America 1982-Chapter 324 - 22: The Era Is Calling Me
Rhode Island, Warwick City, Hope Mountain District, a small tavern.
The television screen that had hung above the bar for many years had become a hollow hole, through which one could now clearly see the remnants of electronic components inside, occasionally sparking.
The culprit, Hawk Scrapyard’s Employee of the Year for many years running, Wilson, blew up the TV screen with a shotgun blast, tossed the weapon to the bartender and bar owner Keith, and then stood in the middle of the bar, looking around at the patrons now all staring at him with a clear, simple, and fearless gaze. He opened his hands in confusion and asked, "What’s the matter?"
"Good job, Wilson!"
"A top-shelf drink for Wilson, on me!"
"That’s exactly what I wanted to do! Blast that guy’s head off!"
In the bar, a group of white roughnecks, after their initial shock, started clapping and cheering.
"I’ll get you a new TV, Keith, I swear, and I guarantee it’ll be more advanced and have a bigger screen than your second-hand one that Angry Wilson took out," Colin said insincerely as he bent down to light a cigarette, took a glance at the barmaid Jenny cleaning up the debris, and then addressed Keith, who was hanging the shotgun back on the wall behind the bar.
After putting away the weapon, Keith turned, took a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet, poured a drink for Colin, and pushed it towards him: "You’ve got to understand, Colin, compensation is not the same as a gift. You’re compensating, not gifting."
"Of course it’s a gift, everyone saw Wilson destroy your ancient TV, not me. I’m just being kind here," Colin said as he took his drink, shaking his head, insisting it was a generous act of giving.
"Wilson flipped out because your beloved son showed him a piece of shit, ’NiggerBoss,’ that’s Tommy’s fine work. You sure he’s your spawn? Heaven’s sake, a nigger knocks out a bunch of white tough guys? Give me a break, have that nigger come by my bar, and I wouldn’t need a few guys, just me alone could send him to nigger hell," Keith said as he handed the drink to Colin, too lazy to continue the conversation, he turned away to get back to work.
Colin sighed, downed the whiskey in one gulp, and then went over to the telephone, dialing his son’s number: "Tommy?"
"Dad, did the screening of the pilot stir up everyone’s emotions?" Tommy asked with a laugh on the other side of the phone.
"Very much so. Forty minutes of runtime, and for forty minutes, there wasn’t a break in the swearing within the tavern. In the end, when Wilson saw the last part of the episode, where the black boss, along with a thuggish black lawyer relying on legal loopholes, stormed into white territory, beat down whites in self-defense, saved a black girl, and got away without any charges, he couldn’t help but grab Keith’s shotgun and blow apart that nigger’s face and the TV screen," Colin said, cigarette in mouth, his tone full of bewilderment:
"Son, you’re making me almost the public enemy in the eyes of Hope Mountain, I tell them, my son Tommy made a TV show, it’s fantastic, I invite them to appreciate your talent, and then, they see in your show, niggers being as smart as humans, even knowing to bring a lawyer, understanding legal loopholes... Damn, we whites don’t get it, how could the niggers?"
"Great, just as I expected. I had some people conduct internal screenings at some small A-grade TV stations in Baltimore, Philadelphia, with select black audiences. The reaction was the exact opposite of you whites; the black audience members found the series thrilling," Tommy’s voice was filled with satisfaction.
"Son, I’m pretty sure I watched you being held by a white nurse straight out your mother’s belly; you had no opportunity to come into contact with a black person when you were born, so what exactly happened to you in California?" Colin asked, exhaling smoke, "And there’s no way whites could be as vile and stupid as they are in that shitshow you made, though some of the storyline sure seems familiar to folks here."
"I might not be familiar with white elites and have no right to speak on them, but I assure you, those white characters in the show are based on prototypes I provided. In Warwick City, you’ll find these types of whites everywhere—Dennis, Pam, Tommy, Colin, Tony, Wilson, Morin, Hurl..." Tommy, upon hearing his dad’s question, proudly said, "It’s my way of paying tribute to everyone back home."
"Just where did we offend you back home, son, that you would honor us in this way?" Colin asked, puzzled, after hearing Tommy talking about using familiar details to pay tribute, on the other end of the phone:
"So is the white villain’s dimwit son who defecates outside city hall every day supposed to be honoring Dennis? And there’s that old guy showing half his ass, thinking he’s charming when he looks both stupid and ugly, and cluelessly trying to seduce women—is that based on your dear old dad? Son, you sure have a deep respect for your father," he said sarcastically.
Hearing his dad’s words, Tommy consoled him, "Don’t be like that, I love you and everyone else. It’s all fake, just a ruse to fool people, make money. You can play them another episode of ’Finding Daddy in America’ to lighten the mood, I promise, the show riles up both blacks and whites, a lot of whites find it funnier than stand-up comedy."
