Washington Post? Frazier?

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Politically incorrect humor about our Indian Reservations. All true.

Submitted: January 11, 2019

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Submitted: January 11, 2019

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This bonus story was written by rare request as a follow up to an article written by a fellow writer at the Post, although I prefer freelance writing, and I don’t make a shitload of money, I still take my writing just as serious as this fucking ass clown from the Post. I have to say I did change some names to protect the innocent. Enjoy. The Washington post did a nice feel good story on an Indian Girl, who they described as a basketball phenom, I guess to highlight the hopeless struggle for Indians on reservations to succeed in life and one girls determination to break out of the status quo. She’s doing it with hard work, guts, study, meth only in moderation, light beer not malt liquor, whiskey only in the off-season, daily pot use to ward off glaucoma in case she lives past age 40, three white tutors brought over from Nashua to make sure her grades don’t slip, and 10 free abortion vouchers she won for taking first place at the big Poplar pow-wow dance-off contest, sponsored by planned parenthood and the king of beers, Natty Ice. Now 4-Scars (full name-Scarred up by drunk uncle) journey begins in Frazier, a tiny reservation town on the unforgiving Montana hi line with its brutal weather conditions and zero chance of a normal life like 4-Scars white neighbor girls residing off the reservation. She grew up in a small government housing project with two sisters, a couple annoying fetal alcohol brothers, and fourteen cousins. In the brutal cold winter months the girls had to cuddle up naked with a couple drunk uncles as shown in the winter survival handbook (spooning). Had five of her cousins not ripped the fucking wiring and plumbing out and scrapped it for drugs and a couple quarts of Natty Ice, winters might not have been as rough for poor 4-Scar and her sisters. Their meals were few and far between unlike white girls her age who got 3 home cooked meals a day. 4-Scars meals consisted of government rations mostly. Only the government staple items like captain crunch cereal, twinkies, potato chips, hot pockets, surplus TV dinners from the eighties, usually Salisbury steak, rarely the two piece wing and leg banquet dinner, cheese curds, powdered milk and cigarette coupons for the Smoke Shack. Little 4-Scar sure missed the old days when her grandpa would always sneak off the Rez at night and spotlight on the white neighbors land, bringing home fresh venison and a nice assortment of shop tools to pawn and a full tank of gas in the mini Van. In a tragic accident though, her Grandfather and his treasured 1990 Dodge caravan inexplicably got fucking demolished by a passing train on the busy Burlington Northern railway. Her grandma tried to sue BN but the investigator chuckled and told her that one chunk of his left ass cheek tested out at an impressive .435 blood alcohol level and he’d driven through the crossings bar that was down so he could park in the middle of the tracks to take a shit and then he passed out. With all the odds stacked against her, their land stolen by the White Man, still little 4-Scar refused to let The Man hold her down, she wouldn’t succumb to bitterness and hatred against The White Man like all the other people on the Rez had. Unless she was playing against those fucking dirty ass white hoes from Scobey, those upitty cunts who think their white shit doesn’t stink and that’s why shits always Brown, they double teamed her just because she’s native and she only scored 7 points before she got her 3rd offensive foul and a double technical and sat on the bench. And next time they played North Country she was gonna knock that one tall blond bitch right the fuck out, and she was for sure gonna undercut that cocky blond cunt from Nashua and break her goddamn neck. Oh yeah 4-Scars thought, all those goddamn referees are fucking racist. She decided if that fat, bald, fucking racist ref that fouled her out 2 minutes into the second quarter ever did her game again she was gonna get her cousin, Lone Dull Butter Knife, to slice all his fucking tires. Her cousin would do anything she asked him for a blow job. No more, 4-Scar decided, she was taking her 4.0 grade point average and “phenom” basketball skills to division one college Gonzaga and then on to the WNBA. With graduation coming fast, little 4-Scar found out that the Frazier grading system was on a curve. Her reservation was a sovereign nation also, so they had a little different curriculum than those fucking white bitches she despised off the Rez. While she got a 4.0 GPA, her core classes like Quilting a Star Blanket for the Poplar Pow Wow, her hated math class, how to properly fill out government forms to get all your mutha fucking money, her favorite class, making little wooden dream catchers for rear view mirrors, the boring class, learning to say the ten most popular phrases in Sioux and the five most popular phrases in Assiniboine, she came to school hungover like a mother fucker and grunted and farted fifteen times for the test and got an A! Ha ha! Nap time class was how to make the best fucking Indian tacos ever for the Poplar Pow Wow, after lunch it was learning the ten best dance routines to Sir Mix Alots song “Babies Got Back” or Lil Wayne’s “Back That Azzz Up” so you can fucking kick ass and win at the dance off contest at the Poplar Pow Wow, and finally last period was to learn all the chants after we kicked some fucking white ass at the battle of the little Big Horn. And then perform them at the Poplar Pow Wow. After finding out that Gonzaga admin office didn’t acknowledge her core GPA and they needed another ACT test score for college admission and she needed to take it until she could turn her score of 8 into at least an 18 little 4-Scars hatred of the white man starting burning inside her. She wrote a crudely written letter with a broken color crayon because she’d actually never seen a pen or pencil in her house, telling those racist fuckers to go fuck themselves, she was going to play at an all Indian college in South Dakota, where fucking racist, white pieces of shit wouldn’t discriminate against her just because of the color of her skin and a stupid fucking test score made up just for white people. And then fucking her over on her core classes that were taught verbally and through songs and drums and dance by her elders. Those core classes celebrated her ancestors and her culture. Just because her Proud People didn’t waste their fucking time with a written language, or stupid, dumb math, or sitting around wasting time inventing stupid shit like a wheel, or a permanent structure to live in. Who needs shit like that when you have 40,000,000 buffalo to chase around and shoot with crude stone tipped weapons or run them off a cliff. Another bonus is you don’t need ass wipe when you eat nothing but buffalo 360 days out of the year, or as her ancestors called it in their calendar “360 times the sun went down and came back up” because with all that protein your poop comes out in a little pellet. If you can get it out at all. Plus, They taste great and they also make a great house, little drafty inside sometimes, but when your cold in the winter you can gather buffalo shit for 8 hours a day and heat and cook with it. Makes that buffalo sound even way more better than the white mans stupid fucking Walmart and McDonalds, well maybe not McDonald’s “Double quarter pounders with cheese” yum!! She thought about calling that guy at the Washington Post and telling him that his country is so racist towards the native people that she wasn’t going to waste her time on a school like Gonzaga, but the fucking racist white government cut all the Indians cell phone minutes down to 15,000 minutes a month so she couldn’t afford to waste the free minutes. The Gonzaga admin office did politely reply to her letter and said they never even contacted her about playing basketball or coming to school there.


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