11:11 IN SKINHEAD CITY by Dustin Reade

So I am running full bore and I get right up there and jam my knee into the crotch of the grand wizard of the KKK. The world applauds, I bow, and now I am a reality TV star. The whole thing is caught on national television and now there are two thousand angry skinheads pounding at my door. All of them throwing little "Heil Hitlers" into the air. Some of them are wearing t-shirts with a skinhead on the cross. The skinhead on the t-shirt has no face.

I look around and realize that none of the skinheads have faces.

There is no way of describing the terror I feel.

So I grab my broom and I throw open the door and I start swinging the broom to the left and to the right like I am trying to scare raccoons away from my garbage
can.

The skinheads retreat and most of them look scared even though some of them have weapons. Weapons like: a Q-ball in a sock, a lock on a chain, half a pool stick, etc.

I start to worry they might kill me for thud-crotching the wizard on national television so I try to act crazy. I grab one by the neck, and start whipping him around in the air like a towel in the wind, all the while flailing the broom to the left and to the right in my other hand. I let go of the limp skinhead and he crumbles like a pile of laundry to the ground. I grab another one by the arm and start screaming in his face about "borrowing my last pencil". I want them to think I am crazy, dig?

They get the message and they scatter.

I look around at the carnage left behind. It is massive.

I notice a brown patch on the lawn where several skins have urinated against the side of my house.

"Jerks," I say.

I go inside and catch the tail end of "Oprah". It’s an episode with Dr. Oz.

I like him.