The Story of Mr. Racist, The Young Black Boy, and The Well

A Modern Negro Fable ....

There was once was a wonderful town named Benetton. It was ethnically and culturally diverse; a place where everyone loved each other and got along splendidly. Well everyone except one person: an older white man named Mr. Racist.

Now Mr. Racist was a foul-mouthed contemptible human being. Surely someone neither you nor I would get along with. Whenever he saw people in town he would raise his craggy voice and swear and fling the most despicable epithets at them. He was filled with hate, and over the years it became his only mode of communication. For the most part he would stay to himself, on his farm, raising animals for food, and drawing water from his well. On the occasions he saw someone, he would greet them with the usual slur or slander.

The townspeople of Benetton were a kind and tolerant group, but over time no one could stand Mr. Racist's presence; so for the most part they stayed out of his way and ignored him.

And so things went for years and years.

And then one summer the kind and tolerant town of Benetton decided to adopt a young black orphan boy. And after living in the town for a while it happened that one day the young black boy stopped at Mr. Racist's farm. Upon seeing the black boy, of course Mr. Racist immediately showered him with the most offensive of invective. But as a young orphan boy raised in the kind and tolerant town of Benetton, the boy didn’t even know how to be offended by these racist remarks. He found Mr. Racist highly entertaining, and found it all to be a quirky amusement. And so the boy began to come by Mr. Racist’s farm with more regularity.

And every time the boy visited, Mr. Racist would denigrate him with hate speech. Until one day Mr. Racist asked the boy,

“Hey, you lazy piece of dark dog shit. Why do you come here so much?”

“I like you Mr. Racist. You make me laugh.”

While Mr. Racist’s hate-addled brain could never express it, it was clear that he was growing fond of the boy. After all, the boy was the only one who enjoyed his company. Everyone else in the town ignored or reviled him.

And so it became a tradition that the young black boy would stop by and while Mr. Racist would rant and fuss about the farm, filling the air with the foulest of vilifying vernacular, the little black boy would lie on the well and giggle at Mr. Racist's foolishness.

Then one day the boy visited and the two sat outside as they normally did. Mr. Racist went into perhaps his most virulent tirade, and the black boy was so tickled by what he was hearing that he laughed harder than ever before. And then at some point the boy gave a great big belly laugh, tipped backwards and fell down into Mr. Racist's well.

At first Mr. Racist considered it very typical of a ni**a to fall down the well and impose on him in such a fashion. But after calling into the well a few times, Mr. Racist soon realized he lacked the tools or strength to get the boy out the well himself. What would he do? Mr. Racist thought the boy inferior, but that didn't mean he should die in the well. As humans are wont to do, he liked the boy despite looking down on him.

And so Mr. Racist, for the first time in a long time, left his farm to get help. When he got to the center of town he saw a Puerto Rican lady walking down the street. He ran to get her attention,

"Hey Spic-lady, forget the laundromat for today. The stupid nigga-boy fell down the well."

The Puerto Rican lady, who had long ago tuned out his taunts, paid Mr. Racist no mind.

Then Mr. Racist saw a Chinese couple and tried to recruit them as best he could,.

"Hey Chinkys. Get your rickshaw and some chop sticks or something. The lazy coon-child fell down the well and can't get out.

The Chinese woman, who was oddly aggressive, slapped him for his indecency and told Mr. Racist to get some self-respect; then maybe she’d listen to what he had to say.

Mr. Racist then spotted a black man down the street and thought surely another jigaboo would try to hear him out.

“Hey nigger. One of your little nappy-headed monsters fell down the well. I can’t get him out.”

And the black man, who was somewhat new in town said, “what did you call me?” And then, quite justifiably, started beating up Mr. Racist.

And so it went for days and days with the kind and tolerant people of Benetton ignoring Mr. Racist’s racist exhortations.

Mr. Racist tried different means of relaying his warning; one day he even painted his face black and simulated falling down a well. But for all his attempts, the hate which had long taken control of his heart would not allow him to harness language in a way that was inoffensive to the kind and tolerant people of Benetton; no one in the town ever listened to Mr Racist.

Eventually Mr. Racist tried to get the boy out himself, and while reaching into the well he would slip and fall down to the bottom. And there, in the well, Mr. Racist and the young black orphan boy died together.

And so it turned out that the little town of Benetton had rid themselves of racism, but also their future.

The End.

Moral#1: don't let semantics distract you from what is most important in life. life.

Moral#2: if we demand intelligence from those who speak, so too must we demand intelligence of those who listen.

Moral#3: don't drink water from a racist's well cause there might be a dead ni**a-boy in it.