Steal This Revolution

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					Steal This Revolution
     Jim Zarling
        The revolution would not be televised. There was no way in hell the man would

allow the passion of the revolution and the mind blowing, status quo challenging intellect

of its leaders to be beamed to the masses via the boob tube. Television was the opiate,

used to pacify and tell the sheep what they should be doing. Wear this shirt! Vacation

here! Drink Pepsi! Side effects may include!

        Side effects may include an opening of the mind and the throwing off of shackles.

Indeed, the man would never televise Willie Johnson’s revolution. Willie Johnson-

would he ever be known by that name again? The name the oppressor gave him, the

name that symbolizes every injustice ever foisted upon him by the pigs in the name of

profit. Willie Johnson was no more, replaced by Kunta Kinte X, leader of the revolution.

        Seven thirty- still half an hour before the beginning of the revolution. Half an

hour before the New American Panthers would assemble to focus their energies on a new

country, a new way of life. X looked around him, studying the small room where the

revolution would start its untelevised journey. White walls covered with the dirty

handprints of a hundred children. Generic white tile on the floor, optimum for a room

that will be housing public meetings, or will have children running around. Inexpensive

and easy to clean when a cup of kool aid or orange soda is spilt. Not that the floor had

been cleaned lately, a quick glance counted three spots where something appears to have

been spilt and left to collect any dust or dirt in sticky black patches.

        The place looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years, but what would you expect?

This isn’t some suburban meeting hall, to be used by Mr. and Mrs. Executive to plan the

Yacht Club’s summer event schedule. It was in the city, in a public park, free to use for

anybody who could call up and reserve the space. It’s only regular use was Sunday

mornings when it became the First Baptist Church of The Redeemer, a congregation too

small and poor to afford its own building. But tonight, one night only, it was the home of

revolution. He chuckled to himself, if only the man knew that he had provided the home

of the revolution that was going to bring down his pig nation. The sweaty, fat face, cigar

firmly implanted in the corner of his mouth the look of anger turning to horror as Kunta

Kinte X locked the man up in the people’s prison.

       Yes, he’d remember this room. The dirty interior, the broken thermostat that kept

it too hot in the winter and too cold in the summer and the cheap folding tables, filled

with nicks broken on some corners- all of this, the humble beginnings of the revolution.

He’d note every detail for his autobiography.

       It was around twenty to eight when the first revolutionary arrived. A petite girl,

22 years old at the most, with long, straight, black hair down to the middle of her back.

She wore a black beret and turtleneck sweater with blue jeans and a pair of Nike’s. She

shyly peeked into the room and Kunta thought she blushed when they made eye contact.

       “Sister of the revolution, come in! Don’t be shy.”

       “Hello,” she said quietly as she slowly made her way to the front of the room.

       “As-Salaam-Alaikum! I’m Kunta Kinte X leader of the New American


       “I’m Clara….”

       “Wait sister. Don’t tell me your real name. If there is one thing I know its that

the pigs always have an ear in discussions involving revolution. Yes, you can trust me

now but who knows what kind of degenerate the man will send to spy on us?”

       “I’m sorry.”

       “Its ok Clara. I won’t divulge this information to anyone. When the meeting

starts everybody will pick a new name. Casting off the monikers given to us by the white


       “White devil?”

       “Sorry, of course, as a sister of the revolution this wouldn’t include you. The

crackers I’m talking about are people who attempt to keep the status quo, who try to gain

power and wealth at the expense of other people. Shoot nowadays you don’t even have

to be white to be a white devil. Unfortunately some of my black brothers and sisters have

turned their back on the struggle and accepted the life of the white devil.”

       “Thirty pieces of silver.”

       “Excuse me?”

       “Thirty pieces of silver. You know, like Judas was given to betray Jesus.”

       “Excellent analogy my sister. Indeed, we’ve been sold out by our brothers for a

mere pittance from the devil himself.”

       Clara beamed at the compliment.

       “So, sister, how did you come to find yourself at this meeting?”

       “Well, I was down at the Times when you placed your ad for the meeting. And,

well, something just clicked when I saw you. When you left I asked the lady if I could

read the ad you dropped off and it…what you wrote was just amazing.”

       “The ad at the Times,” he chuckled, “if only the man knew that I was using his

own honky press to destroy him.” The image of the sweaty, fat faced man flashed in his

mind’s eye again.

       “Well…I’d never been moved so much by something. I mean the ad was short,

but the power, the power of the words, I had to come down here.” She gazed at him with

a sense of awe, it filled Kunta with confidence. Tonight was going to be a good night,

the revolution would not fail.

       “So, where did you learn to write like that?”

       “I learned it from Abbie Hoffman. Man, this sister had it going on! Back in the

60’s she wrote ‘Steal This Book’ and it’s all about taking back the streets and telling the

man ‘NO MORE!’ If you want a revolution you got to grab people’s attention. You

have to bring the drama and smack people straight in the brain with your words. ‘Help

Fight Injustice’ isn’t going to spark a revolution, it isn’t going to fire up the imagination.

But ‘Take back what’s yours’ and ‘Reclaim Pig Nation!’, that is going to get results.”

       “That’s so awesome.”

       “The book will be our guide for revolution, everything we need to know is


       “It sounds amazing. Where can I buy a copy?”

       “Oh, my sweet innocent sister, a revolutionary doesn’t buy “Steal This Book”. It

must be obtained outside the loop of the man’s capitalism. To give money to the pigs for

this book defeats what the book is all about!”

       “Should I steal a copy?”

       “That would seem to be in order, but that won’t be necessary my sister, the book

is online now. I can print a copy out for you on my mom’s computer.”

       “Thanks, that is so great!” Her heart leapt into her throat, he’s really noticed her.

Getting here early really paid off.

       Before they could continue another head quietly popped through the door. A

pudgy, freckled face topped with an unkempt mess of red hair. Two nervous eyes peeked

out behind the chubby cheeks, surveying the room.

       “Welcome my brother! Are you here to reclaim America?”

       “Hi,” he entered the room, his entire body as ruffled and disheveled as his red

hair. He wore a navy blue T-shirt and blue jeans that looked like they had been slept in.

       “I saw your ad in the Times, my name is Toby.” He said walking towards them.

About halfway across the room he extended his arm for a handshake, walking about 10

feet, arm thrust forward, before grabbing Kunta’s hand.

       “My brother, please do not use your real name. The pigs hear all and we don’t

need to give them pertinent information like our real names.”

       “Sorry,” his voice was congested and nasally as if he was sick and his words had

a slowness to them that Kunta hoped was a sign of thoughtfulness. Combined with the

sound of his voice, however, it gave the impression of mild retardation.

       “It is quite alright my brother, those who have not dealt with pigs have no way of

knowing the pig’s methods. Believe me, you will quickly be acclimated to the ways of

the pig and the lengths he will go to quell free thought among the people.”

       “Oh, I see. So what should you call me?”

       “Don’t worry my brother, we will all pick new names for the revolution! I’m

Kunta Kinte X.” He could see the confusion cross over Toby’s face.

       “Kunta Kinte, I take that name to reflect the heritage I lost when the man brought

me over here. And X to reflect my rejection of the ways of Pig Nation, that I cease to be

a party to the atrocities done in the name of capitalism.”

       “That is so amazing.”

       “Wow, that sure is deep.”

       A quick glance at the wall clock showed it was nearly eight. The time of

revolution was nigh at hand.

       “Well, if you would like to take a seat. I think I’m going to run to the restroom

before the meeting starts.” Toby nodded and sat at a table near the front of the room.

Clara grabbed a chair and brought it to the head table where Kunta had been sitting.

       When he returned four more revolutionaries had joined them. And among them,

finally, some real brothers. Not that white people weren’t welcome in the New American

Panthers, but damn, it would be disappointing if, in a fight for freedom, those who’ve

been denied freedom the longest didn’t show up.

       “I trust you all didn’t introduce yourselves.” Toby forced out a nervous chuckle

until he realized nobody else was laughing.

       “I made sure they didn’t,” Clara said.

       “Excellent work my sister.” He looked out at the small group, his people. Sure it

wasn’t much, but many people weren’t necessary. Only a small group of elite was

needed to get the message to the people. And they were all young, 22, if that, at the

oldest. The boundless energy of youth was sure to drive this movement to success.

       “As-Salaam-Alaikum, I’m Kunta Kinte X, founder of the New American

Panthers, the group that will lead the jailbreak from this prison known as America. Yes, I

just said prison that’s what America is and that’s where we all are. You may think you’re

living a good life, with a job, a steady income and clothes on your back, but its all a lie.

This job, these material goods, all of this is just a pittance, given to you by the man to

keep your mind off the fact that he hijacked this country out from under you! The robber

barons who own the mansions of capitalism, built by slaves, don’t want you to know that

everything they have, they stole. This was once virgin land, providing enough to supply

everybody with everything they could ever want! But the robber barons, the greedy

barons, that wasn’t enough for them. They wanted everything for themselves, so they

took it and to pacify the masses they gave them the crumbs from their table.’

       ‘ And it wasn’t enough to steal the lands from the Indians who were here when

the pigs arrived. It wasn’t enough to bring slaves over from Africa and steal their labor,

lives and families. The pigs had to turn on themselves, the white devils do not even

respect their own kind. That’s why I’m glad to see a nice mixture in our turnout. The

man knows no race, creed or color when he is stealing or imprisoning his own people,

likewise our revolution should be colorblind. All races fighting as one to free all people

from oppression.”

       They were hanging on his every word, eager to get to work, to free the captive

citizens of the American prison. His eyes met with Clara’s, she had a look of awe and

wonder on her face that told him that this was going to work.

       “I think we should start by getting to know each other. Now obviously we

shouldn’t use our real names- the pigs will be all around looking to take us down. If they

have our real names they can get to us through our families and friends, they can get

information about us from people who knew us in high school. Plus, by changing our

names we symbolically throw off the shackles of the names the White Devil has placed

on us.”

          “I’ll be Jake X,” the short muscular brother at the back of the room blurted out.

          “I want to be Toby X.”

          “Ok people,” Kunta said trying to hide his disappointment, “I think we have

enough X’s here. Try to think of something that captures your personality and the spirit

of the revolution.”

          “I’ll be Max Hardcore,” Kunta turned to the white kid in the old school Phillies


          “Ok guy, that might capture your personality, but it doesn’t convey the spirit of

the revolution. You, in the back, why don’t you give it a try?”

          “I’ll be The Agent of the Revolution. Just call me Agent.”

          “I’ll be Steve McQueen,” the white teen in the Rage Against the Machine hat


          “Well, it doesn’t really pay to throw off the name the white devil gave you and

take a name that is also handed down by the white devil.”

          “Well, Steve McQueen really captures what I’m looking for. How about Steve


          “I like it, we’ll go with it. But please people, enough with the X.”

          “Now that I like, mysterious, unknown, always were the action is, good choice

my brother. Now Jake X, c’mon, give me something.”

       “How about Jake Virtue?”

       “Good call, nobody can side with the pigs when we have Virtue on our side. Mr.


       “I’m going to go with ‘The Joker’.”

       “Could you be serious!?”

       “Easy my sister, this could work. Remember we need to have flair and drama to

get people’s attention. I think Joker here could be just what the revolution needs to wake

up the sleeping masses. Now Mr. Toby, what about you?”

       “I was thinking I could go with Kunta Lowenstein.” His nasally voice made the

name sound even stupider than it was. It took all of Kunta Kinte’s patience to keep from

smacking him. He had to remind himself; not everybody is as practiced in the art of

revolution as he was.

       “I think we’ll call you ‘Butter’.”

       “Because I’m smooth? Because I can easily slip through the fingers of the pigs?”

       “Actually its because you look like you ate a stick of it for breakfast.” A ripple of

laughter went through the room. Toby even chuckled nervously to fit in. He would’ve

protested, but everybody seemed to like the name, and that was all that was important.

       “I guess that just leaves me.”

       “Yes sister, what do you have for us.”

       “I think, I’ll be,” she looked up at Kunta, smiling, “Abbie Hoffman.”

       “Excellent choice sister,” he replied, smiling back. “Now, lets see what resources

and skills we have that might further the cause.”

       “My mom bought me a computer I could use to print stuff.”

       “Alright Butter! Can you do anything else? Maybe use your computer to hack

into websites?”

       “I’ve never tried, but how hard can it be?”

       “A good start, we have a means of printing up communications and a way to hack

into the pig’s own lines of communication. What else we got?”

       “I’ve got a computer too,” Steve added, “Plus I was editor of my high school


       Now, ordinarily people on the staff of the school paper are just puppet toadies for

the man. Printing only the bland pabulum that is intellectually lacking and guaranteed to

keep the students away from their primary mission- that being bringing down the school

by overthrowing the administration. But Steve was here and that counted for something,

and if he had writing skills that could be used for the revolution then even better. It

would even be sweetly ironic if the writing skills honed while in service to the man were

eventually used to bring down the evil empire.

       “Interesting Steve, maybe you could work on a paper we could distribute, ‘The

Daily Panther’ or something to that effect. In fact, ‘Steal This Book’ has a lot of info

about running your own underground newspaper. I’ll let you know where to get a copy.”

       “Yea, that is so cool. I could take notes from all our demonstrations, get quotes

from you guys and then have everything printed up.”

       “Dudes, then we could just take them to Wal Mart and Barnes and Noble and

leave them around with the merchandise.”

       “Excellent idea Jake.” Kunta had the feeling he was at the start of something big.

        “We could also take some and go to the paper boxes around town. We can put a

quarter in the box, and then, like, put our paper inside the Times.”

        “Why Butter! That’s positively brilliant.”

        “Thanks Agent.”

        “Yes, good ideas people. Now, what other skills do you all have?”

        There was an uncomfortable silence as everybody looked around, averting eye

contact with Kunta.

        “Its ok people, I’m sure you’ve all got skills. They’ll show themselves in the heat

of the revolution, no doubt.”

        “So, what are we going to do? What’s our plan?” Joker asked.

        “Well, we need to make a big splash, let the city know that the New American

Panthers have arrived. Tomorrow the Chamber of Commerce, or the United Pigs, as I

like to call them, is having its monthly meeting at their office downtown. We need to

make up some signs, and get down there and get noticed. Then we can do a story about it

in the Daily Panther. We can fill the story with information about the injustices of

capitalism and how businesses that are “good” for the community are really just ripping

people off.”

        “We could even quote some of the pigs. Show people how stupid they are when

confronted by people who know the facts about what they’re doing.”

        “Right on Jake. We need to lay some heavy shit on the people right off the bat.”

        “This is great, Kunta, the robber barons will have no answer to our charges,

they’ll look like fools.”

       “That’s the plan Abbie. And it’ll be Panthers one, Pigs nothing. Agent, you’ve

been kinda quiet so far.”

       “Just thinking about the protest. What should we do for signs?”

       “I’ve got some poster board free from Walgreen’s. Just use a magic marker and

come up with an attack on the system. Something catchy, that people will remember, but

something that will also piss them off, get them thinking about our message.”

       “Dude, this is gonna be awesome.”

       “Everybody grab some poster board and come up with some good stuff. We’ll

meet at the Chamber of Commerce office downtown tomorrow at seven. The meeting

starts at eight so we’ll be all up and ready by the time the pigs start arriving.” And with

that the first meeting of the New American Panthers adjourned, everyone confident of a

successful sneak attack on America.

       When Charles Schmidt arrived at headquarters it was nearly 11 o’clock. Why he

had to meet with his boss now was beyond him, the New American Panthers hardly

seemed a threat to anyone, and besides, there really wasn't much information to share.

But at the FBI, like most bureaucracies, when the boss said come, you came.

       Eager to get home as soon as possible Agent Schmidt hurried past hundreds of

identical heavy wooden doors that opened to hundred of identical offices coming to a halt

at his boss’ door. “Hannibal Bonaparte” the replaceable nameplate read. Jesus Christ,

and he thought Max Hardcore was a ridiculous name. Of course he, and everybody else

in the bureau, had heard the fascinating story behind his name. Yea, real fascinating, his

dad was a military nut who was all kinds of gaga over Hannibal. He rolled his eyes just

thinking about the story. He took a deep breath, cleared his mind, knocked lightly on the

door and entered.

       “Agent Schmidt, good to see you. I trust you have an informative update for


       “Well there isn’t much yet, I mean there was just a small get together tonight.

They’ve set up a protest of sorts for tomorrow, but nothing really to get worried about.”

       “Nothing to get worried about? Maybe you don’t remember the problems we had

with the Panthers back in the 60’s but let me tell you, we better be taking this threat


       “Yes sir.”

       “Now, I take it you’ve had no problems gaining their trust?”

       “Yes, I’m a member of the New American Panthers, they know me only as ‘The


       “Damn it Schmidt, don’t fuck around with these people.”

       “But sir…”

       “But nothing Schmidt! I don’t need you taking risks by dropping clues that

you’re an FBI Agent.”

       “Sir, they had us pick pseudonyms, the rest of the group was, to be polite, not

having much success. I offered myself as ‘The Agent of the Revolution’ because it

sounded mysterious and cool.”

       “Fine Schmidt, I just need to make sure you’re taking this as seriously as you


       “I understand sir.”

       “Now what kind of information do you have for me?”

       “Well, not much sir. The first time any of us met was tonight. I’ve got some

photos taken and a lead on some first names. The only one I have any real info on right

now is the group founder, Kunta Kinte X.”

       “Kunta Kinte X, what the hell kinda name is that?”

       “I think its part ‘reclaiming African heritage’ and one part ‘faceless in America’.

The guy’s real name is Willie Johnson, a 25 year old high school drop out of little

revolutionary consequence before now.”

       “Willie Johnson? I though you all used pseudonyms?”

       “Well, he reserved the meeting room at park under that name and I ran a scan on

the license plate from the ’77 Nova he drove off in and came back with the same name.

He lives around the corner from the park.”

       “Excellent work, I’ll have ‘round the clock surveillance on his place.”

       “Sir, I don’t really think that’s necessary. I mean, from first impressions, this

doesn’t sound like its going to be much. Seems to me that this Willie Johnson is just a

pissed off guy who can’t get a job because he didn’t graduate from high school. Then one

day he gets copies of “The Autobiography of Malcolm X” and “Steal This Book” and

suddenly he thinks he’s Thomas Jefferson, Timothy Leary and Che Guevara rolled

together into a super revolutionary. He even greets everybody with ‘As-Salaam-

Alaikum’, it’s the most cornball thing I’ve ever heard.”

       “Look, Agent Schmidt, I appreciate your opinion but you can’t underestimate

these people. Have you ever read ‘Steal This Book’, it has entire sections on building

bombs and growing and selling drugs. Let’s say you’re right, these people are idiots.

They’d still be idiots with bombs, which might be more dangerous than intellectuals with

bombs. At least an intellectual would be less likely to do something stupid with that


       “They think Abbie Hoffman is a woman.”

       This brought Hannibal Boneparte to a full and complete stop. It took him a second

to gather himself, for a moment it was if he didn’t know where he was, in an instant the

situation he had found himself in was totally different from the one he was in a mere

second earlier.

       “Nevertheless, dangerous.”

       “Yes sir. So, how do you want me to proceed?”

       “Well you’ve got a protest for tomorrow? What’s this all about.”

       “We’re supposed to make posters and head down to the Chamber of Commerce


       “Chamber of Commerce? Why, there is no media coverage or anything there.”

       “I’m aware of that sir.”

       “In essence they’ll just be hassling people on their way to a meeting.”

       “Yes sir.”

       “I mean, there won’t even be any people down there to see the protest! They’re

located in an office complex that is almost deserted by the time the meeting starts.”

       “I know sir.”

       “Well, go along with them, protest with them, just make sure things don’t get out

of hand between them and anybody with the Chamber of Commerce. Maybe we’ll

station some officers across the street, they can take some pictures and if things get out

of hand you can give them a sign to come over and break things up.”

       “What kind of sign?”

       “Whatever you want, how about you just raise your sign over your head?”

       “No, I don’t want it to be anything I might do without thinking. How about I’ll

put my hat on backwards if I need anything?”

       “Whatever, geez.”

       “Sorry sir, just trying to treat this with the proper amount of seriousness.”

       “Yes, well attend the protest and start getting us some info on the rest of this

group. I know you don’t think they’re important, but once you take your eye off of them,

that’s when they hit you.”

       “Yes sir.”

       “Now, have you thought up a sign?”

       “Not really sir.”

       “Well, what are you protesting.”

       “I’m not really sure. The specific what of the protest was never really discussed.”

       “What did this Willie Johnson character have to say?”

       “Mostly he went on about the pigs and the robber barons.”

       “But nothing specific? So you could have everybody there with a sign for a

different cause?”

       “Yes sir, that is entirely possible.”

       “Good luck anyway Schmidt. Dismissed.”

       “Good night sir,” Agent Schmidt turned to leave, wondering how he was ever

going to get promoted handling cases like this.

       “Oh, Schmidt, one last thing.”

       “Yes sir?”

       “Try not to laugh in front of them,” Bonaparte chuckled.

       “I’ll try not to,” Schmidt said over his shoulder as he left, resigned to the fact that

he will never get promoted.

        The Agent had taken the bus down to the protest and was the last one to arrive at

the Chamber of Commerce, fifteen minutes before seven. He had a sign that simply said

“Liberty and Justice FOR ALL” with an American flag painted underneath. As he had

expected the group had signs featuring a hodgepodge of ideas and slogans most of which

had nothing do to with the Chamber of Commerce and some of which had nothing to do

with common sense. He made mental notes of the signs in case the police across the

street didn’t get pictures.

Kunta Kinte X- Black Power!!!!

Abbie Hoffman- Make Love, Not War

Steve McX- You got a bullet in your head!

Jake Virtue- Arm The Homeless!

Joker- The Time Has Come!

Butter- Amerika

        The group was chanting at the top of their lungs as he approached. They might

not have much, but they were enthusiastic. MUST…. NOT...LAUGH



        The seven New American Panthers were the only people in sight for the next 30


        “My brother the Agent! Glad you could finally make it,” Kunta said as he broke

off from the group, which continued the chant with undiminished fervor.

        “Wouldn’t miss it for the world my brother. That’s quite a load of exclamation

points you’ve got there.”

        “Hey, Abbie Hoffman says exclamation points are good for emphasis, and the

sister hasn’t steered me wrong yet. So ‘exclaim on’ I say.”

        “Exclaim on brother.”

        And on they exclaimed, yelling at the top of their lungs for the capitalist pigs to

leave, even though none had arrived for the meeting. Finally a group of three

businessmen arrived, well dressed but obviously worn out from an already long day of


        “What the hell is going on here?” A man in a blue double-breasted suit said as

they approached the group.

        “The New American Panther Party is going on, that’s what. And you capitalist

pigs have just been put on alert.”

        “Alert for what?”

        “Alert that we are on to your capitalist ways. Your day is near an end.” Kunta

was now face to face with the man in the blue suit. The other men checked out the other

signs. One of the men in a smart gray suit approached Joker and Steve near the entrance

to the building.

        “What the hell does this crap mean? What ‘time has come’?”

        “Man, you pigs are so lost in your own greed that you don’t even see it. Your

time has come, man! Your era of capitalist domination is over!”

        “Capitalist domination? What the hell are you talking about? I have a small

accounting business that allows me to have a comfortable life and send my kids to

college,” he said. Then turning to Steve’s sign, “I’m not going to even ask what kind go

stupidity this is. ‘Bullet in my head’? What the hell are you kids on?”

        “See Joker, I told you these pigs wouldn’t get the point. Your time has past old

man!” And with that Joker and Steve ‘oinked’ at the man as he entered the building.

        Meanwhile, the man in the black pinstripe suit was standing in front of Butter,

trying to comprehend the meaning of his sign.

        “Hey kid, you spelled ‘America’ wrong.”

        “No I didn’t, pig.”

        “Yea, it’s spelled with a ‘c’, not a ‘k’.”

        “Maybe the robber barons spell it with a ‘c’, but everybody knows the revolution

spells it with a ‘k’.”

        “The Revolution? Look, kid, why don’t you and your friends go buy some ice

cream, with the change you can buy yourself a clue. Now out of my way, I’ve got a


        Kunta was still staring down the man in the blue suit. The Agent, looked around

and saw more people entering the building along a side entrance, they must’ve seen the

commotion up front and taken the path of least resistance. But front and center, Kunta

was still face to face with his adversary.

        “DEATH TO THE PIGS!”

        “What is your problem? Will you people get out of here?”

        “You’d like that wouldn’t you pig. If all of us just got out of your way.”

        “Well, that would be nice.”

          “We should all just get out of your way and cease to exist. That is, until you need

to sell us something to build up your tiny empire?”

          “What the hell are you talking about? This is the Chamber of Commerce, we’re

just small business owners. And what the hell does “Black Power” have to do with us?”

          “You’ve made your money off our black power for far to long!” It was at this

point that The Agent decided to turn his hat backwards.

          “I run my own small business, what the hell are you talking about!”

          “I’m talking about the financial and intellectual oppression that crackers like you

have been perpetrating for generations!” Finally, the police arrived.

          “Sir, why don’t you go to your meeting we’ll handle this.”

          “Thank you officer,” the man glared one last time at Kunta before heading into

the building.

          “Now, I think you all should just break up this demonstration and call it a night.”

          “Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you pigs!” Kunta started. Agent cut him off before

it got out of hand.

          “We’ll be leaving officers.” He turned to Kunta, “We made our point man, let’s

get out of here. The Panthers can’t afford to have their leader in jail.” The police left as

Agent Schmidt gave them a nod.

          “You’re right man. Everybody, let’s get out of here! Steve, you got enough for a


          “Yea, I think we’ve got a good one from tonight’s showdown.”

          “Cool, we’ll meet tomorrow at the McDonald’s near the park. Sorry, I couldn’t

get the room reserved again. Agent, you got a ride?”

        “No, I bussed it down here.”

        “Ride with me.”

        “Can I come with you Kunta?”

        “Sorry sister, I got things I need to discuss with the agents. Joker can give you a

ride I’m sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Abbie turned, slightly disappointed, but her spirit

buoyed by the fact that they’d meet again the next night. She ran after Joker, who had

already left for his car.

        Agent and Kunta walked towards his car in silence. This was quite possibly the

worst demonstration in the entire history of public disobedience. There was no media

attention at all and the three people who did receive the message have absolutely no idea

what message they were supposed to be receiving. A group of monkeys shitting on a flag

would’ve at least been a disturbing visual. If Agent Schmidt were lucky, Kunta would be

so disappointed by the protest that he’d forget about the New American Panthers. Then

he could get infiltrate a drug cartel, or track some computer hackers, something, anything

that could lead to a promotion.

        “Man, what are we gonna do Agent?”

        “I dunno Kunta, I do not know.”

        “I mean where do we go from here? After a display like that we have nowhere to

go but down! Did you see how confounded those capitalist pigs were?”

        So long promotion.

        “Yea man, those suckers aren’t gonna know what to think! I mean you went toe

to toe with that guy and he was all like ‘I’ve gotta meeting to get to, outta my way’”, the

Agent said in his best ‘honky’ voice.

       “You are too much Agent,” Kunta laughed. “So what do we do next? I mean this

was a good start but obviously there were some flaws.”

       “No way, you’re just being too hard on yourself.”

       “Nah, check it out man. Sure, we fucked with some of them greedy bastards

tonight, but did we really advance the cause? Does anybody outside those three fat ass

know about the New American Panthers? Hell no! We need to take it to the streets, let

the people know that we’re fighting for them. Seriously, what good is a people’s

revolution if the people ain’t even involved?”

       “Good point Kunta.”

       “So you got any ideas?”

       “Man, I dunno, you’re the idea guy,” shit, what is he supposed to do, help him

mail a pipe bomb to the president?

       “I think you’re holding back on me Agent. But that’s cool, we’re just starting out

here and I suppose I should expect some shyness and apprehension until I’ve set a good

revolutionary model for y’all.”

       “Yea, we got a good group here, I’m sure we’ll get some great ideas from them.

But Kunta, you’ve got to have something up your sleeve. I know you didn’t form the

New American Panthers without a vision. You’re a visionary and you know it. Now

what do you have lined up, what’s the main course after this revolutionary appetizer?”

       “Check this out, one thing every movement needs is young blood. Kids we can

raise in our ideological image. If each of us can recruit three kids then we’ll have 21

members ready to go. You heard that yelling tonight, you think when we’re 50 we’ll be

able to keep up shouting like that for half an hour?”

        Agent laughed picturing his boss yelling for that long, he usually gets winded

walking to the can and breaks a sweat from a heat conversation.

        “I hear you brother, cultivate the next generation.”

        “Exactly! So, how do we do that? We use the man’s own tools for our

advantage! Jake’s girlfriend, Cindy, she got a job at McDonald’s to help us out. Now

they’ve got a rule there that after food sits for so long it can’t be sold, so its collected and

put in bags and later thrown out. Cindy will be our person on the inside. When they get

ready to dump that food, she gives us a call and we meet her out back. Presto! We’ve got

a bag full of free food for the revolution. We turn it over to the kids of the neighborhood

and suddenly we’ve got new members. McDonald’s may have the food, but we’re the

only ones giving it away.”

        “That sounds awesome! What else you got?”

        “Well, I’m looking into setting up a press conference where we can meet face to

face with the pig media. I think we might also be able to go out individually and recruit

and spread the message on a one to one basis.”

        “That could work man.”

        “I’ve got a few ideas in the early stages of formation. I’ll let y’all in on those as

soon as they become more solid. I’m also trying to work on some fund raising ideas.

‘Steal This Book’ has a bunch of ideas for raising funds in this Pig Nation prison. Man, I

wish I could’ve met this Abbie Hoffman chick she had it all going on.”

        MUST… NOT … LAUGH

        “Yea, Abbie Hoffman was one of a kind. Hey, my girl lives in the apartment

complex up ahead, drop me off there, I think I’ll crash for the night,” Agent pointed to a

nondescript group of housing units. “Just drop me off out front, it’s a maze of parking

lots and driveways inside.”

       “Ok my brother. As-Salaam-Alaikum.”

       “See ya tomorrow Kunta.”

       A dark storm cloud hung over the assembled New American Panthers the next

afternoon at McDonald’s. When Agent arrived, Jake, Kunta and Abbie were already

waiting. Not a surprise, last night’s car ride was the first time he’d ever seen Kunta

without Abbie two steps behind.

       “Why the down faces? There is revolution in the air comrades.” He was

beginning to enjoy the bullshit lingo of the revolutionary.

       “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. Jake’s cracker girlfriend punked out on us, that’s

what!” Several McDonald’s patrons looked around to see what the commotion was as

Kunta’s voice raised far over acceptable restaurant levels. Abbie put a comforting arm

around his neck.

       “Man I called her this morning to see how the job was going and if she was ready

to try and make some food drops. So get this, she says she likes the job! I tell her, I can’t

believe she’d sell me out to whore herself out to the white devil! So now she’s talkin

about working for a promotion, and saving money for college.”


       “Yea, can you dig this trip she’s on X? She’s talking about saving up and maybe

even getting a scholarship from the clown himself.”

       “What does she want to go to school for?”

       “She don’t know yet, Agent. She’s talking about being a school teacher or


       “God DAMN!” This drew a glare from the fat balding manager standing behind

the counter. Abbie rubbed Kunta’s neck and quietly whispered for him to calm down.

       “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lose my composure Panther’s. But damn, why she

want to go and do that? I mean, if there is one thing we don’t need is another cracker

pouring honkyfied education into our young minds. The only reason you should be at a

college is to tear the mother down. Lies wrapped in bullshit, that’s all they got there.”

       “C’mon X, it ain’t all bad news,” Abbie was in full ‘mother’ mode now, “We got

some great stuff going for the next two days.”

       “Yea man, give Agent the lowdown, you got some great shit lined up.”

       “Easy now Jake,” Kunta smiled, “damn, its nice to have such eager people around

me. Keeps me from just giving up.”


       “McX should be here soon, he’s gonna have some fliers for us to distribute

tonight for our press conference this weekend. We’re gonna invite the masses out, and

hopefully have a big crowd for the media. You and Butter are gonna head out to the

north side of town and hit all the housing projects. Virtue, McX and Joker are gonna

paper the parking lots downtown and then hit the mall. Abbie and I are going to go door

to door in the suburbs.”

       “So we’re going to invite people to our press conference? What about, you know,

the press.”

       “Got it covered. Tomorrow night we’re gonna have a full court press on the

media. All of us will get a list of contacts to call and let them know to come cover the

New American Panthers. Everybody except Butter.”

       “What’s wrong with Butter?”

       “Nothing, Butter is just going to be on assignment.”


       “I’ve managed to secure a ticket to the DMX concert tomorrow. Butter is going

to hijack the show after the opening act and get the message out. Then he’s gonna get

DMX to show up at our press conference.”

       “DMX is going to be at the press conference? I hope that isn’t on the flier.”

       “Dude! Of course it is. Gotta have star power to get the crowd. Kunta, give him

the copy you have.”

       Agent looked at the flier, there in the middle was a black and white photo of

DMX in mid-scowl. “The public is invited by DMX and The New American Panthers to

attend a press conference. Vital information on free yourself from the American Prison

and overthrowing our corporate wardens” was the text framing the photo. Obviously a

plot doomed to fail. The press conference was no problem, but damn, Butter couldn’t be

sent to that concert to “hijack” it. Butter couldn’t hijack candy from a baby.

       “Guys, this a great idea, seriously, but there is no way DMX is coming to this

press conference.”

       The three looked at him as if the possibility had never crossed their mind. He was

obviously insane for thinking DMX wouldn’t show.

       “Agent, don’t be so negative,” Abbie finally removed her arm from Kunta’s

shoulder. “DMX is not going to leave his brothers holding the bag. Just because he’s

made it doesn’t mean he forgot that other people are still suffering.”

       “I’m not saying he doesn’t care, I’m just saying that, you know, he’s on tour and

he probably has to be in the next town tomorrow night. While I’m sure he’s down with

our cause it might not be possible for him to make time in his schedule to attend our press


       They stared at him, obviously wounded by this body blow. Abbie looked down

and shuffled her feet while Jake concentrated on his food. He picked up a french fry, but

couldn’t bring himself to eat it.

       “Doesn’t matter.”

       “Kunta, of course it matters. If you send out these fliers and 1,000 people show

up and you don’t deliver on DMX you’re going to start a riot!”

       “Ah, but there is the flaw in your thinking. These people won’t be here to meet

and greet some celebrity, they’re going to show up to get information on escaping the

American prison. Besides, the flier doesn’t say DMX is going to be there, it just says he

invites you.”

       “Yea, it does say that, and while you might be technically correct, I don’t think

you’ll have that easy a time explaining it that way to several hundred DMX fans.”

       The discussion was interrupted by the arrival of McX and Butter.

       “Does Butter know the plan yet?”

       “No, but I’m sure he’s down with it.”

       “Yea guys, whatever we need to do for the cause.”

       “See, what’d I tell you Agent. So Butter this Saturday we’re gonna have a press

conference to get our message out using the oppressor’s own media.”

       “Cool, man I’m down with that.”

       “Well, that’s not really where you come into the plan. Tomorrow as you may

know, DMX has a concert here in town.”

          “Oh yea, I’m down with that,” Butter’s eyes lit up. He started rapping “Up in

here, up in here.”

          “That’s right Butter, man I didn’t know you were a fan. That’s cool because

you’re going to the concert.”

          “NO WAY!”

          “Yes, way. Here is your ticket,” Kunta handed a small Ticketmaster envelope to



          “Now, all you have to do is let everybody know that we are having the press

conference Saturday at Smith Park.”

          “What do you mean.”

          “You’ve been to a concert before? You know between the opening act and the

main event they always have some stage work to do, new equipment, whatever, takes 15

minutes to half an hour.”


          “When that happens you get on stage and let everybody know about the press


          “Is that gonna be safe? I mean, I’ll do what you need me to do for the revolution,

but that’s gonna be a dangerous crowd at that concert.”

          “Oh, I see, is that how it is. You’re “down” with the revolution but you still have

to fear the black man? These blacks, these “niggers” at this concert will be so animal

like, so filled with rage that they won’t be able to stop themselves from attacking when

they see a white boy like you?”

       “No that’s not it….”

       “NO! No, its good that we all know where you stand.”

       “C’mon man! If you think its not going to be any problem then I’ll go.”

       “Ok. See Agent, I told you it wouldn’t be a problem.”

       “I still don’t think it’s a good idea to have DMX on the fliers if we can’t

guarantee that he’ll be there.”

       “Let’s compromise, I know I’m the “leader” of the New American Panthers, but

I’m also a firm believer in democracy. But real democracy, not this plutocracy or

theocracy masquerading as democracy here in America. One person, one vote, is that all

right with you Agent?”

       “Sure, let’s vote. I just don’t think it safe to promise a potentially large crowd

that a celebrity will be making an appearance.”

       “And I’m telling you, the draw isn’t DMX, the draw is the possibility of freedom

from the American prison. Now all those for keeping the fliers with DMX on them raise

your hand.”

       “Ok Toby, let’s go. Meet at the park to set up the press conference?”

       “Yea, around noon.”

       The afternoon went quickly for Butter and Agent. They stopped at three of the

major housing projects around town and handed out the entire box of fliers. They made a

concerted effort to stay on major streets to avoid any incidents, but still Agent could tell

the Butter was easily intimidated when anybody got in his face or talked loudly to him.

He rarely strayed further than 5 feet from Agent but managed to make it through the day

without freaking out.

          “Butter, you sure you’re ready for tomorrow?” Agent asked as he started the car.

          “Yea, why not. Besides Kunta wouldn’t send me if he didn’t think I could handle


          “Well, I guess, I’m just thinking that Kunta wants you to be more assertive, I’m

just not sure this is the proper place for this experiment.”

          “Agent you worry to much.”

          “Well, there were times today where you didn’t look to comfortable. You know

the most aggressive person you ran into today will probably be among the most reserved

at that show tomorrow.”

          “I’m fine, I just tend to always look a little nervous.”

          Couldn’t argue with that, the kid always look like he was two seconds away from


          “So Butter, why join up with revolution?”

          “You know how it is, everybody wants to join a club.”

          “Sure, but why the New American Panthers? You hardly seem like the type.”

          “Type? What do you mean, I don’t look like I care about justice? I look like I

can’t take some time out of my life to do something for a suffering brother?”

          “Nah, you got it all wrong. You look like you care, you just look like you’d set

up a web page before you joined a revolutionary group to take it to the street.”

          “Like I said, sometimes you just want to join a group. I’ve tried joining several

clubs at school but didn’t fit in. Tried some after school stuff like boy scouts and 4H, but

didn’t enjoy it. I saw the ad for the New American Panthers, and felt comfortable with

everybody there. And they seemed to like me.”

          “Well, they were kinda making fun of you with the Butter name.”

          “Please, I’ve had worse than that. Besides, you need to have a sense of humor

about yourself. I mean if you can’t laugh at this ridiculous thing we call life, you’ll never

make it anywhere in this world.”

          They sat there and drove in silence. Agent stunned by what Butter had just said.

Butter proud of what he had just said and afraid to spoil its genius by adding anything

else. Now and then Butter would give out a direction toward his house.

          “Look, Butter,” Agent said as Butter opened the car door, “I know you’re ready

for tomorrow, and I say if you’re ready then I’m behind you all the way. Still, take this

and give me a call when you get back from the show, ok?”

          He scribbled his cell phone number on a piece of notepaper and handed it to


          “But shouldn’t we be more careful with our personal information. Remember

what Kunta says about the man hearing all.”

          “Well, Kunta doesn’t need to know about this now, does he? Just give me a call

and let me know how it went.”

          “No problem, talk to you after the show, and good luck setting up the press


          “Agent Schmidt, nice of you to visit me.”

        “Yes sir, sarcasm noted. But if I may be frank we’ve got a serious problem to

deal with regarding the New American Panthers.”

        “See, I told you. You let your guard down for a minute and they’ve got the whole

city riled up.”

        “Well it isn’t the city I’m worried about, for the most part. First, they are

planning a press conference and they must’ve handed you 6,000 fliers implying that

DMX would be taking an active part in it. Second, they are sending Butter to hijack a rap

concert during intermission to spread their message to the people. I really think he could

be in trouble.”

        “I read the report you had about that Butter kid. What’s he even doing in this

revolutionary crap? He hardly has the personality for it, and has never even showed any

tendency to this political ideology.”

        “To be perfectly honest, I think the only reason he’s in the New American

Panthers is the Heaven’s Gate Cult killed themselves before he had a chance to join.

Seriously, he was primed to join any cult, group, gang that convinced him that he was

one of them. We just happened to be infiltrating the first group he joined. Luckily they

were revolutionary half wits and not a suicidal religious cult.”

        “I’ll see what I can do. If you passed out the fliers today I can get to the

television and radio people that it’s a hoax and they can go with it right away. The

morning paper is probably already running, but that’s no big deal. The concert is

tomorrow night so we can run something in the papers the morning before the press

conference. Big hoax story on page one and at the top of every hour.”

        “And what about the press conference.”

       “What about it? Let it go on. We should be able to kill most of the crowd with

the hoax story and we can put a few uniforms around the park to keep out anybody not

affiliated with the media. I’m sure you won’t get much media attention anyway.”

       “You don’t think the new revolutionaries kicking off their war with the pigs won’t

attract attention?” Agent Schmidt chuckled.

       “Schmidt, what have I told you about taking these people seriously. Just five

minutes ago you came in here worried that they were gonna start a full riot. Now, idiots

or not they can still start trouble. You know, a monkey doesn’t know how to shoot a gun,

but I wouldn’t hang around laughing if a chimp was waving a 9mm around.”

       “Sorry sir. Maybe I should get some back up on this job?”

       “Don’t be a smart ass, just get a good night’s sleep and be ready to do your job


       “To protect and serve and semper fi and blab blah blah sir.”

       “That’s better. Enjoy the drudgery and try to stay on your toes.”

       The next day was the worst day Charles Schmidt had with the FBI. Sure, there

were days at the academy that were harder on him mentally, there were days in training

that were harder on him physically. But nothing could top the combination of boredom

and worry he suffered the day before the New American Panthers’ first press conference.

       The entire morning was spent with Steve McX contacting all the radio stations

within three hours of the city. Jake was given the smaller group of television stations

while Joker and Abbie took care of all newspapers, “pig owned” and independent. Kunta

was busy at home working on his speech.

       It’s not that spending fours hours on hold to talk to radio station news directors

for a grand total of 15 minutes is usually exciting stuff. It isn’t, but the boredom is

multiplied to the edge of insanity when you have to do it with somebody as ignorant as

Steve McX. Yea, the editor of The Daily Panther…well The Weekly Panther…for a

while it was The Monthly Panther and finally, the revolutionaries finally settled on The

Panther, established as soon as Steve McX gets out the first issue.

       To top things off, Steve had an annoying habit of speaking in song lyrics.

Whenever the situation called for a poignant lyric, Steve would be there. His favorite

would be screaming “FUCK YOU I WON’T DO WHAT YOU TELL ME! (Rage

Against the Machine), whenever he was asked to do the simplest task.

       Things got worse as the day went on. As the New American Panthers were

making their calls informing news departments of the press conference the FBI was

contacting the same people about the DMX hoax. This led to Steve having a lyrical

tirade that was captured on tape and played ad nauseum on the local hard rock station

       “I don’t know where you fuckers get your info but you got the wrong news today,

oh boy ( The Beatles). You are so wrong, because it is going down up in here (

DMX) and you can’t touch this ( M.C. Hammer)… too much laughter heard on the

other end to understand what Steve says… but if you guys don’t see that the end is here

( The Doors) the you’ve got a bullet in your head ( Rage Against The Machine)

because baby, the times they are a changing ( Bob Dylan)…”

       “Excuse me sir, could you stop for just one moment?”

       “FUCK YOU I WON’T DO WHAT YOU TELL ME! ( Rage Against The


       “Hello? Hello sir, are you still there?” More laughter.

       “Man, in all my years in radio, that is the wildest thing every said to me, and I’ve

interviewed televangelists!”

       They spent the entire morning contacting the news department of every major

media outlet within three hours of the city and got no firm commitments of attendance.

Even after giving one lame morning rock team their highest rated segment in history. A

few places said they’d consider sending somebody and they managed to do it without

laughing directly into the phone. We never saw Kunta that day, we were all supposed to

meet at the Park for the press conference.

       And being the laughingstock of the city wasn’t even the worst part of the day.

Butter never called back. Agent Schmidt called into the office but was told that

everything should’ve been taken care of. He drove over to where he had dropped Butter

off the night before and kept a look out, but the kid never showed up. By four a.m. he

called it quits, he would need to be sharp for the press conference later that day.

       Steve McX picked up the newspaper the next morning, complete with page one

coverage of the DMX hoax. Stupid slow news day. Steve considered a story on the

DMX incident for The Panther, but decided against it- Kunta would probably want to fill

the paper with the New American Panthers’ glorious victories over the man and not

insignificant stories about who promised celebrity appearances to whom. Besides,

today’s press conference would provide enough material for a week of newspapers.

       The media was told that the press conference would start at noon. As the time

arrived only two people were in attendance and Agent recognized them both. Jonathan

Morgan from The Weekly Scoop, the local independent weekly, and William Van

Landingham from The Advocate, the local “black” paper for lack of a better word. A

political paper the focused mainly on issues important to the black community and would

only take advertising money from black owned business. Damn, members of the media

who might be sympathetic to the Panthers’ cause, this could be something. Because of

the small turnout Kunta sent Jake up to announce that the press conference would be

delayed 15 minutes to accommodate late arriving newsmen.

       Ah yes, Kunta. He was in rare form today, decked out fully in Castro fatigues.

The olive green cap, fatigue top and pants. If he had the time he probably would’ve

grown Fidel’s beard as well. The outfit was rounded out with a pair of brand new white

Nikes sporting an olive green ‘swoosh’. Abbie had a matching pair, both of them

wearing the shoes with the laces undone and the tongue sticking out. If they were clever

that might symbolize the way they stick their tongue out at society but more likely they

saw somebody on MTV wearing their shoes that way.

       Fifteen minutes came and went without so much as a person sticking their head

into the room to ask where the bathroom was. Kunta strode to the front of the room, head

held high, with a smirk on his face like he was about to tell the president and the pope

that he had arrived and they were no longer necessary. Van Landingham and Morgan,

who had been whispering to each other like a couple of kids in detention looked up and

readied their pens.

       “As-Salaam-Alaikum esteemed members of the press. I am Kunta Kinte X, allow

me to welcome you on behalf of the New American Panthers.

        First let me clear up some of the lies that the pig media has been reporting as fact

about this press conference. DMX was not going to be here, there was never any chance

of that happening. However, that was never promised in our fliers. Our fliers merely

said that DMX, along with the New American Panthers, was inviting the public to this

conference for vital information about gaining freedom in this prison called America.

Nowhere does it state that DMX invites you to “join him” or in any way imply that he

would be in attendance. It’s just another attempt by the pigs to sully the good name of

the Panthers. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s get this started.

        Before starting, I’d just like to clear something up. Remember that a cracker has

nothing to do with race. It has to do with a person’s thinking process and the effect that

person has on society. Cracker is used to describe those who wish to maintain and

uphold the status quo, whether intentionally or through apathy or their own ignorance.

All people contribute to maintaining the system’s control and power structure with the

twin evils of apathy and ignorance or through a selfish lust for power gained at the

expense of others. The New American Panthers are working to eliminate the divide and

work to create attention to the rights of human beings as individuals, who are entitled to

equality and freedom, as all autonomous human beings are. Until every man, woman and

child recognizes the existence of crackers and makes a conscience effort to change their

cracker ways we will never be truly free. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s

get this started.

        Ladies and Gentlemen of the press, you may not know it but you are prisoners in

the jail that is America. Held under lock and key by the government slaves to almighty

dollar, with corporate overseers brandishing their cruel whip when you step out of line.

        The entire system is set up for the people to fail! The schools teach kids how to

figure out where two passing trains will meet, but doesn’t teach them how to balance a

checkbook, or invest in the stock market so they can try to take part in the so-called

American dream. And when they’re not diverting their mind from information necessary

to figure out the economic voodoo of capitalism, they’re dumping honkyfied history and

literature into their brains. We get our fill of old man Shakespeare and you can’t turn

around in schools with out being force fed some over macho glorification of killing by

that war monger Earnest Hemmingway. Yet most kids leave school not even knowing of

Ellison and Hurston. We have class after class of British Literature, cramming thousand

year old poems down our kids’ throats and if they’re lucky they might hear about

Langston Hughes during Black History Month.

        The criminal system is even set up to the advantage of the capitalist pig and his

enforcers in government. Kill somebody and you’ll find yourself in prison, unless you’re

wearing the proper uniform. If you wear a uniform your life is constantly in danger and

you’ve got the right to kill. You know that more people die working in slaughterhouses

than die on the streets in the uniform of the pig? More kids get killed during robberies

while working at fast food restaurants than cops every year? Should we allow teens

slaving for minimum wage carry weapons and shoot to kill? Of course not, they’d only

shoot in self-defense, while the current pig army is utilized to make hits on enemies of

the state.

        Drug companies inflate prices, charging thousands of dollars for necessary

medicines, ripping off those with insurance and shitting on those without. What does this

get them? Large profits and fat bonuses for their CEO while a starving man gets prison

for stealing bread. Stealing from the pigs is a crime, the pigs stealing from you? That’s

the American way, the market dictates what is crime and what is business and the pig

dictates the market.

       Over the last decade only 10 pigs have gone to prison for multi-million dollar

corporate rip-offs while last year alone over 6,000 people were sent to prison for mere

possession of marijuana. Let me ask you this, what worries you more, somebody trying

to steal from you or somebody smoking a little weed in their basement?”

                 “Isn’t he amazing?” Abbie whispered, beaming with pride as she shifted

next to Agent.

       “He’s one of a kind, that’s for sure.”

       But Abbie didn’t seem to hear his response. Her eyes were glued Kunta Kinte X,

who was hitting his revolutionary stride.

       “We put barriers around our country. These so-called freedoms are only available

to people who were born here. Your parents fucked in another country? Sorry can’t help

you pal, unless the pig needs cheap labor for the capitalist machine. See, then we wink

and nod and say “Sure, come on over, we need people to do dangerous work at pay so

low it wouldn’t be right to offer the job to an American. But, if we catch you you’re

going back to your home country.” Of course, if the pig is caught hiring ‘illegal’

people,” he stopped and chuckled, “Only in a free country like America could a person be

considered illegal. The person is of course illegal, and the pig faces no problem if caught

hiring them. Why? The pig writes the laws, the pig is never wrong.

       Shoot, you’ve got pigs now who want the army put on the border to keep illegal

people out! If you got a problem with it, I say turn the army loose on the pigs hiring

illegal people. Force the pig to open his doors to Americans who want to work and pay

them a fair price for their labor. Isn’t that how the “free market” works?”

       Near the back of the room Steve McX was furiously scribbling down notes for an

article in a future issue of The Panther. Jake Virtue was working a tape recorder, getting

down every word of the press conference for posterity’s sake. One day, he was sure,

Kunta’s speeches would go down in history next to Martin Luther King’s and JFK’s.

       “Our answer all these year has been to sit around and wait for justice. Hat in hand

we beg the powers that be for justice, for civil rights. And the man always answers with

the pat on the back “they’ll take care of everything” followed by the spit in the face and

the club to the head. “Get back in line! We’ll dispense justice as we see fit!”

       Well that time is past. The New American Panthers are here and they’re taking

their message to the streets. MOBILIZE! Put the pigs on high alert! Shed your cracker

ways! Ring the sirens of a new day! This country that was stolen by the pigs and forged

in violence will be stolen back by the people and capitalist dogs will taste violence for the

first time! The time of the pig is over, Robin Hood has arrived and will steal that which

the robber barons have stolen and redistribute it to those from whence it was stolen from!

To quote Abbie Hoffman ‘When we conclude that bank robbers rather than bankers

should be the trustees of the universities, then we begin to think clearly. When we see

the Army Mathematics Research and Development Center and the Bank of America as

cesspools of violence, tilling the minds of our young with hatred, turning one against

another, then we begin to think revolutionary.’

       Thank you, I’ll now take some questions from the media.”

       “Jonathan Morgan with The Weekly Scoop.”

       “Welcome Jonathan.”

       “Thank you. I was just wondering if you could explain a little more what you

mean by “honkyfied history.”

       “Of course, it isn’t difficult really. All you have to do is open any textbook in a

public school to see what I mean. Page after page of white accomplishment. The world

started in Europe and came to America on the Mayflower. Africa was just colonies for

the European oppressors with no particular history or culture to offer the white world. In

America the Indians were a mere speed bump on the freeway of Manifest Destiny. Only

a white man could think that it was “God’s Will” that he destroy every non-white person

in his path to stretch his country from sea to shining sea. For the glory of God, indeed.

       And it doesn’t end there! White America needs to be free of White Britain

because the English won’t let America keep enough of its stolen wealth. So we have to

learn how the white founding fathers met to declare all white men were created equal and

how all men would fight the British for democracy. Democracy calls for an equality of

rights, opportunity and treatment yet only whites were free and only white male

landowners could participate in elections. Sounds more like a racist plutocracy to me.

       So the Founding Pigs finally start their plutocracy and all we get in the schools is

‘George Washington was the first president, Thomas Jefferson was the second president,

Abe Lincoln was the third president…’

       “Excuse, but George Washington was the first president.”

       “So what? He also owned slaves did you know that? George Washington and

Thomas Jefferson and all the founding fathers owned slaves.”


       “Meaning nothing? They owned slaves and all we have to hear about is how

great they are and about what they did for this country. But we don’t hear thing one

about their slaves.”

       “Such as?”

       “Such as what?”

       “Well, what stories of historical significance should we know about these slaves?”

       “How would I know?”

       “Well, you’re saying that the Founding Fathers get all the historical stories

regarding the revolution, but nobody talks about their slaves. What slaves in particular

should we hear about?”

       “Let me tell you something, I just went to a public school and was taught what the

man wanted me to learn. The man don’t want you knowing about inspirational black

slaves. Then it might come out that this country wasn’t found solely on the brilliance and

hard work of the white man. If it was possible they’d totally erase slavery from the

history books, but that cat is long since out of the bag.”

       “What are you talking about? I learned about slaves like Harriet Tubman,

Frederick Douglass, Nat Turner…”

       “Sure, but….”

       “Dred Scott, Gabriel Prosser and George Washington Carver in school. And I

even went to a public school, not some secret revolutionary school for revolutionaries

who need to learn history that isn’t honkyfied.”

       “Well congrats Mr. Morgan, you can name 6 slaves. That has to be like 90% of

all the slaves ever owned in America! I guess the schools are doing their job in teaching

about the black man’s contribution to American society.”

       “The point is…”

       “The point is exactly the point I’m pointing to! In the more than 500 years since

Columbus arrived here and instituted slavery you can name six SIX slaves total? I bet

you could name more than 6 presidents. Yea, that they make sure you know the order of

the honky overlords.”

       “I’m sorry, if I may interrupt?”

       “If its ok with Mr. Morgan.”

       “William, please ask away.”

       “Thank you Jonathan. Now Kunta, you quoted Abbie Hoffman at the end of your

speech there. Perhaps you could explain to why a bank robber would be more fit to run a

university than a banker?”

       “Of course, it is quite simple really. A banker, the Bank of America, a stock

broker, all these types of people live off of society, contributing nothing to it. You see,

while other people are working hard, doing something to make a living these people are

merely manipulating money, shifting the almighty market to their advantage. They are

your prototypical crackers, profiting from the status quo doing nothing to change the

injustices in society. The only way they can be bothered to help is if it will benefit their

bottom line. Do you think protests work because they cause some kind of awakening in

the greedy mind of the pig? Hell no! They change because they realize there is a threat to

the cash flow.”

        “And what about the bank robber?”

        “The bank robber? Why, the bank robber is a liberator! Working against the

system, sticking it to the pigs a modern day Robin Hood working for the betterment of

society. Now I ask you, if you have to choices when picking somebody to run an

institution of higher learning do you pick the person who is a leech, living off society,

while contributing nothing or do you pick the liberator, the one who risks his life for the

betterment of all?”

        “I see your overall point. I guess I just have a problem with the bank robber. To

be a modern day Robin Hood would you have to not only take from the rich, but also

give to the poor? I was poor my whole childhood and there were lots of stores and banks

getting robbed but I don’t ever remember every getting my bank money from them.

Now, when it was time to go to college Abbie Hoffman never stopped by, but I did get a

scholarship from the First National Bank in our neighborhood.”

        “You, brother, where bought off with a mere token, a public relations ploy by the


        “Public Relations, maybe, but it was more than you modern day Robin Hood

came up with. If you think the system allows these people to steal, why promote a

system that would benefit people who are also thieves? Why not change the laws so that

both types of theft would be prosecuted. This is a democracy…”

        “DEMOCRACY? Are you serious? Did you not pay attention during the last

election? Thousands were prevented from voting for the sole crime of being poor and

black? This democracy is a joke, elections are farce, a show by the monied interests to

make the masses feel like they have a say in the direction of the country.”

       “Regardless, at a local level the monied interests have far less say. If you want to

change the way students are taught, if you want to change business practices that are legal

but obviously immoral why not run for office yourself? If you don’t feel comfortable

with that, find a candidate who believes what you believe, support that candidate, work to

change the system while working within the system.”

       “Yea, big nation would love that. You can’t work within this system, the system

is racist, evil and flawed. Set up of the pig, by the pig and for the pig. How can one take

a tool, invented for the sole purpose of benefiting the pigs and make it something to

benefit the people? The deck is stacked, the die is cast the people have no chance in this


       “So then what is your plan?”

       “We plan to take our message to the streets. The man won’t let us present our

knowledge in the schools so we’re gonna take our knowledge to the streets.”

       “And then what?”

       “What do you mean ‘then what’? What do you think? We let people know,

they’re just pawns in a prison, a prison known worldwide as America.”

       “So what? Then what happens.”

       “Knowledge is power, knowledge is the truth.”


       “The truth shall set them free. Armed with the knowledge of the truth the people

will no longer stand for injustice. Like a stone rolling down a hill, it gathers moss and

becomes unstoppable as it grows larger and faster. So to will our pebble of knowledge

gather size and speed as it rolls down the hill of society and into the castle of the robber


        “I see.”

        “Any other questions? Yes, Jonathan?”

        “Ok, you’ve explained how you want to unwhitey American history, but you also

mentioned Africa. Could you explain that?”

        “Of course. Open up any history book and what do you get, the middle ages, the

industrial revolution, the settling of America, WWI, WWII Vietnam and so on and so

forth. But what of Africa? We hear nothing about the ‘dark continent’ except for the fact

that it was divided up by Europe into colonies. Belgium took the Congo, France took

this, and white people in South Africa have a British accent. Big deal! Am I supposed to

believe that before Europe invaded Africa there was nothing? No history, no culture no

political thought or systems of any value? Please, there had to be something there and I

think the Pig Nation is just afraid that if might find a political model that works but

doesn’t exploit people and provide obscene profits for the economic elite.”

        “So, what people, events or political systems from early Africa should be taught

in public schools?”

        “Mr. Van Landingham, you have another question?”

        “Yes, you discussed the disproportionate numbers in people convicted of

corporate crime and people convicted of possessing marijuana. What would you propose

to rectify this situation?”

        “Well obviously we’d need to capture the pigs, and lock them up for stealing the

people’s money.”

       “That’s the part I understand, but how would you do it? I mean, these guys have

good lawyers, that’s the reason there are so few prosecutions.”

       “Well then maybe we have to look at circumventing the lawyers. We know

they’re wrong, they know they stole why allow them to weasel out of their punishment on

some technical mumbo jumbo their lawyer cooks up?”

       “So you think they should be railroaded through the system and thrown in jail?”

       “If they committed a crime, yes. Why should they be allowed to go free?”

       “So you would treat them just like marijuana smokers are treated now?”


       “So in essence you have no problem with ‘the man’s” methods as long as they

aren’t being used on you?”

       “Yea, but these people are criminals!”

       “Well, technically so are people caught in possession of marijuana.”

       “So you’re saying its ok to railroad pot users who can’t afford high priced

lawyers, while people bilking the public out of millions should go free?”

       “I’m not saying should or shouldn’t, I’m saying that’s the way it is. You say

that’s not the way it should be. I’m asking you how you think it should be.”

       “It should be justice. Jonathan, you have a question?”

       “What is so important about the definition of ‘cracker’? You started off the press

conference with it and mentioned that until everybody recognizes the definition of a

cracker is we will never truly free. Why the word ‘cracker’ and why your new, made up,


       “Why? Because the cracker mentality is so pervasive here in America! So many

people unwittingly and even wittingly step on the backs of others to promote themselves

financially that we may never be able to return to decent society.”

       “Ok, but why must your seemingly random redefinition of the word be so vital to

the change? Wouldn’t it be enough for people to realize that changes need to be made?

The realization that there is more than enough of everything in this country to support the

entire planet? Wouldn’t that awakening, as it were, along with the implementation of a

plan to provide for everyone be good enough?”

       “The cracker mentality is too deep rooted in the society to allow that to happen?”

       “But once they accept your definition of cracker it can happen?”


       “And a recognition of the problem with advancement towards the solution without

recognition of your definition of the word cracker is nearly impossible.”

       “I don’t recall ever saying ‘nearly’.”

       “Last question about cracker. In your definition you list three conditions of

cracker that I want to make sure I have correct. One, a person must wish to maintain and

uphold the status quo.”

       “That is correct.”

       “A cracker can uphold the status quo on purpose.”

       “That is also correct.”

       “Ok, and finally a cracker is somebody who upholds the status quo through

apathy or ignorance.”


       “So, then, wouldn’t the New American Panthers be crackers?”

       “CERTAINLY NOT! Where do you get this?”

       “Well, if somebody is unaware of the injustices of the “status quo” they are still a

cracker, correct? You say directly in your definition that ignorance is not an excuse.”

       “Yes, yes.”

       “And here are the New American Panthers. They’ve done nothing to change the

status quo, therefore, by your own definition you’re a cracker.”

       “Yes, but I also said that a cracker is somebody who “wishes to maintain” the

status quo. In no way do we wish to uphold it.”

       “Agreed, but you blame those who are ignorant of the problem and paint them as

crackers. Surely they don’t wish to uphold the status quo if they are ignorant of its

destructive consequences.”

       “Yes, but we’re trying to change the status quo. Your ignorant cracker mind is

looking for flaws where there are none.”

       “I see. Well, your definition says nothing of ‘try’ so that still makes you a cracker.

I’m off to write my story, cracker.” And with that Jonathan Morgan got up and left,

leaving a seething Kunta Kinte X staring a hole through the back of his head. As soon as

he was around the corner, Kunta took a moment to calm down.

       “Mr. Van Landingham, are there anymore questions I can answer for you?”

       “Sure, you’ve railed on about ‘the man’ and capitalist pigs exploiting poor people

for profit. Yet here you are wearing a pair of Nikes, a company that exploits as many

people as any other company to make cheap shoes. I mean how do you justify wearing

these shoes which clearly goes against your anti-capitalist ranting.”

       “Perhaps you should get your facts straight. Nike pays its black employees better

than any other company in the country, probably better than any country in history.”

       “You don’t say.”

       “In fact, near the end of his career Michael Jordan was get twenty million dollars

a year from Nike. Today plenty of young African Americans are paid over seven figures

a year by that company. If anything, they are overpaying their employees. I don’t know

how they stay in business, but I will always go out of my way to buy from a company

that treats its employees so well.”

       “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

       “Good. Anything else I can do for you this afternoon?”

       “Well, maybe you can help me understand some things a little better.”

       “Of course brother.”

       “Yea, um, you’ve mentioned Abbie Hoffman several times and a lot of the stuff

you say is similar to the hippie philosophy of the 60’s.”

       “That is true.”

       “Well then, exactly who do you thing the ‘pigs’ of today are? Do you thing the

pigs of the 50’s just hung around for 50 more years because the hippies where to good to

take over the mantle of corporate leadership? I mean open your eyes man, the hippies of

the 60’s are the pigs of today.”

       “William, you let the cracker in you show to easily. And let’s say, just for a

moment, that you’re right. All the hippies of the 60’s are the corporate pirates of today,

looting and plundering the wretched of the earth for all they can carry. Peace and Love

have been dropped to create the new robber baron. Does that make the words of the 60’s

any less true or relevant today ?”

       “Who knows? They do ring a little hollow. I mean if the words were true, if you

could live like that, wouldn’t all those hippies still be living on communes, eating

granola, smoking weed and getting all the free love they could handle?”

       “Times change man. And even if the hippies did sell out there words still reached

me and they still have meaning. I don’t know what Abbie Hoffman is doing now, but her

words still have meaning and will still fuel the revolution of today!”

       “Ok Kunta, whatever you say,” William Van Landingham said, turning to leave.

He stopped at the door for one last question, “By the way, Kunta! You do know that

Abbie Hoffman was a guy, don’t you?”

       Abbie was the first one to approach Kunta as he stood at the podium. She flung

her arms around his neck and gently kissed him on the cheek.

       “Good work Kunta! We got the message out today.”

       Her encouragement seemed to brighten his move. The hint of discouragement

that was in his look was replaced with a smile.

       “Yes, yes we did. The message is out.”

       “That’s right Kunta, and those crackers won’t be able to hide your true message

with their negative questions.”

       “Abbie, you always know what to say. You’re damn right! Those crackers can

put their own spin on this press conference but the truth of my words will shine through.”

Steve and Jake came up from the back of the room.

        “I got the whole thing on tape Kunta. I think this is gonna be great. The truth

shall set them free. And believe me, if we copy this tape we’ll be able to pass the truth

out faster than those papers get printed. Plus, the people can hear your words directly,

without filtering from the cracker media.”

        “And this is going to make a great story for The Panther. Every time you said

‘America’ I’m gonna spell it with a ‘k’ so that people know we’re serious. When this hits

the people, not even a nation of millions can hold us back ( Public Enemy). No spin

from the pig media can take the truth from your words brother.”

        “Please, everybody stop congratulating me. Its not like I did this alone. We all

did this, I was just the one who spoke for us.” Kunta looked around, noticing Agent. “As

usual, Agent plays the strong silent type. What do you think? You have to have

something to say!”

        “What is there to say Kunta? Once again you’ve put on a performance that is

beyond mere words. Nothing I could say would capture the feelings I have at this


        “Why thank you, hey…where’s Butter? I haven’t seen him all day.” Abbie

glanced around the room as if Butter might be hiding in the middle of the room


        “I don’t know, I haven’t seen him since I dropped him off after we handed out

fliers the other night.”

        “Anybody else seen or heard from him?”


        “Dude, I haven’t seen him since McDonald’s the other day.”

        “Me neither. Its like he’s just gone, gone, gone ( N’Sync).”

        “Agent, you don’t think something happened? I mean, I didn’t send him off

someplace he shouldn’t have been, did I?”

        “Nah,” Agent was fairly sure his boss made sure Butter would be ok, “Those

concerts run so late, I bet he didn’t get in until four or five in the morning. Probably still

asleep, totally worn out from the whole experience.”

        “Hehehehe, hell yea Agent. I bet Butter was partying like it was 1999 ( Prince).

Partied hard, got the message out, got in with a good crowd that was down with the

revolution and spent the night doing some educating about the New American Panthers.”

        “Dude, I bet the pig media scared off a crowd with their slanderous take on the

DMX situation, but Butter will come through with 5 or 6 new members next time we see


        “Yea, Kunta, don’t worry about it baby. It’s been a successful couple of days all

around. You came through with the message and I’m sure Butter came through with

some new blood.”

        “No doubt people. Ok, today was a success. Let’s have the pig media deliver

their message, we’ll give it a few days to sink in and then we’ll go back on the attack.

Monday at the McDonalds we’ll meet and I’ve got some great new programs to roll out,

gonna blow you guys away this shit is so heavy.”

        “Agent Schmidt, that was quite a nice press conference you pulled off there.”

        “Why thank you sir, we do the best with what we got.”

       “I mean, the New American Panthers are pretty much the laughingstock of the

city. The Advocate didn’t even mention you guys and The Weekly Scoop article is one of

the funniest things I’ve ever read.”

       “If it makes you feel better sir, I’m still taking this assignment very seriously.”

       “Good, good, we can’t have insane revolutionaries running around half-cocked

redefining words for us now, can we Schmidt.”

       “Sir, if we could cut the bullshit, I’m very concerned about Butter.”

       “Butter? Why, there is nothing to worry about. You haven’t heard?”

       “Heard what sir? We found his body?”

       “No, why don’t you just watch this,” Bonaparte pulled a small remote control out

of his desk. “I taped this for you, I figured you’d miss it.”

       “This is Kurt Loder with MTV News. New DJ sensation Butter X has blown

away the rap world with his work on DMX’s new tour,” the screen cut to footage of last

night’s concert, Butter behind the turn table scratching records like a madman. What

looked like a joint dangled from the corner of his mouth.

       “The virtual unknown has joined DMX’s tour and already has several offers to

work with other popular hip-hop artists The Wu-Tang Clan, P. Diddy and Onyx. Butter

X has been a high point of the tour, which has recently been dogged by rumors that DMX

has been backing out of public appearances. DMX’s agent said that ‘DMX is not nor has

ever been a part of any revolutionary movement, nor will be attending any press

conferences about any subject other than his music. He’s also sorry if any fans were

inconvenienced or tricked into attending the press conference.’ We’ll have more news at

10 to the hour.”

        “What the hell did you guys do?”

        “Well, we called arena security and they said they could keep him off the stage

and they could keep an eye out for him during the show, but with the numbers they were

facing at the arena they couldn’t guarantee that they’d have a man near him at all times.”

        “That doesn’t explain how he’s on tour with DMX right now.”

        “Since security was obviously out gunned at the concert we decided to just talk to


        “Just ‘talk’ to DMX. And how did that go?”

        “Real good. We told him that Butter was a fan of his, had fallen in with the

wrong crowd and then explained the plan to him.”

        “So he took Butter on tour with him?”

        “Well, I’m not quite there yet. See, DMX could see where I was coming from,

but shoot, he’s just a rapper, what did we want him to do? You know, he’s got a concert

to get to, he’s got stuff to take care of, he’s got to entertain a couple thousand of his

dearest fans, he can’t spend time babysitting some kid who’s got himself in trouble.”

        “Then what happened? Butter just walked in, impressed the hell out of everybody

and left to be a rock star?

        “Not quite. DMX was willing to work with us, but you know, his services don’t

come cheap. Now, what am I gonna offer him. Money? He doesn’t need that. I mean I

got nothing to offer him, I’m at a total loss. ‘I’m just a local FBI director’ I tell him,

‘What could I possibly do to convince you to help us’?”

        “So what do you do?”

       “Well, he bring up that big drug bust we just had a couple of days ago. The

boatload of primo shit we busted down at the docks.”

       “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

       “Yea, he says ‘You send over a couple of kilos of that and I’ll make sure your boy

is alright’, just like that. I send one of our guys down to the arena, he delivers that stuff

and there you go. Problem solved.”

       “Butter is safe, but how does he end up on tour?”

       “I told the head of security at the arena to give me a call if there are any problems

and if not, to just touch base with me after the show. Turns out DMX told security to

escort Butter backstage when he arrived. They stopped him outside the arena, told him

that DMX saw the fliers, knows who he is and tells him that he’s invited backstage.”


       “Yea, no shit. So the kid is back there and the guard tells me that DMX breaks

out some of that primo shit and everybody is in it, there a light fog backstage from all the

smoke. DMX hits the stage and Butter heads out there and just takes over with scratching

those damn records like the kids do nowadays.”

       “No shit.”

       “Hell yes! And the crowd is going nuts. Security guard says it’s the damnedest

thing he’d ever seen, and he’s done security for everyone from ABBA to The Carpenters.

After the show Butter just got caught in the flow of the crowd backstage and ended up in

one of the limousines heading to the airport. He tells the head of DMX’s personal

security and he tells him that Butter is going to finish the tour. As far as he knows Butter

was on the charter flight that night, headed to Minneapolis.”


        “The weirdest thing I’ve heard of all year. Until, that is, I saw this stuff from the

press conference. So, is it safe to say this is the last we will be hearing from the New

American Panthers?”


        “What do you mean? These guys are boobs and they called a press conference to

let the whole city know it. After reading this story I’d have to say, mission


        “Sir, I’m disappointed. After all the discussions we’ve had and here you are

underestimating the enemy."

        “What are they gonna do? Take the show on the road? Get a sitcom deal from


        “I don’t know what the next step is. We’re taking a few days break to let the

impact of the press conference to take effect.”

        “A couple of days, yea that should be enough time to let the city get over laughing

at them.”

        “Well they think everything was a success?”

        “I don’t believe it.”

        “Sir you don’t have to tell me! I was there and saw the whole thing in the flesh.

To tell you the truth, they got off easy. The article could’ve been a lot harder on them.”

        “So how are they not discouraged. This article makes them look like fools.”

       “I don’t even know if they’ve seen the article. But when we left the press

conference yesterday the distinct feeling among them was that the media’s presentation

of the event didn’t matter.”

       Bonaparte took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes and sighed. From his desk he

pulled out a small bottle of Jim Beam and a Dixie cup.

       “Can I offer you some Agent Schmidt?” He asked, still rubbing his eyes with his

free hand.

       “No thanks.”

       He poured himself half a cup of whiskey and drank it all in what shot.

       “Now tell me Schmidt. How can the media’s coverage of a press conference not

matter? The whole point of the press conference is to use the media to deliver a message.

It’s what the ‘press’ part stands for.”

       “I know that and you know that, but according to the New American Panthers it

doesn’t matter. You see, what the cracker media fails to understand is that Kunta’s

message is pure truth. And no amount of cracker sabotage can prevent the truth from

shining through. The truth, as I’m sure you’re aware, will set them free.”

       “I’ve heard that before. This does prevent us with a small problem however.”


       “Well, I had planned on this being the crushing blow to the New American

Panthers. But since they’re going to continue on you have to continue on with them.”

       “I figured as much.”

       “I’m sorry. I even had a good job for you investigating finance fraud.”

       “Well, either way I’d have been trying to stick it to the crackers.”

       “Good to keep your sense of humor Agent Schmidt.”

       “Question, is there anyway I can take an active role in furthering this operation? I

mean, these guys aren’t coming close to doing anything illegal. I could end up

babysitting these guys for decades as long as they remain optimistic about their cause.”

       “Sorry, you can’t take any lead role in illegal activities. If you do they have an

automatic out when they end up in court. They’ll claim that they were set up by ‘the

man’ and that’ll be the end of any case against them. Don’t worry. Let’s see what Kunta

has up his sleeve at the next meeting, if it isn’t anything to worry about I’ll talk to some

of the higher ups about getting you off the case and maybe having the local law

enforcement keep an eye on him.”

       “Well, that is a sudden change of heart. What brought this on?”

       “Remember during our first meeting, you gave me Willie Johnson’s address? And

I told you we were going to have surveillance?”

       “Sure, don’t tell me you found something!”

       “Hell no! We haven’t found anything. The guy does nothing. Oh, I take that

back, he does nothing but turn over his money to capitalist pigs.”

       “What do you mean?”

       “He eats at least two meals a day at McDonald’s…”

       “And still manages to look so trim?”

       “Well that’s because he spends the rest of his free time shopping.”

       “How? He must have a job or something to pay for rent.”

       “That’s the kicker, he still lives with his mom.”


       “Yea, she’s middle management at First Bank. Pulls down a good salary. Since

he’s a high school drop out there isn’t much for him in the job market, so she lets him

live with her and from what we can tell he gets his spending money from her. Kinda like

an allowance.”

       “Oh god.”

       “So yea, he hits Footlocker at least once a week to check out the latest in capitalist

foot fashion. Then he’ll head over to Sam Goody and see what kind of music the

capitalist pigs are producing this week. And to wrap it all up he’ll head to Suncoast to

check out the latest in pig produced videos and DVDs.”

       “You’ve got to be kidding.”

       “For your sake I’m not. He heads to the mall almost every day. If he’s got

nothing going on in this next meeting it’ll be no problem to get you transferred.”

       “Thank you sir, that’ll be great.”

       “Just remember- MUST…NOT…LAUGH!”

        “Obviously the media isn’t going to take us seriously,” Kunta was angry, but

obviously had something up his sleeve, he smiled broadly.

        “But they’ll take us seriously soon enough, won’t they baby!”

        “You got that right Abbie. Pig nation and their drones in the media have chosen

to ignore our words, to distort them to keep the people from the truth. But we shall


        “Dude don’t hold us in suspense any longer.”

        “Hold on a sec. Where’s Joker?”

        “Oh man, I forgot to tell you. He took the long and winding road ( The Beatles)

outta here. Yea, he didn’t think we were making the most of his revolutionary talents.”

        “Damn, I hate to lose another guy, but we got a good core here.”

        “C’mon man, don’t make us wait any longer!” For the first time Agent was

actually anxious to hear one of Kunta’s plans. He could see light at the end of the

moronic tunnel.

        “Ok, since our words have been ignored we will have to let our actions speak for

us. First, we are going to hack into the White House computer system. Steve, you’ve got

a computer, you think you could give hacking a try?”

        “Hey, you got a problem, yo I’ll solve it ( Vanilla Ice). I’m all over this one for

you Kunta.”

        “Great, Agent I need you to work with him on this. Two heads are better than


        “Sure Kunta, whatever you need.”

       “Phase two of our three pronged attack will be to break the great revolutionaries

of our time out of prison. Leonard Peltier, Mumia Abu-Jamal and Fred Hampton.”

       “They ain’t gonna take us campin’ like they did my man Fred Hampton ( Rage

Against The Machine).”

       “That’s right. So Jake, you’re gonna work with Abbie and I on a plan to get

Peltier out of prison, since he’s been behind bars the longest. Once we get him out we’ll

have an idea about how these prison breaks go. If we can handle it maybe we’ll break off

into teams and get Mumia and Hampton out of prison on the same night. The longer they

suffer injustice the longer we all suffer.”


       “Let me finish Agent, the last part of the plan is the most brilliant. We break into

the White House, take the president and his family hostage and then march down to

Congress and hijack the country. With the president in our possession they’ll have no

choice but to do what we say. In the introduction to ‘Steal This Book’ Abbie Hoffman

talks about a book he’s working on called ‘Steal This White House’. In it he’s going to

have blue prints of secret underground passages, methods of jamming the pigs

communications network and a detailed map of the house of the King Pig. Once we get

our hands on that info kidnapping the president should be as easy as buying groceries.”

       Christ, this was too stupid to fathom.

       “Agent, you had a question?”

       “Yea, when can we get started? I think you’ve taken us to the brink of freedom.

We just all have to commit ourselves to executing the plan perfectly.”

       “Dude, we should get started right away! The sooner the better right?”

        “Yea, start me up! ( Rolling Stones)”

        “Easy guys, easy we’ll get going on this as soon as possible. Jake, Abbie, meet

me here tomorrow and we’ll start going over plans and working out strategy. Agent,

Steve McX, spend tomorrow morning boning up on your hacking skills and get a fresh

start in the afternoon.”

        “Cool with me. Steve when you want to do this?”

        “My mom leaves for work around three. Meet me there around three thirty, she

works until midnight at the hospital so we should have plenty of time to hack into the

white house computer and finish before she gets back.” Steve scribbled his address on a

piece of scrap paper and handed it to Agent.

        “Ok man, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

        “Great, then Tuesday we’ll all meet here, you can tell us how the hacking went,

although it should be all over the news by then. And we can unveil our plan for busting

Leonard out of prison.”

        “Agent Schmidt! Good to see you, I’m happy to tell you that I can have scouring

the financial district for fraud by the end of the week. As long as your work with the

New American Panthers is wrapped up.”

        “Do you still have that Jim Beam in your desk?”

        “Sure do.”

        “Gimme. I’m just gonna need a shot or two.”

       Agent Schmidt eagerly grabbed the bottle and Dixie cup from his boss. He filled

the cup to the brim and slammed the whole drink down as fast as he could, violently

coughing afterwards.

       “Smoooooth,” he said, his voice raspy.

       “Not much of a drinker, are you Schmidt?”

       “Not really sir.”

       “Can I ask what that was all about.”

       “Well, I was getting ready to tell you that I was ready to transfer. I thought

maybe a stiff drink would help me slip that little lie past you.”

       “Oh really? So the New American Pampers, oh pardon, I mean Panthers have

some real plans now?”

       “They sure do. On the plus side, they lost another member. Joker bailed on us

after the press conference.”

       “Ah, one of them was smart enough to realize that this was all a complete


       “Actually, he claimed he was being utilized to his fullest extent. Want to play a

bigger part in the revolution, I guess.”

       “Well, why don’t you lay these plans on me Schmidt, they can’t be too


       “I believe I’m supposed to be underestimating these guys, remember? You’re

supposed to ride me and make sure I realize the danger inherent when dealing with the

criminal revolutionary.”

       “Of course Schmidt. What fiendish plot have these scumbags cooked up.”

       “Sir, they’ve come up with a dangerous three pronged attack on the Cracker

Empire. First, Steve McX and I are going to hack into the White House computer,

spouting sound lyrics the whole time I’m sure. Second, the three remaining members are

going to come up with a plan for an armed jailbreak. Their aim is to bust Leonard Peltier

out of prison. They then plan to free Mumia Abu-Jamal and Fred Hampton. I assume

they plan to dig up Hampton’s grave and free him from the afterlife since he’s been dead

over thirty years.”

       “That’s a pretty impressive two prongs you have there Agent Schmidt. Now, in

all my years the one thing I’ve leaned is that the third prong is always the most deadly,

usually a crushing blow to opposition. What, pray tell, is the third prong of this attack.”

       “The final prong of the attack is to break into the White House, kidnap the

president and his family, then march down to the congress and take over the country.

The general idea is that with the president in our possession congress will have no choice

but to give into our demands.”

       “I see. And how exactly does one “break into” the White House.”

       “Kunta seems to believe that Abbie Hoffman…”

       “The hippie chick?”

       “Nah, he knows Abbie is a guy now. The reporter from The Advocate set him

straight. Too bad Morgan left the press conference early, he could have used the

exchange in his story. Anyway, he seems to believe that Hoffman published a book

called “Steal This White House” that had blueprints of secret underground tunnels around

the White House, methods of jamming the FBI communications and a total layout of the

White House floor plan.”

       “Did he ever consider the plausibility of any of this?”

       “Has he ever considered the plausibility of anything?”

       “I mean, jamming communications? If that book even existed don’t you think the

methods might be just a tad outdated now?”

       “I think that.”

       “And if the book did exist, don’t you think a bunch of hippies whacked out on

LSD would’ve tried something when Reagan was president?”

       “One would think that.”

       “And besides, where does he think Abbie fucking Hoffman would even get this

information? Underground passages? What was he smoking? Don't answer that, with

Hoffman, who’d know what he was on.”

       “Remember, that which is far-fetched to the average human is in all likelihood

most probable with Kunta Kinte X.”

       “What does he think? Abbie Hoffman called the FBI for information. ‘Hello

FBI? This is Abbie Hoffman the drugged out hippie activist. Could you email me the

blueprints to the White House? Including all underground passages? Thanks, we’ll be in


       “Anyway sir.”

       “Yes, well anyway. Obviously these plans have no chance in hell of working.”

       “Right, so what do you want me to do?”

       “Might as well just use this opportunity to bust them. As soon as they do

something illegal we bring the hammer down. Besides I can’t waste your talents on this

forever. They’re finally talking about something illegal, we can shut them down and

move onto something real.”

       “What should I do about tomorrow?”

       “What’s tomorrow?”

       “Steve and I are supposed to hack into the White House computer.”

       “First thing you should do is memorize all the Public Enemy lyrics you can.

Maybe you’ll be able to have an actual conversation with him.”

       “Seriously sir.”

       “Schmidt, do you know anything about hacking?”

       “Not really.”

       “Not really. Not really as in nothing or not really as in I could hack into a few


       “Not really as in nothing.”

       “Ok, so what are you worried about? You have no idea what you’re doing. Does

Steve guy have a clue?”

       “Based on what he’s said probably not.”

       “You’re free and clear. You have no idea how to hack. So just think like they do.

If he manages to hack into something, you’re there to witness a federal crime.”

       “Should I arrest him then and there?”

       “No we can’t do it that way. You’d only get him and they might figure out that

you turned him in. Besides, Steve isn’t that important. It seems everybody just does

whatever Kunta tells them to do so let focus on getting him. If he’s gone the New

American Panthers are gone and the rest of the ‘gang’ goes on to live a life of quiet


         “Will do boss. Wait a minute…think like they do?”

         “Yea, Steve will probably ask you questions as he’s trying to work on the site,

just give him stupid, off the wall advice. He won’t know any different. And don’t forget

to always say ‘crackers’ and ‘pigs’. And for God’s sake, if you have to spell America

USE A ‘K’!”

         “Good night sir.”

         “Good luck Schmidt. And get in touch with me after they unveil their jailbreak


       Agent pulled arrived in Steve’s neighborhood before 3 o’clock and parked about

half a block away from his house. It was a nice neighborhood, shoot it was better than

nice it was the perfect place to raise a kid. Each lawn was perfectly manicured each front

yard had its own shade tree. Not a bum or a liquor store in sight and Schmidt was sure

nobody ever complained about police helicopters hovering around the neighborhood.

Steve must’ve had a major case of white teen angst to join the New American Panthers.

       There was some movement in front of Steve’s house. Good God! Steve’s mom

was hot! She had stood at the door talking back into the house, probably saying good bye

to Steve, giving him some last minute instructions. As soon as she was finished she made

her way to the brand new black Land Rover parked on the street in front of her house.

Schmidt decided to hang back for a couple of minutes just to be sure she didn’t come

back for something and end up asking a bunch of questions about the Negro in her house.

Of course, now that he gave it thought he probably shouldn’t sit in his car watching the

neighborhood for too long.

       Long enough to be sure Steve’s mom was gone, but before the police could be

called The Agent pulled up to the McX household. He hurried up to the porch and rang

the bell. Dang, they even had a real doorbell. He’d always lived in places that had the

little keys on the door that you turned to make a ringing sound, but never an actual “ding-

dong” doorbell. Damn.

       “Hey man,” Steve said as he opened the door. The house inside was absolutely

immaculate. Every speck of dirt vacuumed every piece of dust dusted. Every knick-

knack in place. The Agent had to remind himself to stop being impressed with the house.

Material things like a spotless house and a cool collection of knick-knacks matter not to

the revolutionary. He picked up a small statue of an elf peeking out from behind a tree.

        “Dude, your mom collects this crap?”

        “DUDE! Put that down! She’ll have a fit if her figurines are moved!”

        “Alright, easy dude. So you want to do this?”

        “Yea, I’ve got the computer in my room online already.”

        “Sweet, let’s get to work.”

        Steve led the way to his room. The room was a dream for any young adult, his

own stereo and television, brand new computer. Damn, he even had a DVD player in his


        “Ok, I started a little research and came across a problem.”

        “What’s that?”

        “Well, I got online and went to to start hacking.”


        “Not really. just has a bunch of naked ladies, it’s not for the

White House at all.”

        “Yea, but isn’t the White House considered a national park or attraction or

something? I bet its ‘dot org’ or ‘dot gov’.”

        “Can’t hurt to give it a try,” Steve said as he sat at the computer. “Here we are!

Nothing can stop me now ( Nine Inch Nails).”

        “Alright, now all we have to do is hack in.”

        “So what do I do.”

       “Well,” must think like them, “look for a place to enter your password. Once you

enter the password you can do whatever you want on the site.”

       “That’s all?”

       “Yea, remember in ‘Swordfish’ when they were hacking? The guy just went into

the computer, found the place to enter his password and then, BOOM! They were

hacking away and stealing money and stuff.”

       “But they had that super computer setup with 6 screens and a bunch of computers

and stuff.”

       “They needed all that, they were stealing money. Of course the pigs are gonna

have tons of security around their money.”

       “No doubt about that. Stupid pigs. So where would I enter the password?”

       “Don’t know. Maybe you’ll just have to try all the links and see if one of them

asks for a password. Its not like they’re gonna make it easy for us or something.”

       Agent grabbed the latest issue of Spin magazine that was sitting on the floor,

plopped down on Steve’s bed and started reading about the newest boy band sensation

“Four 4 All”. He found himself drifting off to sleep as Steve’s mouse kept clicking away

on various links.

       “Agent, Agent, wake up. Man, those links didn’t do nothing.”

       “Wha,” it took a few moments to remember where he was.”

       “Hacking the White House web page. None of the links asked for a password.”

       “Oh, well,” must think like them. “Hey, didn’t that site ask for a


       “Yea, but that site was just a bunch of naked chicks.”

       “Was it just naked chicks or is that what the pigs want you to think it is? I bet

they set that whole thing up just to throw people off!”

       “Let’s give it a try. Ok, what name and password should we try?”

       “How about name ‘president’ and password ‘bush’.”


       “How about ‘george’ and ‘bush’.”

       “Still nothing.”

       Agent considered Bill Clinton, but hell that might have worked.

       “What about ‘usa’ and ‘number1’?”

       “Good one...but nope.”

       Agent spent most of the night at Steve’s running various words through the

computer. Every president, all the current politicians they could think of, patriotic

slogans, even states and their capitols. He was surprised that they went on as long as they

had. Say what you want about their brains, you couldn’t challenge these kids’


       “Oh shit!”

       “What is it?”

       “My mom is gonna be home soon, you gotta get out of here!”

       “Ok, I’m going.”

       “No, seriously. She’ll freak out if you’re here when she gets home. I’m not

allowed to have people over when she’s not here.” Steve said, half-dragging Agent to the

front door.

       “Steve, ok, I’m going. See you tomorrow?”

“Yea man, see you then.”

       Excitement was in the air the next night, as Kunta, Jake and Abbie were ready to

unveil their plan to break Leonard Peltier out of prison.

       “Dude! This plan is the bomb! It’s a can’t miss surefire success.”

       “Easy there Jake, yes we’ve got a decent plan, but it will still take perfect

execution on our part to make it a success. Agent, how went the hacking last night.”

       “Well Kunta, not so great. We managed to get to the firewall, but we couldn’t

break the code to get in.”

       “Really? To tell you the truth I’m impressed. Here you guys are, no experience in

this kind of work and you made it to the very threshold of success.”

       “Well, we tried.”

       “Tried? I consider this a success. In fact, if you can get back to that point maybe

we can invest in some code breaking software to help us bust through the man’s security


       “It might be worth the investment. So what about this plan?”

       “As soon as Abbie finishes setting up our posters we’ll start. Personally I think

this is our best shot yet at starting the revolution. Once we got going on the basics

everything just fell into place.”

       “I know, it’s awesome!” Abbie said as she joined them, “Everything is ready for

you baby.”

       “Thanks Abbie. Ok everybody grab a seat.”

       A small easel was set up at the front of the room. The poster on top declared

“New American Panthers: Operation Peltier”.

       “What I have here is our master plan to break Leonard Peltier out of prison. We

are all experience revolutionaries, so I won’t go into the details of Leonard’s story- we all

know he’s a brother who was railroaded through the justice system by the man and now

rots away in prison when he should be leading the movement.” Kunta stepped to the


       “Leonard is being held here, in Kansas,” he moved the title poster to reveal a

crudely drawn outline of the United States. None of the states were sectioned off,

although there was a square in the middle, ah Kansas.

       “We’ll take my car. We leave tonight and we will drive straight through, reaching

Kansas tomorrow afternoon. Now, here is the prison,” he moved the map of the U.S. to

reveal his layout of the prison.

       “Now, Leonard is being held here…”

       “Excuse me, Kunta?”

       “Yes Agent?”

       “I hate to interrupt, but what are we looking at?”

       “This is the prison.”

       “It’s just a square with a stick figure inside.”

       “Yea. I think it’s quite obvious that it’s the prison with Leonard inside.”

       “Ok, when we get to the prison, where is Leonard?”

       “He’s inside the prison.”

       “Yes, but where inside the prison?”

       “He’s right…there,” Kunta answered, tapping the stick figure in time with the

words to make the point clear.


         “Thank you Agent. Now, what we’ll do is surround the prison,” he took out a

black marker to show the paths we would take. “Agent, you’ll go around to the left,

while Jake and Steve will go around to the right. Abbie and I will take the prison head on,

through the front.”

         “Dude, that is sweet.”

         “What about guns? Cause I swear, I don’t have a gun ( Nirvana).”

         “I’ve got a connection to get us guns. When we leave tonight we’ll head down to

the docks, a Colombian gang is going to sell us three guns.”

         “Dude, only three?”

         “Well, we could barely afford two, but when I told them about our cause they said

they’d give me a third one. So, each attack group will get a gun, we should be fine with


         “Kunta, sorry to interrupt again.”

         “Yes agent?”

         “But, has anybody here ever fired a gun?”


         “Has anybody here ever been to Kansas?”


         “Does anybody here know what Leonard Peltier looks like?”


         “Ok, so after we get into the prison what do we do.”

       “So we get in, the two groups from the side flanks, and Abbie and I through the

front. You three will hold the perimeter while we go in and get Leonard. We hop in the

car and head back home.”

       Agent thought about asking where Peltier was going to stay then realized that if

they made it that far the world was surely going to end. Might as well get this started.

       “So, when do we leave?”

       “Two hours. I want everybody to head home, change into something dark and

grab a few necessary supplies for the road. First, Jake, I need you to get two twelve

packs of Mountain Dew Code Red. Abbie, I need you to get some potato chips and

candy. It’s a long ride and we’ll need something to eat. Steve, put together a mix tape of

some kick ass music, it’ll make the trip go faster. And Agent, man, just believe that we

can do this ok?”

       “I have no doubt my assignment will be a success.”

       “Now that I like to hear. Everybody back here, two hours.”

       “Schmidt, this your lucky day.”

       “How’s that sir?” Agent Schmidt was on his cell phone talking to headquarters as

he raced home to change.

       “This gang that Kunta is buying is guns from, we’ve been following them for

quite some time. They’re into almost every illegal trade you can think of, guns, drugs,


       “So what’s the plan?”

       “Well, we know where they are on the docks, but we haven’t been able to

infiltrate the gang. These guys are good and we haven’t managed to corner them yet, but

now, with this Kunta plan we know exactly what’s going down, where its going down

and we know for sure that they’ll have the contraband in tow. Sounds like a nice ‘two

birds, one stone” deal for the good guys.”

       “This is my lucky day boss. Well, we’re meeting back in two hours, so that

should mean the sale will be going down in two and half hours.”

       “Two and half hours to a real case to work on Agent Schmidt.”

       “Thanks sir.”

       Two and a half hours later Abbie finally showed up.

       “I’m sorry, I just had a real hard time picking the right stuff. I know everybody

likes barbecue potato chips, but then you get that stuff all over you fingers and when

you’re driving you get it all over the wheel and it’s a mess, then I thought about getting

Doritos or Cheetos but those have the same problem…”

       “Its ok babe, let just get out of here and get moving.”

       The five of them piled uncomfortably into the car. Good thing they were never

going to make it to Kansas, old Leonard Peltier would’ve had to ride in the trunk.

       “I’m just gonna blow through town, I should be able to make it to harbor no


       And there were no problems, for the first 10 minutes of the ride. Then the police

pulled them over. Kunta had been going 55 in a 25-mile per hour zone.

       “Stupid pigs.”

        “Dude, just play it cool man, they can smell revolution. Be cool and we’ll be

outta here in no time.”

        “Sir, do you know why I pulled you over?” The cop asked, shining his flashlight

into the car.

        “I’m sorry officer, I was going a little fast.”

        “A little fast? May I see your license?”

        “Certainly sir,” Kunta pulled his card out of his wallet and handed it to the officer.

The officer studied it for a second.

        “Ok Mr. Johnson if you could just wait here I’ll be right back.” He turned and

went back to his squad car.

        “Damn stupid pig.”

        “Easy Kunta, he’ll be back in a few second baby.”

        Seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned into a half-hour.

        “Damn! What is that pig doing? We’re totally going to miss the Colombians.”

        “Yea, it’s over now ( Alice in Chains).”

        “Damn dudes, I really wanted to help Leonard.”

        “We all wanted to. Man this is suspicious. Kunta, you don’t think the cops are on

to us?” Rule number 1 of being undercover, whenever the time comes for suspicion in

the group be the first one to bring it up.

        “Na, our plan was too foolproof. Maybe we just need to skip over this jailbreak

stuff. If we take over the government we can just free prisoners anyway? Ya dig? So

instead of running three missions, then taking over the White House, we just take over

the White House and solve our other problems.” The officer was walking a back to the


        “Ok sir, sorry about the delay. You were going 55 in a 25 zone, its your first

offense and ordinarily I’d let you go with a warning, but at that speed, I’m gonna have to

give you a ticket.”

        “I understand officer, it’ll never happen again.”

        “Ok, now you be safe out here.” The officer handed Kunta the ticket and got back

in his cruiser.

        “Oh, don’t worry about that pig. It’ll never happen again. Never again for sure!”

        “Did you say something?” The cop said over the loudspeaker on his cruiser.

        “No sir! Have a safe night!” Kunta shouted back as he started his engine.

       “Ok brothers and sisters, I’ve looked around for “Steal This White House” and

haven’t been able to find it, so I’ve had to devise a new plan. We’re just going to have to

buy tickets to go on the White House tour and when the time is right…BLAM! We make

our move.”

       “HERE COME THE BOOM ( P.O.D.)!”

       “That’s right. Now, I’ve got a guy who can hook us up with some guns, real

cheap like, so we’ll each be able to carry one. Once we’re inside it should be no


       “Dude, it all tourists and security rent-a-cops a that place. Once they see we have

guns they aren’t gonna try any shit.”

       “Damn straight, Jake. Now I figure we get in and we put Jake, Steve and Abbie

on crowd control. As soon as we get into the place we act. Pull out our guns, get

everybody on the floor. Jake, you shut the front door and jam a chair under the doorknob

so nobody can get in. You three keep shit tight while Agent and I get the head pig.”

       “Baby, this is gonna be awesome.”

       “So we get the president, then what do we do?”

       “Ok Agent, we get the head pig and we head back to the front of the house to get

you three.”

       “Then we can make the pig call up his limo and pick us up at the front door.”

       “Damn Agent, now you’re thinking! We take that sweet ride up to congress and

start making our demands.”

       Kunta was incredibly well prepared for this mission, renting a van to comfortably

seat everybody for the 10-hour drive. Before he left town they stopped off at a house in

the projects to pick up the guns. Shotguns for Jake and Steve, Uzi’s for Kunta and Agent

and a 9mm for Abbie. Stored in cases and placed in the back for safe keeping until


        Their arrival was timed perfectly, early morning before the ticket window even

opened. They sent Abbie to wait in line, as she would arouse little suspicion by herself.

She was the first to get tickets that day and the revolution, while not televised would

certainly get off to an early start.

        Everything went as planned once they entered the White House. Jake, Steve and

Abbie did a perfect job on crowd control. They were intimidating, and nobody attempted

to play the hero.

        Kunta and Agent had a little tougher road, to be expected when dealing with

Secret Service instead of Joe Tourist. Nonetheless they made it into the oval office,

blasting the whole time, and took the president with them. Once they had him, their trek

out of the house was no problem. No pig would take a shot at them while they had an uzi

to the head of the king pig.

        “Now you call the damn pig mobile and you get us to congress.”

        “Ok, now let’s not do anything rash, take it easy I’ll call.”

        “Don’t do anything rash? This is all about rash. This is our country now. Kunta

Kinte X is all up in this bitch. All power to the people.”

        The limo driver took the quickly to the Capitol Building where congress was


        “Attention pigs!” Kunta yelled out, “I have your head pig here and things are

about to change in this country!”

          “Whoa, hold up a minute,” T Dogg interrupted.


          “If all this shit happened, what are you doing here in prison with us telling the


          “Well, it didn’t actually happen this way.”

          “No shit Kunta Kinte X.”

          “This was how it was supposed to go down, but man, I was double crossed.”

          “Ain’t that always the way?”

          “Shit yea. Turns out that muthafuckin’ Agent was a damn FBI Agent.”

          “No shit?”

          “For real. So we get to the White House and as we enter he pulls out a service

revolver and tells us to get on the floor. I pull out my gun to start blasting.”

          “So what happened. Wait, if he was an agent, why would he let you get all the

way into the White House before doing anything?”

          “Man, shut up. So I turn around to start blasting…and the guns are defective.”

          “Defective how?”

          “Ain’t got no trigger.”

          “DAMN! Fool tried to pop a cap and didn’t have no trigger.”

          “Yea, so the pigs are all over us now and they lead us out of there.”

          “No shit, so you all locked up.”

          “HELL NO! Since the guns didn’t have no triggers it kinda put a hole in their

case against us. But check this shit out, they get Jake, Abbie and Steve to testify against

me and lock me in here for conspiracy.”

        “Damn, conspiracy.”

        “Conspiracy, can you believe that! The man! Locking me up for conspiracy.

That’s like the pot locking up the kettle for being black.”

        “Be cool man, here comes the guards.”

        “Ok boys, let’s head back to our cells.” T Dogg got up and started towards his


        “Fuck you pigs!”

        “Man Kunta, be cool.”

        “Yea Johnson, listen to your friend here.”

        “Man you don’t tell me what to do,” Kunta swung at one of the guards. Quickly

they were on him with, tackling him to the ground and cuffing him. T Dogg took off for

his cell.

        “Do your worst pigs! You can kill the revolutionary but you can’t kill the



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