl.

Winifred was sitting in the darkness.  She had just gotten off of FaceBook, and powered down her computer, a true rarity.  She had changed her relationship status from in a relationship to single.  She had also felt the rising within her, as she announced to the world the excitement she was feeling at the thought of what would come next.

Winifred: Is smiling in the dark watches of the night as she anticipates the sheer joy and ecstasy that comes from physical exertion.

 

Lori’s going to think she’s talking about sex.  So will Joshua, if he happens to be checking out her status on his phone.  However, she didn’t think he would.  He was of a single mind, of a single purpose.  As she considered his behavior over the time they had been together she realized he was always like this.  And it was this high-energy single-mindedness, this innate drive within to achieve a given objective that made him unpredictable, so to speak, because that show of heated excitement, energy and vigor that was so admired in him by others, and at one time Winifred herself, was not really so random or unpredictable.  In fact, if one looked at Joshua critically, and considered his behavior, one might say he’s very predictable.  He was a powder keg, waiting to explode.

 What was on Winifred’s mind was quite stupid to say the least.  However, she was not about to change her mind now, or ever.  She was her Daddy’s girl, and she just couldn’t let it go.  She was not about to let it pass.  She looked at her keychain, at the attached sprayer hanging from one of the rings.  Next to it was the hard, black instrument she considered her tool of justice.  It was retractable.  It was light.  It was used by men and women to great efficiency.  Winifred had known how to use it for years. 

The other day she could have done more to protect herself.  She knew she could.  Now, she was walking about the yard with shades covering her eyes.  She couldn’t do anything about the busted lip.  She hadn’t talked to anyone about what happened.  He had threatened her, right before he told her he loved her for the first time. 

He couldn’t figure out why she looked so calm.  He couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t crying.  He apologized profusely, and begged her not to dump him.  She said she wouldn’t.  She told him she loved him.  This, for Joshua, was very satisfactory. 

“The man leads the woman,” he had said.  “This is how all households should be run.  I can’t have you questioning me.”

She had nodded, struggling to stop her body from shaking.  “I understand.”

He cooed and held her, thinking that her lack of tears was being compensated by the shaking of her body, her so-called fear of him and what he might do. “I’m so sorry.  It won’t happen again.  I love you so much.  Please stop shaking.”

That was two days ago.  Now, she was ready.  She had told no one.  She would tell no one, unless the situation truly required it.  This would count as an escalation.  There were two possible outcomes, it would either make things more complex, or make things simpler.  That was the bottom line.  Winifred had decided, and was betting on simpler.  Still, it would count as an escalation, and she didn’t know where this might end. 

There was a knock at the door. 

“Coming,” she said. 

She cut on the lamp on her desk.  It was all the light she would need.  She grabbed her keys, holding the pepper sprayer in her hand, forefinger on the button of the little aerosol container.   The black baton was on the edge of the desk, just where she wanted it.  She walked over and opened the door. 

“Winnie,” he gushed.  “Baby, I’ve been wanting to see you so bad.  You just don’t know what I’ve been going through without you.”

“It’s just been a couple of days,” she said, turning her back on him and walking back towards her desk. 

He closed the door.  “It’s been forever.  Too long.  I need you, Winnie.  I want you.”

Winifred chuckled.  “Well, I don’t want you.” 

Immediate electricity seemed to crackle in the air, as tension suddenly flooded the room.

“What?” 

“You heard me.”  He was still at her back.  But she could hear him inching towards her.

“Woman, what did you say?”

“Actually, what I meant to say is you’re a weak kneed half-man, skinny, little bitch who likes to beat on girls.  Oh, wait.  You’re not a man.  You’re a boy!  A bitchy little boy!” 

“Bitch, please tell me I’m hearing things.  Please tell me I—”             

She turned around.  “You shitty little rat-fuck!  Do you think I give a damn what you think you heard?  YOU DARED TO PUT YOUR HANDS ON MY FACE!”

He yelled, and launched himself at her, just as she knew he would.  He was fast. She was prepared.  She raised the peppers spray, spraying before it was fully up in his face.  It was like he was struck with a cloud of tacks.  She moved to the right, closer to what she wanted to grab next.  He raised his hands to his eyes and fell to the ground. 

“Bitch!”  He yelled in agony.  “You crazy bitch!  What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!?!?”

Winifred took a deep breath.  “What am I doing?  Well Joshua, I think I’m going to give you a little lesson in manhood.  See, we both thought we were the same.  Obviously, we’re not.  My father was the defender of my household, a real leader.  But he never disrespected my mother.  NEVER!  My father taught me to only love a man that has earned it, a real man.  Since you think you’re a man, I’m going to educate you on some facts.  You should get comfy.  This is going to take a little time.”

Winifred picked up the ASP retractable baton (police issue) from her desk.  She flicked it, and the deadly peace of steel extended to its full length. 

“What was that?”  He asked, fear evident in his voice.

“An educational tool.”

She slowly stepped around Joshua, looking at his back as he kneeled on the floor, rubbing his eyes frantically.  This could be fatal, but she wasn’t stupid.  She was in control, just the way she wanted.  Some might look at this and think she was insane.  No, she thought, most certainly not insanity.  Rather, this is justice. 

She picked her parts.

“What are you going to do?” 

She felt a smile slowly work its way across her face.  Her dried, cracked, lip bristled with a twinge of pain as her smile got wider. 

“School is in, bitch.”

Winifred Weeks raised the baton high into the air, held it, took a deep breath, and with eyes wide, and body on the verge of ecstasy, she swung.   

 

 

www.2rulesof3.com

www.TheHandMill.com

blog.2rulesof3.com

www.youtube.com/dsbrown3000