White Supremacy "All right, guys, let's play a little bit of D out there. No more runs, no more runs. Weaver, move left a little bit. That-no, you're left. Right. No, I'm saying you moved in the right direction, go back. OK, stop. Perfect. Miller, I want you back to the edge of the grass. Back, back, back. Good. Here we go, here we go. Let's show these boys what we can do!"
"Hey, Coach?"
"Yeah, Dirk, what is it?"
"Heil Hitler!"
"Jesus Christ, Dirk, watch your hand! You almost took out my fuckin eye!"
"But, heil Hitler."
"Yes, yes. Heil Hitler, but right now we also need some outs. This other team is killing us right now."
"Eighteen to zero, Coach."
"Yeah."
"I had no idea these greasy wetback's would be such good ball players. Did you?"
"Not at all. When I saw them all pour out of that old van I thought, 'Oh great, the Mexican circus is in town.'"
"They're Cuban."
"What?"
"They're Cuban, Coach."
"Dirk, who is this asshole?"
"That's Thomas Rider, sir. The ringer. Oliver's cousin who played ball at LSU a few year ago."
"You played ball at LSU? Why the fuck are we still scoreless? Why the fuck aren't you even on the field!"
"Because when my cousin asked me to join his softball team for a game he didn't tell me you guys were a bunch of neo-Nazis! I'm not going to play for you!"
"Jesus Christ, Dirk. Can you believe the balls on this kid? He we are down eighteen to nothing-"
"Twenty to nothing, Sir."
"What?"
"That dirty taco-eater just hit a two-run homer."
"Tacos are not traditional Cuban food."
"What?"
"I was only saying that technically, they aren't dirty taco-eaters because tacos are not a traditional Cuban food. Maybe you should have called them dirty picadillo-eaters or dirty ropa vieja-eaters."
"This fucking kid, Dirk. This fucking kid."
"You want I should kick his mongrel-loving ass, Coach?"
"I just don't get it, Tom. Your fellow white man needs you right now. You have the potential to be our white knight, the savior of the Aryan Nation. Won't you help us beat these fuckin cherry pickers?"
"Absolutely not."
"Where the fuck is Oliver?"
"Right field, Coach."
"Ump, time. Oliver, get over here. Look at this sumbitch waddle. Pride of the white race, huh. Christ, I think I'm getting hard just watching those fat tits bounce."
"He is exceptionally tubby, Coach. You want I should beat his ass?"
"Shut up. Oliver, what the fuck?"
"What is it, Coach?"
"What the fuck is this?"
"That's my cousin, Tom. He played D1 ball at LSU. You said we should try to get a ringer in here, cuz we ain't got no talent on this team. I thought Tom would be a good fit."
"Well, Oliver, your cousin fits about as well as a square dick into a round pussy!"
"Your dick is square?"
"Shut up!"
"Coach, let's wrap it up!"
"Sure thing, Blue. Oliver, you sit your sweaty ass down on the bench. Tom, get your ass into right!"
"No."
"Listen to me you little sack of shit! I'm about to go Edward Norton on your ass! You ever see that movie! Well, I was the goddamn consultant for that shit! I showed Edward Norton how to curb stomp that porch monkey! I'll do the same thing to you if you don't get your fairy ass into right field!"
"Please, Tom. I vouched for you. You're embarrassing me."
"OK. I'll play, but only because I feel bad for Oliver. Not because I believe a single piece of your hateful bullshit."
"I don't care if you're a card-carrying Commie, gook-loving twink! Just move your fuckin feet to right field!"
"Sorry about that, Coach. I thought Tom was cool."
"Are you wearing a sports bra, Oliver?"
"Mom said it might help. Gives me an awful case of uni-boob though."
"Oh shit, Coach. Their best player is at bat. He hit the grand slam in the third."
"Christ Almighty. How did we wind up playing these bans. I thought it was an all white league?"
"We needed eight teams to fill the season, Coach. We only had seven in the Nation, so we had to bring in an outside team."
"So we decided to fill the final spot with Castro's fuckin national team? Miller! Get your ass back! Stay there, dickhead!"
"Well, I suggested Mattie's Tile Company form a softball team. They're all fat drunks over there, Sir. We could have easily kicked the shit out of them."
"So how did we end up playing these coke camels?"
"Weaver, Coach. He suggested playing them as a way of showing how superior the white man's athletic skills are to these spics. Sir."
"Weaver? Ump, time!"
"Last one, Coach!"
"Weaver, get your ass over here! A little faster, please. Dirk here tells me it was your idea to put these guys on the schedule. What the fuck man? We're trying to prove that the Aryan race is the only race, meanwhile we're getting piss-pounded by fucking Desi Arnaz out there."
"Who's Desi-"
"Shut the fuck up, Dirk."
"I'm sorry, Coach. I thought we could just bring them in and roll them. I had no idea that Cubans were so good at playing ball."
"You-you didn't know that?"
"No, sir. I have never heard that before."
"Are you fucking serious right now? We're the Aryan fucking Nation! Our entire belief system is based on stereotyping others, and you're telling me you didn't know that Cubans could play ball! That's what the dirty Communist rats are most known for!"
"That's news to me to be honest with you. I thought they smelled bad."
"The blacks smell bad, shit-for-brains! Cubans can hit a ball five hundred feet!"
"Well, I...I don't know what to say, Coach. I feel like an asshole. I feel like this whole fiasco is all my fault."
"No. No, it's not all your fault. You need help to be this bad. Maybe I need to be a better coach. Let's just try to make it through this inning, OK?"
"Sure, Coach. And Coach, white power!"
"Apparently not, Weaver. Apparently not."
"How'd it go with Weaver, Coach?"
"Shut the fuck up, Oliver."
"Shut the fuck up, Dirk. Oh, shit, that's gone. Look at Tom out there. What a faggy run. Holy shit he caught it! He fuckin caught it! Throw to second. Double play! We got a double play! I can't believe it! Two outs! Two outs! How do you like that you slimy garden gnomes! That's how the white man plays defense! Heil Hitler! Heil Hitler!"
"Heil Hitler, Coach! Heil Hitler!"
"Man oh man, that Tommy can really run. Did you see him snag that ball? And what a cannon."
"I told you he was good, Coach. Played for the LSU down there."
"Dry off your tits, Oliver."
"Yes, Coach."
"There may be hope for us yet, huh Coach."
"Fuck no, Dirk. Hell fucking no. But it was great to see the look on that ugly saltwater beaner's face when Tommy caught that ball. And did you see that other rafter try to slide into second? No chance."
"I love it when you smile, Coach."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"He said he loves it when you smile, Coach."
"Shut the fuck up, Oliver!"
"What? That's what you said. I love it when you smile too, Coach."
"What?"
"You don't have to be so pissed off all the time is all. I mean, I know we suck at softball, and hatred is pretty much what we're known for, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't smile sometimes."
"Are you coming on to me, Oliver?"
"All he's saying is it's OK to smile, Coach. Sir."
"Maybe I have been a bit of a grumpy goose lately. Things haven't been going so great these past few weeks. Fletcher forgot to give my new Hitler tattoo a mustache. Can you believe that? Now, everyone asks me why I have a pissed off Clark Gable on my chest. A shipment of fresh Nazi flags jack-knifed on the highway. And now this team...I don't know, Dirk. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, you know. I just feel like-HE'S OUT, BITCH! HE IS OUT! That's three outs! Tom, you magnificent bastard! Great catch! Way to go! We fuckin did it! We fuckin did it! Man, you were amazing out there!"
"Th-thanks."
"You look like you could be on the Yankees! That Derek Jeter swirlie has nothing on you! You were terrific!"
"It...it was nothing. No big deal."
"Coach?"
"Yes, Blue. What's up?"
"I'm calling it."
"Calling what?"
"The game. The score is twenty-one to nothing. It's over."
"You dirty rotten cocksmoker, motherfucker! I am God's handmaiden! I will tear out your lungs and breathe in the fucking truth! I will eat your brains and consume your knowledge! You fucking piece of shit no good backstabbing baby-touching monkey lover! I will rape and eat your children! You are going to die today!"
"We got another game at 2:30 on this field."
"Another time then, Blue. But you better fucking believe that I am going to write a pamphlet on this. Congratulations, Ump, you just became propaganda."
"That's game! That's game! Miguel's Cuban Restaurant is the winner!"
"Look at em all. Celebratin like they just run ashore in Miami. Fucking Castro humpers. Ah well. Tommy, you were great out there today. Listen, I know we don't really see eye to eye on a lot of things. But we still got two games left. I would be honored if you would come back next week and play for us."
"Coach. It's my pleasure...to tell you to go fuck yourself."
"But...but..."
"He's gone. I'm sorry, Coach. Perhaps we flew too high to the sun today."
"Dirk...GET YOUR FUCKIN HANDS OFF ME! Tomorrow we go back to fundamentals you piles of horse shit! Get in the van! Get in the fucking van. You maggots make me want to fucking vomit! Jesus H. Christ, I am actually ashamed to be white today! You talentless fucks! Get in the van! Get in the van! Get in the van!"
"Man, he's pissed, Dirk."
"I know, Oliver."
"Practice is going to suck tomorrow."
"I know. But even though we lost today, for a moment, for one moment, we walked with gods. When Tommy made those plays in the outfield, and Coach's face lit up, you and I were witnesses to greatness, Oliver. We strode across the plains of Olympus. We became one with all creation. For a split second, Oliver, you and I bathed in the light of the cosmos. For that I will always be proud."
"Gosh, Dirk. You sure can make pretty words."
"Thanks, Oliver."
"Can I suck on your pecker, please?"
"Ummm....nnno."
The Moore You Know: Well, way to go Iowa. It is now illegal to text and drive at the same time. They went after drinking and driving, then texting and driving. I just know that masturbating and driving is next. Well, guess what, law makers! My stereo is busted! And do you know how boring it is to drive in Iowa! Jerking off is all I have left to pass the time! Something needs to be done before these fascists take away the one fun thing left to do while driving.
© Eric Moore - 2010
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