This post contains unabashed racism

My lab partner is not bad for a shvartze. He speaks with black rhythm, but his accent is white. Plus he has nice glasses, which give him an intellectual appearance. Oh yeah, I forgot the main thing: he knows stuff and knows how to think. So, all in all, he's not bad for a nigger.

Anyhow, we had finished our lab experiment and were heading to elevators, when he met his friend. The friend was disgruntled. He was bored in class. Stupid teachers! Making him do experiments he had already done last semester. yeah it sucked. he had done it before, and now he needed to do it again. "Why didn't you pass last semester?" my affable nigger friend asked his glum nigger friend.

"I dunno," the surly young man pouted. "All my friends were getting B's, B+'s. I even tried contacting the teacher, got his phone number, and his e-mail address even. but he said there was nothing he could do. i got like a forty on the final. and all i wanted was a C."

"And all he wanted was a C," I repeated to myself comiseratingly. Darn those smarty pants geeks, with their high-falutin' demands for A's and B's. Here he is, a simple man, asking only for a C, and even that the teacher can't give him. Harumph.

Do not read this post. It is nonsensical.

If he would take the movies off the name of the earth the face of the master and man of the world below because that's just the way it is and we have never done anything different but who knows? Perhaps tomorrow will be different. Perhaps the sun will shine brighter, and the birds will chirp louder. Perhaps the mother of all life will shine like a dove over the lights of Zion, and the people will cheer, and the children will laugh. Perhaps the light of the darkness will spill into the canister of the old shovel pushing the mannequin into the sea and covering with the depths the meaning of yore and killing all who stand in her path of hell and destruction, because I am him and he is me, and there is no separation above nor below from the prop tower to the basin to the steppe to the tones. From the water to the valley; from soup to nuts, and the rockets fly over the little girls, and they all take themselves over the brook, dipping their little toes over the rocks with the moss and the anteaters slurping, with his agile finger running over the keys, in an avuncular sort of fashion with sour faces and light sprinkles.