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  • Writer's pictureWJ King


A national emergency is only a national emergency because we allow it to be. Too much attention is paid to this plague thing. Masks? Social Distancing? What’ya wanna do live forever? When I was a kid, my dad woulda beat my ass seven ways to Sunday, if I came home wearin’ a mask. “Ask your sister if you can borrow a skirt, you little sissy. No dinner tonight Daphne.” Masks? Hell, ya got grown ass men wearing helmets to ride a bicycle. Me an mine’ll take our brain injuries like a man, thank you. Yep, that’s why I’m the man I am today, bein’ raised right. I sent my boy and his pals out today with clear instructions:Not only were they to sucker punch any boys wearin’masks I’m still on the fence about girls, but record it on their phones. To prove they were better men, I wanted crystal clear documentation of them lickin’ handrails, all over the city. I reminded them there was nothin’ to be concerned about as these were our rights as Americans. A boy in the back raised his hand and Junior drilled him in the ribs, I love that boy.

Next thing I know, there’s two cops at the door. “May we ask you a few questions?” Then he called me Daphne. I sized’em both up and took a wallop at the female. Wouldn’t ya know it, that’s when my shoulder goes out and I slip on the wet floor. To hear them tell it, she knocked me flatter’n a duck’s ass. Handcuffed and in the backseat of their squad car the male cop said, his partner’s name was Daphne and he wasn’t talkin’ to me. And if he had been, why would I be so upset and crying over it in the backseat of a police car? “I’m not cryin’ you’re cryin.”


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