5 Days in Utopia

a whole other country

Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a night on the town? I’m counting on you, Lord, please don’t let me down Prove that you love me and buy the next round Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a night on the town? — Janis Joplin, from the song Mercedes Benz

Day 1

YEAH. We did it!

It’s raining, but who cares. We’ve taken over six city blocks and run out the police. Now a Cop Free Zone. ****ing pigs! They didn’t even try to stop us. The mayor told them to just let us have it. That it was like a big block party or a street fair or a Summer of Love. Ha! That’s what she thinks. Dumb bitch. Just because we’re painting the streets and walls and windows and graffitiing everything in sight doesn’t meant it’s a ****ing street fair. We’ve declared this zone, our zone, autonomous. A whole other ****ing country. We don’t need no ****ing pigs and we don’t need no ****ing Trump. We will run everything our way and all of us will share and everything will be free. This is about freedom. Utopia, at last! Why hasn’t anyone done this before? I mean, I would’ve moved out of my parents’ basement years ago, if they had. Like on my 25th birthday or maybe even earlier. They’re nothing but white privileged racists morons, anyway.

The really awesome thing is nobody is in charge. Everyone can do whatever the **** they want. This is ****ing fun, man. There are 16 Starbucks in the Zone and they’re giving us free lattes. And there are other stores that are handing out free food and stuff. It’s just ****ing awesome. I mean, nobody is wearing a mask, except when news cameras are around, and then there are those guys in black with AR-15’s and baseball bats, but we’re for sure not doing no social ****ing distancing.

I was busy spray painting “****” on windows and walls here in the Zone with whatever phrase popped into my head like **** the pigs, **** Trump, **** you — when a couple of big guys in black carrying AR-15’s came up to me and said they needed my skills at the edge of the AZ (Autonomous Zone) to help set up a border wall and barricades to keep out anybody who isn’t a citizen of the AZ. “Yeah, dudes,” I said and went right off to do that. But not to build a border wall like that mother****er Trump is building, this is different. We want to keep Cops OUT. Me and some other dudes and babes built up a 16-foot-high barrier from some chain link and barbed wire somebody found laying around at a Home Depot. We also put black plastic and tarp over the fence so no one could look in. I spray-painted signs on it like, “Keep the **** out,” “**** America,” “E-****ing-quality Zone.” Oh, and “**** You.”

I think we need to come up with a badder name for our country than The AZ. But we’ll worry about that tomorrow. ’Cause tonight we’re going to Par-Tay.

Day 2

I found a free tent last night, but I didn’t sleep much. First, I had to share it with a homeless guy called Itchy, which I now understand why. Then about 4 a.m. four or five black guys with AR-15’s rousted me. The biggest one asked me for my Zone ID and did I like Waka Flocka Flame. When I said, “Who?” he said, “Give me all yo money, bitch.” I handed over my three dollars and eighty-five cents, because, what the ****, I don’t need it. So, the dude went to the next tent.

At 7 a.m. I gave up on trying to sleep and wandered over to the nearest Starbucks tent to get some coffee. It was crowded, of course, but nobody seemed to be getting served. I worked my way through the crowd to the counter and told the barista I wanted an Oatmilk Honey Latte with Blonde Expresso and a ham and cheese croissant.

He said, “That’ll be $37.85.”

I said, “Whoa, dude, yesterday it was free.”

He said, “That was yesterday.”

I said, “But in my neighborhood, it would be like only about $15.”

He said, “Taxes are higher here in the Zone.”

I said, “That’s ****ing bullshit, man.” I might’ve yelled.

A big dude with an AR-15, who’d been sitting on a nearby graffied barrier came over. I think it was the same one who recruited me to go help build the border wall, but in his mask it was hard to tell. “Is there a problem here?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “This dude wants me to pay for my stuff.”

“How much?” he asked the barista.

“Thirty-eight dollars,” he said.

The big dude turned to me. “You got a credit card?”

“Wull, yeah,” I said. It’s my dad’s. But — ”

“Pay up or move on,” he said. He thumbed the safety down on the AR-15.

I looked back at the crowd around me, hoping for support but they were all watching a 72 inch flat-screen TV somebody had taken from a nearby electronics store. They were listening to some City politician tell the cable news babe that the reason they (we) kicked the police out of their precinct in the Zone was so they (we) could turn it into a Rec Center and Free STD Clinic. She also said the complete name of our new nation going forward would be the Obfuscated Peoples Land of Equality & Autonomous Zone or OPLEAZ. For some reason, I didn’t get to vote for that. I would’ve nominated ****ingOPLEAZ.

Day 3

I had to move out from Itchy’s tent after discovering how he got his name. Moved in with an old black guy named Boomer. He’s a Vietnam vet, he thinks. Has very few teeth and wears a ragged Grateful Dead t-shirt, but I like the racial harmony I’m creating. He seems indifferent.

Spent most of the day with a group looking for a statue to tear down, but the only one we could find was one of some guy named Vladimir Ilyich Lenin. The woman leading the raid — told us she was a poli-sci major at Cal Berkley — said she didn’t think he was a Southern General, so we left it alone. Maybe we’ll smash some windows later.

With Starbucks cutting off our free coffee, we’re running out of supplies. Someone found a white board and put it on a corner for citizens of OPLEAZ to create a shopping list of things we need. They put it in a prominent place so the news people could record it and get the word out.

Here’s a partial list of the items:

Clothes Gatorade Deodorant Toothpaste Mouthwash Weed Deodorant Washable masks (preferably black) Bug spray Febreze Room freshener Toilet paper M & M’s (non-peanut) Backpacks Deodorant Stuffed animals Guns Ammunition Empty glass bottles Gasoline Vegetable seeds Draino (industrial strength) Strong cologne & perfume

I’m sure non-citizens who see it will donate these supplies by the truckload.

Day 4

Moved out of Boomer’s tent. He woke up several times in the night yelling, “In-comiiing!” Scared the crap out of me. I’ll miss him and his blackness. Have not yet found another place to stay. It’s raining again… or still raining. I’m not sure which.

Several people are planting gardens in a park area. Nothing is growing yet, although there has been plenty of rain. I think someone should get a copy of NY Mayor Bloomberg’s book on how to farm. One guy planted some corn seeds in a big pot on a sidewalk that once held a small bush. He stuck a sign in it that read, “This is a ****ing garden. DO NOT urinate on it. Poop acceptable.”

Day 5

I slept in a public restroom of an office building I broke into. It wasn’t comfortable but at least it was mostly dry. All the toilets are clogged and the water from sinks is sporadic and kind of brown. No paper towels, either. The city — the one surrounding the nation of OPLEAZ — sent in a couple dozen porta-potties on Day Two, but they haven’t been “serviced” and are pretty gross. There’s a distinct odor hovering over the nation.

Turns out things aren’t as free as everyone thought they’d be. A lot of citizens are trying to leave OPLEAZ, but are being stopped at the border by the guys in black with AR-15’s. They say we will stay and work or be shot where we stand. The ex-politician who wants to convert the police station into a re-education center was chosen as Supreme Leader and changed our new nation’s name to Great Land of Occupying Protestors, or GLOP.

Somehow I missed that election, too. Not sure who the candidates were.

I ran into Boomer pushing his grocery cart with two cases of SmartWater and three boxes of Little Debbie Fudge Brownies atop all his other belongings. “I’m escaping GLOP tonight,” I told him, “Going back to my parents’ basement. This just isn’t fun anymore.”

Boomer grinned his gappy grin, hugged me roughly, and said,

“Di di mau, boy. Di di mau.”

“What?” I asked.

He scurried off wheeling his cart around a crowded corner, his head thrown back in laughter.

“What the ****!” I yelled some minutes later when I discovered he’d stolen my watch and cell phone.

Thanks for stopping by to read this. Remember, it’s satire. No need to get offended. For those of you who are indignant, please keep an open mind. Laugh unto others as you would have them laugh unto you.

If you’d like to read more of my stuff, try this one:

Here’s a little more insight as to who I am, if you care to know:

I’d like to give you something

Click the image below to go to my website. I will send you a FREE copy of my short story collection Skins Game when you join my Readers Group.