I hope this gets through. As I write, hunkered in my basement, UN tanks are rumbling through the streets, their blue-helmeted, brown-skin troops sweeping their eyes, burning with suspicion and hatred, across our homes. Machine guns are at the ready. My neighbors and I, who'd planned for this (although we thought we'd have more time) have been shocked to find our stores of weapons have somehow disappeared, replaced with pictures of Karl Marx reading the Koran.
Communication is spotty; they seem to have taken control of the airwaves. I can see children being rounded up and forced into vans with "FEMA" painted crudely on the sides. The kids appear to be drugged; the older ones are engaging in furtive sex acts with others of their own sex, seemingly not exactly knowing why. I think it's the drugs. Probably generic, but still effective.
In a nearby park, troops are tossing Bibles into a pile and burning them. Looks like a lot of Updike, too. David Foster Wallace. Those two seem to burn faster. I watched as a soldier brutally yanked a crucifix necklace off a young woman, threw it on the ground, and urinated on it. (What they say about black guys and their, you know, seems to be true, by the way.) Unimpeded by the UN troops, packs of other black people are racing down my street, carrying TVs and tanning equipment looted from my neighbors. I fear for my chardonnay. I've kept it in a climate-controlled cooler. Will they?
Is your TV still working? On mine I see Barack Obama speaking from the Oval Office. I don't dare turn up the sound for fear they'll hear me; but he's wearing a black turban, someone who must be Michelle is there, but I can't be sure. She's covered in a burka. Obama has just thrown an American flag on the ground and walked on it, laughing. I think that's Joe Biden, handcuffed, behind him. Eric Holder has just slaughtered a sheep. It's gruesome, although I do like lamb, but not with mint jelly.
Now the TV shows men with bandoleers and AKs raising the Nazi Muslim flag on the White House (ironic, huh?) lawn. The camera just zoomed in on a paper one off them is holding, pointing at it and laughing. It looks like a birth certificate; I can't make it out, because it seems to be written in Kenyan. And transcripts from Occidental College. Looks like Ds and Fs. My god.
How coordinated is this? I'll tell you: They're tearing out the veggies in the garden and replacing them with poppies and a falafel bush.
We were warned, and I didn't believe it. I have only myself to blame. And now I see one of the tanks coming closer. Is that my wife on it? It is. I should have known. She went to Harvard.
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