Oogabooga, my brother, said Earl Schmidt.
Timmy Kelly lifted his aviator glasses and looked hard at the reverend.
Black cave men used to say boogabooga. White cave men said oogabooga. Now that’s our battle cry for the civil war, Earl said.
Earl kept talking.
Pay attention, boy. White cave men warring with Black cave men started at the beginning of time. We won because we stood our ground evolving into people like the Flintstones and the Rubbles, Fred and Barney cruising around after work at the factory, marrying beautiful white girls like Betty and Wilma. Black boogs hid in the trees grunting and blaming white men for all their problems just like they do today. Oogabooga is our code so the deep state swamp people and them Black Lives Matter boogaboogas won’t know what hit them now that the shit storm has arrived.
Kelly stood spellbound realizing for the first time just how severely nuts Trump had made his paranoid followers who believe with all their burned brain stems their man is the white Messiah leading them from the cave and into the embrace of heaven.
Still, the pastor raised more questions than answers.
Kelly scrunched up his face.
The shit storm?
Two capital S’s, like the German Waffle SS. Why do you think we meet at Waffle Houses all over the country? The Waffle SS, the shit storm, that’s what we’re calling the race war.
Timmy saw no value in telling Earl the Nazi Waffen SS had nothing to do with sourdough syrup. As a professional Joe Biden impersonator with big dreams of performing in Atlantic City, Timmy needed to beware, especially among berserk Trump freaks inspired to stop the steal after Dems rigged the election.
Timmy Kelly held out his hand palm up.
You got the hundred bucks, Earl?
You got the VIP inauguration passes?
Timmy pegged Earl as a pushover. Word on the street described Earl as a low IQ redneck hillbilly with a speaking-in-tongues church in West Side who was looking for a way into the swearing-in. Timmy had every intention of ripping off the reverend and disappearing back into his own tribal neighborhood where he felt safe. Only Earl was nobody’s fool.
Where’d you get the tickets, by the way?
That’s confidential, Timmy said.
You going to the inauguration in Washington with us, Mr. Kelly?
They need me here.
You ain’t got no real tickets, now, do you, boy?
With that, Zerelda glided into the room with the harsh grace of First Lady Melania guiding the televised White House Christmas tour that never was.
Put your hands up, she said, pointing a Sig P226 9mm equipped with night sights at Timmy’s nose with all the glee of a SEAL war criminal getting pardoned from a life sentence for massacring civilians.
We got him, Earl, she said.
We got who?
We got ourselves a captain in the Joe Biden Clone Army, Earl. The Jews are breeding battalions of look-a-like Bidens to unleash across America trying to cloud our minds and sperm our women to do their bidding.
Sperm our women? Inject them with wild liberal spermazooms? My God, Zerelda, that’s worse than shape-shifting, blood-sucking reptilian humanoids invading Earth to control the human race.
The Joe Biden Clone Army is a million times worse than the lizard people, Earl.
Turning on Timmy, Zerelda spoke with the cold authority of a guerrilla field commander.
How’d you like to make a hostage video, Joe? Tell the world you voted for Trump.
Meanwhile back in his basement, Casey dipped a soup spoon into the tub loaded with liquid LSD for a taste. Ummmm, he said like he was sampling chicken corn soup at the German church bazaar. Upstairs in the attic, Mabel lit a joint and planned her next mission.
Back in the Minooka section of town, Gino wrote a resignation letter to the prison warden.
And former Scranton Mayor Harry Davies settled in to make a few phone calls to friends who were always good for bribes and kickbacks, political cronies who would do anything he wanted for fear he would rat them out to the feds.
Pssst, he said when the first potential felon answered the phone. Did you hear what Joe Biden did in law school?