That’s Right Nate

Dyslexic Socialist Black Zorro strikes again

By now the media elite are crucifying poor Ashley Todd because of her supposed hoax.  Ashley is a 20 year old McCain volunteer from college Station Texas who supposedly made up a story in Pittsburgh that she was mugged by a black man who pinned her down and carved a B into her face because she had a McCain bumper sticker.  After intense questionning she admitted that she made the whole thing up after police confronted her with supposed evidence like the attack wasn’t caught on surveilance camera even though it happenned at an ATM and the B on her face was carved backwards as if it was done by somebody looking into a mirror.  But I can tell you it was no hoax.

It was late one Thursday evening and I was figuring out my payroll.  I was alone and the office was dark except for the banker lamp on my table.  I thought I heard a noise upstairs, but I assumed it was merely the wind.  A few moments later I felt something sharp pressed into my back.

“Continue what you were doing senor,” said the voice in a thick accent.

“You have me at a disadvantage sir,” I said as I slowly lifted my hands above my head.

“You seem to have a lot of people at a disadvantage sir.  You have worked hard and now you have much gold, but you do not share it with your lazy employees,” he said calmly with a voice sharper than the blade he held.

“Of course I don’t,” I retorted, “I pay them a fair wage, but I worked hard to build this business.  It is the American way.  I use my profits to hire employees and through hard work they can get ahead.”

“No senor, nobody should have to work so hard.  Social programs should take care of people instead,” he said as he circled around holding his sword to my throat.

“You fiend!  That would raise taxes on us hard working Joe Sixpacks,” I cried out.

“Such is the price of socialism,” he laughed.  I saw the full figure of this black man with the cunning of a fox.  He was imposing, but also care free.  He wore a mask and a black hat that concealed his identity.  He was dressed in black clothes and wore a cape which never seemed to get in the way of his fluid gazelle like movement. “Now you will pay your employees double this week even though they don’t deserve it,” he smiled.

Without a choice I complied.  He then flicked his wrist and carved a backwards Z on my chest clear through expensive silk shirt.  “I apologize senor, in addition to being a socialist I am dyslexic.” He then whistled and a horse as black as night appeared outside my door.  He was off like a rabbit laughing as he rode off.  I never heard from Dyslexic Socialist Black Zorro since…until this week.