Mumbles
07-23-2010, 11:52 PM
Once upon a time, there lived a Siberian hamster named Gordon. Gordon was self-employed, running a reasonably successful kebab shop on the main strip of Surfers Paradise with his female friend, Mitzy. Gordon and Mitzy did not formally date, but often declared that they did solely for tax purposes. This has nothing to do with the story.
One day, Gordon was minding the shop whilst Mitzy was out having her nails done or running on a big spin-wheel, or whatever the **** female hamsters get up to during the day. The door to the shop was equipped with one of those little dingy-bell things so Gordon would know if rat-bastard kids were trying to sneak in and nick all the Pepsi. Upon hearing it jingle, he turned from the rotisserie to face the person who had entered his store.
Gordon frowned, in as much as a hamster can frown. The person who had entered was clearly of African-American descent and Gordon was famously racist. His notoriety as a racially intolerant hamster had skyrocketed upon release of his critically slammed book, entitled ‘I Don’t Much Care for Darkies’. This publication had sparked a wave of controversy and Gordon had been forced to move from his home in Fortitude Valley, away from the rioting protesters who had begun picketing outside his flat.
Sighing audibly, Gordon welcomed the customer with feigned goodwill.
‘How are you, today?’
The customer, whom Gordon had silently named ‘Thiefy’, looked questioningly at the hamster. Thiefy appeared surprised and failed to respond, this apparent rudeness further cementing Gordon’s awful, awful, racist beliefs.
‘HOW, ARE, YOU, TODAY?’ said Gordon, very racist-ly.
‘I heard you,’ answered Thiefy, ‘It’s just… No, nothing.’
‘I’m sorry, is there a problem?’
‘No, no, please, it’s nothing.’
Gordon was having none of this.
‘No please, I’d like to hear what you have to say.’
The customer hesitated.
‘Well…’ he began, ‘It’s just… You know…’
‘What?’
‘Well… You’re a hamster.’
‘AND?’ Gordon demanded. His patience was wearing thin and his fingers slowly reached beneath the counter, feeling for the 12-guage shotgun that was strapped to the underside. Just in case.
‘Well, surely there’s some sort of health issue with that.’
‘I BEG YOUR F**KING PARDON?’ roared Gordon with as much anger as he could muster. It’s difficult for a hamster to sound enraged, but Gordon took pleasure when he saw Thiefy flinch.
‘I mean, how are you even talking? Hamster’s can’t talk.’
‘HOW DARE YOU!’
‘I’m not trying to offend you, it’s really quite amazing.’
‘Now listen hear, you f**king nigger-‘ Gordon started.
‘Woah! Dude! Calm the hell down!’
‘Don’t you f**king tell me to f**king calm down, you f**king sack of ****!’
Gordon’s hands were now firmly clasped on the 12-guage and he wrenched it from its strapping, taking aim at Thiefy’s torso.
‘Holy sh*t! You have a gun?! How are you even holding that?! That gun is, like, six kilograms and you’re a one-hundred gram hamster?!’
‘SHUT UP OR I’LL SHOOT!’
‘But you don’t have thumbs. You can’t use tools!’
‘SHUT THE F**K UP!’
Thiefy waved his arms in submission. It had suddenly occurred to him to stop questioning the existence of this talking, kebab-store owning, gun-toting hamster and attempt to quell the situation.
‘Look, dude, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to offend you. I just want a kebab. But I’ve just got certain reservations about having my meals prepared for me by a hamster.’
‘**** YOU!’
‘Dude, look, I’m sorry. You carry disease-‘
Thiefy was cut off by the warning shot that Gordon had fired above his head. They both stood silently as the patter of falling woodchip faded. Thiefy sweated, scared motionless by the excessive noise of the gun-blast. His ears rang shrill and his body trembled.
Gordon glared with fury in his eyes. His fur stood on end and his trigger finger twitched in time with his whiskers. How dare this dirty, stinking negroid come waltzing through his shop, refusing service from a decent, upstanding hamster such as himself. Had he known that Thiefy was in fact the author of an award-winning book, entitled ‘I Don’t Much Care for Racially Intolerant Siberian Hamsters’, his rage would have been near terminal and it would’ve taken many hours of running on his spin-wheel to restore his temperament.
At that moment, Mitzy walked back into the shop and gasped in horror at the sight of Gordon holding Thiefy up at gunpoint.
‘Gordon! What in God’s name are you doing?’
‘This wise-guy thinks he can come in here and talk down to me! He said he had reservations about being served by a hamster. This f**king scumbag. How does he think I feel about having to serve a filthy, good-for-nothing, cotton-picking, illiterate corn-monkey such as himself?’
‘Gordon! You’re being racist again! You promised this wouldn’t happen,’ cried Mitzy with tears in her eyes. The therapy had been going so well until now.
‘Just stay out of it, Mitzy, you fine-*** *****!’
‘But don’t you see, Gordon?! He’s exactly the same as you! He’s simply being guided by his pre-conceived notions of what a hamster should be! He thinks you carry disease, but only because he’s heard a general declaration at some point the all hamsters’ carry disease! He doesn’t know you’ve had your shots!’
Gordon’s eyes flickered for a second as Mitzy continued.
‘You’re the same, Gordon. You think he’s come in to steal all the Pepsi, but only because you’ve heard a general declaration that all black people steal Pepsi. You can’t make assumptions about a person based on their race or culture, Gordon! A person is a single entity, they’re unique! This man is a person, not part of group. He can’t be held responsible for your ignorance, in the same way that you can’t be held responsible for his. Please, put the 12-guage down.’
Gordon turned to look a Mitzy and slowly lowered the shotgun. Sobbing, she ran to him and embraced him firmly. Gordon at first refrained, but quickly succumbed to tears of his own and hugged her tightly back.
Thiefy, meanwhile, saw his opportunity, stole all of the Pepsi and made a break for it.
The week after the incident, Gordon sold the kebab shop and together with Mitzy, he moved into a nice little cage in the Science lab at a local primary school. They lived a leisurely, un-racist lifestyle until Gordon was eventually done for tax fraud and sentenced to three years in high-security prison. He died two years into his sentence of myxomatosis, because he was a hamster.
There was supposed to be a moral to this story, but I seem to have forgotten it.
One day, Gordon was minding the shop whilst Mitzy was out having her nails done or running on a big spin-wheel, or whatever the **** female hamsters get up to during the day. The door to the shop was equipped with one of those little dingy-bell things so Gordon would know if rat-bastard kids were trying to sneak in and nick all the Pepsi. Upon hearing it jingle, he turned from the rotisserie to face the person who had entered his store.
Gordon frowned, in as much as a hamster can frown. The person who had entered was clearly of African-American descent and Gordon was famously racist. His notoriety as a racially intolerant hamster had skyrocketed upon release of his critically slammed book, entitled ‘I Don’t Much Care for Darkies’. This publication had sparked a wave of controversy and Gordon had been forced to move from his home in Fortitude Valley, away from the rioting protesters who had begun picketing outside his flat.
Sighing audibly, Gordon welcomed the customer with feigned goodwill.
‘How are you, today?’
The customer, whom Gordon had silently named ‘Thiefy’, looked questioningly at the hamster. Thiefy appeared surprised and failed to respond, this apparent rudeness further cementing Gordon’s awful, awful, racist beliefs.
‘HOW, ARE, YOU, TODAY?’ said Gordon, very racist-ly.
‘I heard you,’ answered Thiefy, ‘It’s just… No, nothing.’
‘I’m sorry, is there a problem?’
‘No, no, please, it’s nothing.’
Gordon was having none of this.
‘No please, I’d like to hear what you have to say.’
The customer hesitated.
‘Well…’ he began, ‘It’s just… You know…’
‘What?’
‘Well… You’re a hamster.’
‘AND?’ Gordon demanded. His patience was wearing thin and his fingers slowly reached beneath the counter, feeling for the 12-guage shotgun that was strapped to the underside. Just in case.
‘Well, surely there’s some sort of health issue with that.’
‘I BEG YOUR F**KING PARDON?’ roared Gordon with as much anger as he could muster. It’s difficult for a hamster to sound enraged, but Gordon took pleasure when he saw Thiefy flinch.
‘I mean, how are you even talking? Hamster’s can’t talk.’
‘HOW DARE YOU!’
‘I’m not trying to offend you, it’s really quite amazing.’
‘Now listen hear, you f**king nigger-‘ Gordon started.
‘Woah! Dude! Calm the hell down!’
‘Don’t you f**king tell me to f**king calm down, you f**king sack of ****!’
Gordon’s hands were now firmly clasped on the 12-guage and he wrenched it from its strapping, taking aim at Thiefy’s torso.
‘Holy sh*t! You have a gun?! How are you even holding that?! That gun is, like, six kilograms and you’re a one-hundred gram hamster?!’
‘SHUT UP OR I’LL SHOOT!’
‘But you don’t have thumbs. You can’t use tools!’
‘SHUT THE F**K UP!’
Thiefy waved his arms in submission. It had suddenly occurred to him to stop questioning the existence of this talking, kebab-store owning, gun-toting hamster and attempt to quell the situation.
‘Look, dude, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to offend you. I just want a kebab. But I’ve just got certain reservations about having my meals prepared for me by a hamster.’
‘**** YOU!’
‘Dude, look, I’m sorry. You carry disease-‘
Thiefy was cut off by the warning shot that Gordon had fired above his head. They both stood silently as the patter of falling woodchip faded. Thiefy sweated, scared motionless by the excessive noise of the gun-blast. His ears rang shrill and his body trembled.
Gordon glared with fury in his eyes. His fur stood on end and his trigger finger twitched in time with his whiskers. How dare this dirty, stinking negroid come waltzing through his shop, refusing service from a decent, upstanding hamster such as himself. Had he known that Thiefy was in fact the author of an award-winning book, entitled ‘I Don’t Much Care for Racially Intolerant Siberian Hamsters’, his rage would have been near terminal and it would’ve taken many hours of running on his spin-wheel to restore his temperament.
At that moment, Mitzy walked back into the shop and gasped in horror at the sight of Gordon holding Thiefy up at gunpoint.
‘Gordon! What in God’s name are you doing?’
‘This wise-guy thinks he can come in here and talk down to me! He said he had reservations about being served by a hamster. This f**king scumbag. How does he think I feel about having to serve a filthy, good-for-nothing, cotton-picking, illiterate corn-monkey such as himself?’
‘Gordon! You’re being racist again! You promised this wouldn’t happen,’ cried Mitzy with tears in her eyes. The therapy had been going so well until now.
‘Just stay out of it, Mitzy, you fine-*** *****!’
‘But don’t you see, Gordon?! He’s exactly the same as you! He’s simply being guided by his pre-conceived notions of what a hamster should be! He thinks you carry disease, but only because he’s heard a general declaration at some point the all hamsters’ carry disease! He doesn’t know you’ve had your shots!’
Gordon’s eyes flickered for a second as Mitzy continued.
‘You’re the same, Gordon. You think he’s come in to steal all the Pepsi, but only because you’ve heard a general declaration that all black people steal Pepsi. You can’t make assumptions about a person based on their race or culture, Gordon! A person is a single entity, they’re unique! This man is a person, not part of group. He can’t be held responsible for your ignorance, in the same way that you can’t be held responsible for his. Please, put the 12-guage down.’
Gordon turned to look a Mitzy and slowly lowered the shotgun. Sobbing, she ran to him and embraced him firmly. Gordon at first refrained, but quickly succumbed to tears of his own and hugged her tightly back.
Thiefy, meanwhile, saw his opportunity, stole all of the Pepsi and made a break for it.
The week after the incident, Gordon sold the kebab shop and together with Mitzy, he moved into a nice little cage in the Science lab at a local primary school. They lived a leisurely, un-racist lifestyle until Gordon was eventually done for tax fraud and sentenced to three years in high-security prison. He died two years into his sentence of myxomatosis, because he was a hamster.
There was supposed to be a moral to this story, but I seem to have forgotten it.