Wearing cloth and shoes, the pale skinned demons surround your village. The community gets together, joining hands and singing "kumbaya" as is the custom when greeting foreigners. And then you hear a thunderous roar. The demons breathe fire and death upon your people, spreading panic among the helpless non-binary members. Bodies start dropping and you can hear their cries alongside a flurry of racial slurs coming out of the leader of the invaders. Where once there were songs there's now silence. "DAMN THAT WAS BASED! Wait until RPGHQ hears about this!" shouts the leader. You feel a cold heavy weight in your hands and feet. Chained, you embark in massive wood huts over water, uncertain of your destination. They put an iron mask over your face, preventing you from eating delicious dirt off the ground.
There once was a dream. A dream of Wakanda. And now there's only servitude, walking upright, learning to speak human languages and wearing clothes. Generations afterwards you're no longer a slave, but now things are even worse as you have to deal with the horrors of education and jail time. The memory fades. You're back in your room, filled with sorrow and righteous anger over the wrongs of the past. White people took everything from you, but now it's time for payback. It's time for REPARATIONS!
As a white man working two jobs to pay for your education, you never saw the inside of a government building. Carrying civilization on your back is the fate of all white men, and yours was no different. As a black, however, you nigger sense flawlessly guides you towards the nearest gimme-dat station, no map is needed. You just leave your building and start walking, your melanin serving as a perfect compass guiding your journey towards the Lands of Plenty. You see a long line of niggers standing, most of them still high on fentanyl. This is the place where fortunes are made. You wait until a scrawny white kid beckons you towards his desk.
- "How can I help you today, sir?"
- "Yo! I wat reparatahons, like, whahte cracka!"
- "Ah...sir?"
- "Gimme money muddafucka! We wuz KANGZ!"
- "Ah yes, you're here for your welfare. Right away sir. Mr...?"
- "George!"
- "George...?"
- "WAKANDA IS REAL, BITCH!"
- "I need your last name to check on the system, sir"
- "Uhnn....Floyd"
- "Ok, let's see here. Yes, 'George Floyd'. Born September 10, 1998 in Fayetteville, NC. Marital status: single, social security number...race: WHITE!? Huh!?"
- "Shiiieeeeeeettt"
- "Well, that's very strange sir. System says you're not entitled to any welfare due to being white. But that can't be right..."
- "NO SHIT, nigga!"
- "I am gonna ask you to wait a minute while I fetch my supervisor, sir".
The young man leaves his desk and rushes towards a small office in the back.
- "JESSICA! I need your help! There's a error in the system and -"
Before he has a chance to knock, the door opens violently, almost slamming his face. A large blonde woman emerges from the room
- "DEREK, HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO FUCKING TELL YOU -"
She stops mid sentence as her eyes meet yours. Her angry demeanor changing immediately as she approaches and sits in Derek's chair which makes a distinct squeaking sound. Before you lies a woman in her mid thirties, heavily built, but not actually obese. Her nose ring and tattoos give a distinct "I am white, but my kids are not" vibe and as she leans closer you can see the initials "BLM" tattooed over her massive breasts.
- "Hi, I'm Jessie! What's your name?"
- "George"
- "Well, George, let's see if I can fix that tiny little hiccup for you!" she says, smiling creepily. "Well, there's our culprit, y'all seem to think he is WHITE! Tehe, heh. Let me just...there. I fixed that for ya! What would ever do without me, George?"
- "Where muh monie at, bitch?!"
You see her grab a fat envelope, hastily write something and hand it to you.
- "Sooooooooooo?" she makes it as long and high pitched as possible.
- "Aye yo, 'bout time ya feel me?"
- "Well then, have a good day George and see you soon!"
You're back at the apartment feeling like a proper KANG. All other blacks must be envying you now as your hard work and dedication pays off. You open the envelope and it's A LOT of money. So much so you need a moment to consider what to do next. As you toss the envelope aside you notice some numbers on the back. Looks like a phone number. "Ayo crakka bitch pussy on da house muddafucka!" you say to yourself. Whitey gave you what they owed. For now, anyway.
The next step
With all that money in your possession the future looks bright. You could invest the money and purchase a firearm for future hustles. Another investment opportunity is a party crib. See, in the apartment there's only white people stuff and old vinyls with racist words like "Led Zeppelin" and "Beatles". The only sound system available are some old PC speakers, unsuitable for throwing a party for the entire building at 3 AM. You could buy some new stuff to ensure your apartment is up to ghetto standards. Finally, you can give Jessie a call and see where that leads you. The world is your oyster and fate is in your paws. What will you choose?
