The Trump Card

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
A scientist asks the most powerful man in the world to finance the white man's last trump card.

Submitted: February 19, 2019

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Submitted: February 19, 2019

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“This way, Mr. President.”

Knight hastened his pace to reach the lab door and typed the access code on the pad out of a well-honed instinct. The speaker squeaked in error.

“Is something wrong, Doc.?”

“Not at all, Mr. President! Not at all! If you would allow me a second—“ he bit his lip until he felt a sting of pain.  Knight understood too well how wasting the President of the US of A’s time was something akin to an infringement of federal law. But to waste this president’s time was even worse. This was a man for whom each and every turn of the clock was measured in gold. And he had an entire tower covered in it.

“There we go,” said Knight, “Now please follow—“

“We don’t have time for tone. We’ve got to go in and get the job done.”

Knight hardened his lips in a smirk as the President strut into the lab. Damn politicians. Always in a hurry. Always expecting everything to be handed to them within the office and in their offices.

Knight ambled into the lab as his eyes tried to track the President’s trajectory. He found him standing right in front of the machine, clad in a white protective suit leaving out only his tuft of hair that shone like a torch in the glow of neons. A shard of nostalgia pierced Knight’s heart. Torches and white robes. Just like back in the good ol’ days of his youth, when his father used to take him in the woods to spend quality time around a burning cross together with other solid American patriots.

Oh, Dad. If only you could see how this country has gone to hell in a handbasket.

At least the old man had died before he could see a nigger’s charcoal butt sitting in the White House. That could have given him a heart attack.

“That machine—is huge,” said the President.

Knight smiled. His father did what he could. Burned houses, lynchings, threats were effective methods on a smaller scale, but that did not prevent the dark side from getting the right to vote. It was now the time for more refined, albeit bloody expensive, ways.

“Of course, Sir. It has to be. In order to manipulate what is very small you have to build something that is very big” he said, hoping of having been able to translate the concept from the heights of Academia to the lower jargon of the men of action.

The President lifted a thumb and gazed at the machine like a foreman surveying a building. “And what exactly is this thing?”

“It is our last hope to avoid utter annihilation, Mr. President.”

The president pursed his lips and looked at him in the eyes.

Knight smiled as a mellow feeling melted in his chest. The state of the art. He just loved that part. It was like the first five minutes of a good thriller, raising the curtain of your complacency before delivering the blow. “Mr. President. I foremost wish to make clear that I, my family, my colleagues and everyone else belonging to the Klan voted for you in the last elections. We did it because you seem the only one fully aware of the reality that we are at war. A war we are in risk of losing.”

The President’s face glowed as if in recognition. “Ah, yeah. The trade war. Rest assured, we’re gonna win it. We are gonna be so vicious. We’re gonna see a Chevrolet in Tokyo, in Beijing, in Berlin—“

“No, no Mr. President. I am not talking about that kind of war. I am talking about a conflict we have been fighting for over a century on our soil, in our cities, quarters, streets, schools and cradles,” Knight opened his arms and filled his lungs to deliver his next words at full force, “Mr. President, the white race is going extinct!”

The president cocked his head back and gave him a smirk.

Knight felt his veins harden in a web of ice. Was the President making fun of him? Or, perhaps worse, was he not convinced of the truth of his words? He could not bring himself to face the hypothesis that all those speeches against immigration could have just been an electoral ploy.

“Sometimes by losing a battle, you find a new way to win the war. You’ve got my ear, Doc.”

Knight emptied his lungs in relief. The President seemed like the real deal. Like on tv. He surely seemed no puppet of the global crony Jewish elite. “As you might know by 2045 white Americans risk becoming a minority in their own country. Blacks, Latinos, Muslims and many others are going to make up more than fifty percent of the total population. And when that day comes, Americans will no longer trust in God, but in Allah. History has plenty of instances where a decadent society was invaded and subjugated by other more aggressive races. We just have to look at ancient Rome for that, and even modern Rome is now ripe with barbarians.”

The President nodded. “I try to learn from the past, but I plan for the future by focusing exclusively on the present. That’s where the fun is.”

“And indeed you are the only politician able to do that in our current dire political climate, Mr. President. That is why you are going to build that wall. However, I  am afraid that will not be enough. The current demographic projections speak volumes about the disappearance of the white man. Already the color of the skin of most of the infants born in our country is turning to a worrying shade of brown. Yet in spite of this many nig— I mean, black Americans, still claim they are an oppressed minority. Which, in truth, sounds ridiculous as their days as a minority are numbered.”

“Yes, yes,” said the President. “Laziness is a trait in blacks. I noticed that back in the day when I had some of them counting my money. And I would love to be a well-educated black because I really believe they do have an actual advantage today. Not like Mexicans. They’re not sending us their best, you know.”

“Of course, Sir. But this advantage is quickly becoming a privilege, or at least it is perceived as such. We just have to look at a liberal college’s campus to see that.” A shiver crawled up his spine as Knight remembered his last conference at Yale. How the auditorium had quickly filled with the snapping of fingers in solidarity with those who threatened to snap his neck. “We have to act fast, lest we end up like South Africa and see white children slaughtered in their beds. But if our women are too busy being offended to avert this, then science must take the offensive!”

Knight caressed the steel surface of the machine with the tenderness of a father. “We have worked years to build this prototype, the first of many that will turn the tides of war. Mr. President, I present you the Yellow Rose!”

“And what exactly it is supposed to do?”

“It is a cloning machine! The first step towards our big project to produce a new generation of pure, unadulterated Americans to save the white man from the oblivion of miscegenation!”

“So, it’s like Jurassic Park?”

Knight forced himself to a smile. “Well, not exactly.”

“Because, you know. Those dinosaurs changed sex.”

“Yes but that was because of—“ Knight could hear his mind panicking to open all the record files of his days as a moviegoer, “Because of frogs. No frog DNA here, Mr. President. Not even from Pepe the frog.”

The president giggled. “And these clones are gonna vote for me?”

“Absolutely. Once they reach the proper voting age, of course. We are working for a way to accelerate their growth to half the time. Useless to say, they will be raised in a safe and controlled environment, totally insulated from the rising Marxist multicultural perversion that is tainting our educational system. When the time comes, they shall be the last bastion of defense of this great republic against the— phantom menace of the Khalergi plan. All it will take to rally them is a command word deeply inscribed in their subconscious. A word like —“

“Covfefe?”

“That would be an— excellent choice, Mr. President.”

The president circled the machine at a heavy pace. “And I bet this is going to cost a lot of money, am I wrong?”

Knight stiffened. There it went the act the most despised. The one in which he knew the highest ideals had to get down from their steed and smear their boots in the mundanity of finance. “Well, I cannot deny it will require a certain amount of financing to—“

“Oh, I’m very rich.”

“Oh, indeed! And that is the beauty of our president, isn’t it?” said Knight, hoping that quoting his host could stroke his ego enough to make him unzip his wallet.

“Yes, but one thing I have learned in business is that that sometimes the best investments are the ones you don’t make.”

Knight felt his heart plummet from his ribcage to the ground. “But— I can assure you that, thanks to this project America, will be great again! We would spearhead this technology, and overtake the Japanese, the Russians, the EU, the Chinese! It is high time we opened our minds to new horizons, and not shut ourselves behind a —“

“Behind a wall?”

Knight slapped his wrist. He had done it. He had made the Union’s president mad. Now he was sure it was going to be Gettysburg all over again.

“You know, doc. I don’t really know a thing about clones, and science, and costly gizmos. But I like walls. They’re like real estate. They’re tangible, they’re solid and they’re beautiful. And I just love real estate.”

“But this project will lay the foundations of—“

“You’re fired.”

Knight felt his neurons come to a complete shutdown. His eyes picked up the silhouette of the President turning on his heels and hurrying in the direction of the exit.

“You really screwed this up, Robert.”

Knight’s heart jumped at the sight of figures clad in white lab coats coming out of a door in the wall. One of his synapses clicked again into place and he recognized them. His colleagues, his friends, his brothers and sisters in the Klan.

“I told you, Robert. He would have never given up his wall to finance us. No wonder he’s in cajole with the Ruskies. They all just love their walls.”

“But what are we going to do now? We need the money!”

“We could ask the Germans. They could invest part of their trade surplus in this project.”

“The Germans? But they’re Muslim lovers now!”

“Oh, they just love their muzzies, even back when Hitler was in charge. And like back then they’re gonna love an army of blond, white, blue-eyed soldiers. Even Merkel can’t say no to that.”

“We’re going to ask the Chinese,” said Knight, straightening his back.

“The Chinese? How in hell would a bunch of chinks be interested in saving the white race? Not to mention they’re fucking commies!”

“Oh, they don’t really care about Communism. They love results. And they don’t care if a clone is black or white, so long as it gets Taiwan.”

 


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