2: Cody

Arnold and Francis sit down to get to know their new roommate a little better, and the tables of their dynamic seem to turn in a way Francis didn't expect...

Arnold sat down in the living room with his roommate and soon-to-be-roommate. Francis and the stranger took the couch, while Arnold was forced (mainly from a dirty look from Francis) to grab a dining-chair from the kitchenette. This “Cody” definitely wasn’t the strangest person Arnold had ever seen, but that was beside the point. It’d taken him a while to get used to living with Francis when he’d moved in (not to mention slowly taken over, as well, always citing Arnold’s white privilege and the oppression on minorities like himself.) Now Arnold had to do it all over again, sinking ever deeper on the imaginary intersectional totem-pole.

   There had to be some box on that list that Cody checked, or Arnold doubted Francis would’ve let him through the front door. Given the shape of his body, maybe he was trans? Female to male, specifically? Or maybe he was just an “ally” of some kind? Or there was some percentage of “oppressed” race in his family tree? Arnold mentally went down the paper he imagined, trying to guess how each might apply to newcomer.

   “So, tell us a little about yourself, Cody,” Francis said, on the road to solving the mystery Arnold was working on.

   “Well, I’m attending the Liberal Art Institute here. I’ll be majoring in modern fashion. Obviously, I’ll have to start in the winter semester because of when I got here.”

   “I’d considered that college once,” Francis said. “Isn’t it a bit hard on the wallet?” It wasn’t like he could skate in on the melanin content in his skin.

   Cody laughed. “A reason why I’m not staying at the dorm.”

   Francis had inadvertently made Arnold much more interested in participating in the conversation. “How can you afford the school itself, then?” he asked.

   Francis sighed. “I apologize for Arnold. As you can see, he’s a mainstream white male: he’s under the impression he’s above everyone else and thinks he’s entitled to know how much money you have or how you got it.”

   None of that was true, but Francis could twist any rebuttal into a confirmation, so Arnold held in his lame reply of “Nu-uh.”

   Cody shifted uncomfortably on the cushion, but his raised eyebrow was directed at Francis, not Arnold. “No, it’s okay. Seriously. My parents have set a little money away for me. Not that I wanted a hand-out like that: I wanted to earn my own way. But my mother almost held me hostage until I agreed to use some to come here and pay for my tuition and books.”

   “Good God!” Francis exclaimed. “How much money do they have stored away? How long have they been saving it up?”

   Not even a second later, he falls off his moral high-road, Arnold thought.

   There was something Arnold admired about the guest’s determination not to depend on others for money compared to Francis’ willingness to take the first freebies offered to him from the government (even as much as Francis’ insisted they were owed to him and “his people” for something he’d never experienced.)

   “Only about a year, and I don’t even know how much,” Cody answered with a grin. “At least enough to prepare me for a Bachelor’s.”

   Arnold swallowed. Did that mean they were loaded? It sure as hell sounded like it. He picked up his drink and began to gulp, suddenly finding his mouth drier than sand. His mind was already gearing up. Maybe he was getting another opportunity to ride Easy Street.

   “So, where’d you live before you came here?” Francis asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

   That boat had already sailed.

   “Southern Beverly Hills,” Cody said.

   “Whoa!” Francis smiled and sat back, impressed. Inwardly, he reveled, Southern California, the epitome of equality...

   “Holy…” Arnold couldn’t even finish what he was about to say. Privately, he was thinking, Southern California, home of the rich and famous... mainly rich...

   Yep, they were definitely rich as hell. There was no denying that now, and that gave Arnold hope. Maybe Cody could pay all three of their rent-shares, but he doubted that Francis would go for that. At least, not without a lot of convincing, and some appealing to his white loathing. Well, maybe more than some.

   Arnold decided he should take a shot at it anyway.

   “Hey Francis, can I talk to you in the kitchen for a second?” Arnold got off the chair and headed into the assumed “kitchen” area. Francis followed, and they turned their backs to their guest.

   “So, you think he’s got a lot of money?” Arnold asked.

   “If you hadn’t plowed into that as hard, I might’ve listened to what you’ve got to say,” Francis stated, and tried to walk away. “Your White Privilege knows no discrimination.”

   “No, wait!” Arnold pulled him back. “What if I just had him pay my rent for a little while, until my job--”

   “You’re not scamming him out of his money!” Francis said, practically stomping his foot. They looked at Cody, who was looking at them. They waved and smiled, then turned their backs to him again. “I don’t even know where you come up with these stupid ideas. This is how you drove off our last roommate!”

   “That was different!” Arnold defended.

   “Yeah, instead of money, it was sex!”

   “Hey, she--”

   “You tried to tell her you were dying of cancer, and that your only wish was to know the ‘pleasure of love!’ So, you got her in bed, and two months later, you’re still alive!”

   “I thought I wouldn’t be for long when her boyfriends came after me…”

   “They would’ve pummeled you if it wasn’t for me. You still owe me from that, and that favor is earning interest while I decide what to use it for. And there’s an election coming up, remember?”

   Arnold rolled his eyes. “D*mnit.”

   “Now, we’re going to sit over there, give him the details of the rent agreement, and then hope your dumb sh*t hasn’t scared him out of the deal.” Francis was using his “And that’s final, whitey” tone of voice.

   They took their places by Cody again, Arnold trying to seem like he hadn’t just lost an argument and Francis beaming for winning. Typical Liberal. Arnold would have to try on his own.

   “So, what else do I need to know?” Cody asked.

   “Well,” Francis said. “We’ll divide up the rent, but don’t worry, Arnold has the biggest share. You don’t seem like you’ve indulged too much in your skin-color, so your share won’t be much higher than mine. I’ll give you a little pamphlet that I made about who to avoid, and where to put all the recyclables in the building, and so forth. I have it all taken care of.”

   “What about him?” Cody asked, laughing. He pointed a thumb at Arnold. “He taken care of, too?”

   They laughed together, except for Arnold. But hey, Francis didn’t have to know that Cody was paying Arnold’s share, right? The two would just talk about it in private. Sometimes, Francis’ constant bias against him made Arnold wonder what it’d be like if, for a day, he actually acted as privileged as his roommate made him out to be.

   “Anything else we need to know about you?” Francis asked.

   “No, not really,” Cody said, squirming a little in his seat.

   “Oh, come on, I can see you want to say something.”

   “Well, I might not be here for long, I have friends coming up here to enroll, as well, and they’ll have their own place, too. I might spend more time with them than here.”

   That seemed to rub Francis the wrong way, Arnold could tell his thoughts: a white person getting to live in two places for practically nothing while being loaded, but Francis had to settle for one? Cody had just lost some points in Francis’ mind. Yet, his attention filed that away to focus on Cody’s continued discomfort.

   “There’s something else,” Francis prodded. Something Cody would have to learn with him was that when he wanted to know something, he’d eventually get it out. Especially if it was something he could use to shame a person for being white.

   “Well, it might make Arnold a little uncomfortable--”

   “You’re gay?” Arnold guessed, not helping his own case by following a comment like that with his assertion.

   “ARNOLD!” Francis jumped up and glared at him. “How dare you assume his sexual-orientation based on how he dresses!”

   Calmly, Arnold replied, “I didn’t.”

   Cody, who’d sunken back into the couch to let the roommates duke it out, spoke up firmly. “No, he’s right, actually.”

   Arnold didn’t see the transition, but he could’ve sworn Francis shrunk by about a foot. He sat down and soothed his breathing, then said, “No, we don’t feel uncomfortable with that at all. Especially Arnold.”

“Speak for yourself,” Arnold said, which earned him another glare.

   Arnold didn’t mean that as he was going to have a problem with Cody’s sexuality, but he did have a problem with the way Francis was going to use their new roommate’s orientation to place him above Arnold. To Francis, anything was better than a straight white male, never mind how contradictory that was to the entire “tolerance and inclusion” stance he used to preach.

  Cody had gained back the points he’d lost in Francis’ book, and then some.

   “I’m sure we can all get along with our differences, right?” Francis said, but his tone made it more of a warning.

   “I’d like that,” Cody said, looking very uneasy.

   His little confession hadn’t helped his personal image, especially the way they’d reacted, but it did help Arnold understand his appearance. He just wondered why the guaranteed acceptance didn’t make him any happier. Now, he kind of felt sorry for the kid.

   “Don’t worry,” Francis assured him. “I’ve worked very hard to ensure this is a tolerant and PC apartment, despite Arnold’s active sabotage.”

   By the look on his face, Cody had already had enough. He looked Francis right in the eye. “I think you’re mixing up the definitions of ‘tolerance’ and ‘acceptance.’” He looked like he’d encounter this situation before and was prepared for how to respond.

   Francis seemed a little taken aback by that. “What?”

   “Because if you’re not mixing up those definitions,” Cody said, “then you’re only willing to tolerate my lifestyle, and not accept me for who I am inside, Francis?”

   Francis was silent, only because he was trying to find a way to walk his statement back. Cody had, in two short sentences, out-played Francis in the “I’m more oppressed than you” game. Arnold was impressed: he’d never seen anyone out-PC his roommate before. While he wasn’t for self-censorship, personally, Arnold sure enjoyed watching Francis get taken down a peg or two. He savored the moment, assuming it had ended right there, and that Francis and Cody would shortly be talking about how offended everything about the White Establishment made them and how to check privilege and all that.

   Arnold couldn’t have been more wrong, in a good way.

   Cody pointed at Arnold. “He’s actually the tolerant one. He may not agree with my lifestyle, but he doesn’t have to. He’s leaving me be, and that’s the point. You’re making him accept it, like you do. Francis, you’re the intolerant one.”

   Oh yeah, Arnold liked this guy. He found himself willing (just a little) to pay a higher share of the rent to keep someone around that could shame Francis for being too PC. And the argument made sense, too. Arnold planned on talking to Cody a lot more. He wanted to learn as much as he could to defend himself from the NYC groupthink. Cody could decide things for himself, unlike most of the city.

   Within his thoughts, Francis wasn’t mad. He wouldn’t allow himself to be. Someone hadn’t properly educated this man, and Francis wouldn’t let that stand. He felt, though, that he was going to have to prove to Cody that he was no oppressor. Francis, of course, knew that he wasn’t oppressive at all. Tonya showed him that, basically, it was genetically impossible for black people to put any other race down. They were too woke. His race only checked White Privilege.

   Cody had seen Francis’ like before. He was a walking, talking double-standard: the very definition of it. And there was no way he was going to abide that. Not after all he’d been through. All his life, he’d been made out to be some stereotype, and by the very people who claimed to be against such things. By the very kind of person who sat by him on the couch.

   “I’m going to take a wild shot-in-the-dark here,” Cody stabbed, “and bet you think only ‘progressives’ and other lefties believe in things like racial and gender equalities, and nobody else is physically capable of doing so. How irrational. That’s just a way for you to make yourself feel morally superior to everyone else and justify shaming people like Arnold. I’d add ‘unfairly’ into that, but all shaming from progressives is inherently unfair.”

   Cody sat back the chair, the room in a sudden and tense quiet. Francis because he was still seeking away to disprove Cody’s undeniable logic, and Arnold because he was just trying to replay the points in his mind over and over, wanting to memorize them. Not like he’d go out seeking a fight with a lib anytime soon, though. God only knew how it’d be twisted out of context.

   What did Francis settle on telling Cody? “You might have a tough time fitting in at the Institute with that attitude.”

   “Fitting in was never my problem,” Cody proudly remarked, shuffling his rear on the seat. “Even black guys.”

   While Arnold immediately understood that, it took a moment for Francis to realize Cody had just made a dick-joke. He didn’t find it funny. But Francis had no idea whether Cody should lose points for racism or gain more for courage in flouting his individual orientation.

   Arnold was seeing more and more reasons he and Cody could “tolerate” each other in a friendly way. Despite what Arnold had told Francis in their sorry excuse for a kitchen, Arnold didn’t think Cody was above... how should he put it? Arnold preferred to think of Cody as “helping him out.” That was a good way of putting it. He definitely thought his new roommate was a reasonable soul. 

   Arnold felt a need of his own for justification (not something he experienced very often) how he wasn’t taking advantage of Cody. It’d just be until Arnold got a handle on his new job.

   “When are your friends coming up here?” Arnold said, taking charge of the conversation for once, for Cody’s sake.

   Cody looked like he was doing a bit of math in his head. “In a week or two.”

   Francis forced himself to be a main staple of the dialogue again, instead of his white roommate, whose skin color put him in charge of too much already. “They’re cutting it a bit close. They’ll be moving their boxes in as classes start, if they want to make the autumn semester.”

   Cody looked away from the self-proclaimed “progressive,” favoring anything Arnold might say.

   “Why do you need to live in a crummy apartment if you have loaded parents?” Arnold asked blatantly, wishing he could’ve thought of something that didn’t sound so... himself.

   “Well, even though my mom want’s me set up for life, my dad isn’t the same way.” Cody sounded like he liked his father’s perspective more. “My dad cut me off from the family fortune, to make me more independent and teach me to appreciate money. I thought I did, already, but... Anyway, he’ll give me access to it when he’s sure I won’t squander it.”

   “Geez, it doesn’t get split up between your siblings?” Francis looked amazed. He wished the government was more generous with its money to his people. And it would be, once Trump was gone.

   Cody sighed. “Nobody to split it up with.”

   “Ah, I’m sorry,” Francis said.

   “Why be sorry?” Arnold piped up. “I’d hate having to split all that up with my older brothers.”

   “Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” Cody said, chuckling.

   “All that stuff aside,” Francis said quickly, always trying to deny Arnold’s waste of the First Amendment, “when do you think you can start moving in?”

   Oh great, Arnold thought, this means I’ll have to start lugging stuff up to his room.

   “I already have,” Cody said, pointing to a duffle bag Arnold hadn’t seen by the door. “That’s all I got.”

   “Oh,” Francis and Arnold said simultaneously.

   This kid really was on his own. Arnold was shocked at the realization. Was this sympathy he was feeling? It was something he hoped he didn’t have to get used to.

   Cody slapped his thighs with his hands (Arnold looked away after noticing how they jiggled quite a bit) and stood up from the couch.

   “I’ll go move my things to my room, if nobody minds.”

   The pair shook their heads, allowing him to do so. Cody moved to the door and grabbed the single bag, trying not to make a show of it being all he had. Arnold had no doubt, with what he’d seen so far, Cody had chosen to only have one bag; he’d probably brought exactly what he thought he’d need, and nothing more. And so far, he’d made it clear across the country on whatever was in it. Something had to be said about good prior planning.

   Cody may have been on his own, but Arnold thought this guy was doing alright (so far) that way.

   As Cody opened the door to his new room, Arnold scooted his chair closer to the couch and motioned for Francis to lean toward him. He did, but Arnold waited until Cody eased the door shut before speaking.

   “Rethinking keeping him as a roommate, yet?” Arnold asked, unable to keep a bit of satisfaction from creeping into his voice.

   Francis remarked, through gritted teeth, “Well, no. This should be... interesting.”

   He reached for the coffee-table, grabbing the smart-remote and turning on his television. The channel was still turned to Francis’ favorite news network. And it was his favorite, in fact, because Tonya had been intelligent and independently strong enough to show him how it needed to be his favorite. He knew he didn’t need to watch it to validate his views in the face of Cody’s challenges to his beliefs. No, he just needed an update to the state of his failing country. There was no way a homosexual male could trigger him; Francis was too tolerant for that.

   The Corrupt News Network came back from a commercial-break, featuring the same panel from earlier in the morning, including the African-American woman who’d shot her cohost and the camera-girl. A Latina anchorwoman (a red ribbon along the bottom of the screen read, “Yadira Gomez,”) was speaking.

   “While our network is advising our friend, Debra Smith, to continue her cooperation with the authorities,” the Gomez said, “they already insist she did nothing wrong and their judgment is that no reasonable prosecutor would bring such a case against her.”

   The screen cut away to some high-ranking police-chief at a press-conference about an hour earlier. “There is evidence that Ms. Smith was extremely careless in her handling of a Glock-19.”

   The coverage returned to Gomez. “Our friend, Debra, won’t be punished by the network for the micro-aggression Charles was attacking her with by having white skin. He, and his accomplice--whose name I forgot--have both been fired for unsatisfactory work performances by dying on the job and for creating a hostile work environment with their skin color. Notices of their terminations have been delivered to the morgue at the local hospital, where they were pronounced DOA. Such intolerance will not be tolerated!”

   Exactly what they deserved, Francis forced himself to think. At least we won’t need to boycott the show for the bigotry of a few dead whites, the evilest sort of people in the universe.

 “Meanwhile,” Gomez went on, “Former President Ofauxma weighed in on the Unconstitutional message Trump recently delivered.”

   The screen switched again, this time to a regal looking man of mixed white and black heritage, wearing an impeccable suit and sitting in a comfortable, cushioned chair (while the people who’d put him in office in Chicago suffered in squalor with nothing but a library to remind them of his forgotten promises.) Across from him sat one of Corrupt News Network’s commentators, just as dressed-up for the occasion, to conduct the interview.

   “So, what my administration aimed to do was, uh, just so we’re all clear and on the same page about this... was to do this thing that nobody else had done before in history, which was--because, you know, that’s what the American People want, at the end of the day--but what you have to understand is that this is a really complicated matter… you know, there was a lot of people with different opinions about how, what, when, and all that, a bunch of negotiation, and we wanted to listen to everyone, uh, so we looked deep inside ourselves, and we really feel like we accomplished something that, well, someone can look back in history and say that yes, they can. Because yes, we can… and that’s about the gist of it. Oh, and sorry to the world, because America’s such a terrible place. Period.”

   The commentator nodded in a solemn display, reaching up to wipe a tear of inspiration from his unworthy eye. The network went back to its panel, who were giving Ofauxma a standing ovation, cheering, whistling, and all. Francis, for the most part, didn’t understand what he’d just heard, but he was sure it’d been amazing and truly awesome. It had nothing to do with Ofauxma ignoring the topic and droning on and on about himself, using a lot of words to say nothing at all. Only a racist would criticize the best President ever like that. Francis waited patiently for the network to tell him what to think. It didn’t take very long.

    “What vision,” Gomez praised. “He really sees what the rest of us are blind to.”

  “Absolutely,” Smith agreed. “I mean, did you hear that? I found it so insightful how Ofauxma destroyed the racist, sexist, Islamophobic Trump-agenda in such a few, concise words. And if you don’t agree with us about this, you must be alt-Right.”

    Francis nodded in agreement immediately.

   “We really need our savior from 2016 to return and undo all the damage done by the Trump Administration,” Smith added. “Unfortunately, all Killary Klinton can do from her prison-cell is advise her daughter on how to win, which is good enough for me.”

   “#FirstWomanPresident!” Gomez added, smiling wide.

   “Here’s a little clip from the patriotic Ms. Klinton addressing a record-setting, giant crowd on the campaign trail,” Smith said.

   The screen jumped to a recorded bit of the Democratic front-runner, the fat-lipped woman with a pear-shaped face, who remained undecided on whether she wanted to be a blonde or brunette, outdoors at a podium filmed from the left of the event. Behind her was a blue banner that read, “I’m With Corporate Cash” in white lettering. The audience was probably fifty strong, all waving flags repeating what the banner claimed. They all looked like either decrepit old men, or college-aged feminazis. Beanies, rainbow-spiked hair, and SunSchmucks coffee-cups were abundant.

   Klinton was in the middle of saying something, but the picture suddenly cut back to the panel. They looked flustered, bubbling for something to say. What stumbled out of their mouths were a bunch of “Must’ve been earlier in the day,” or “Must’ve been the wrong event.” But then the screen went back to the same event, the time-date stamp revealing the same exact time, all just from a different angle. This time it looked like the camera was watching Klinton from the middle of the audience, making the crowd appear larger than it was, the true size hidden from view. Klinton was even saying the exact same thing she’d been in the last clip.

   The door to Cody’s room opened and he stepped out, stopping short to stare at the news coverage. He already despised what he saw.

   “I hate the President,” Kelsey K. Klinton shrilled into the mike, eliciting a giant cheer from the crowd. “All men who voted for him need to have their testicles removed with rusty knives. Don’t stitch them up, either. Let them die. Actually, never mind that part about ‘men who voted for Trump.’ Just all men.”

   The clip ended and the panel was back on again, looking prouder than ever.

   “Such a tolerant, progressive, caring, and inclusive stance on the important issues facing our nation today,” Smith said.

   “A true feminist,” Gomez added.

   Cody rolled his eyes. “The corrupt dynasty continues with its heir. Her mom couldn’t win, now this one has to win for her. But she’ll do exactly what Trump was criticized for and put her parents in the White House, and she’ll be praised for it.”

   Francis whirled around where he sat to look at Cody, his face appalled by the notion. How could anyone think a Klinton was connected to corruption? “She’s not a criminal like Trump.”

   “What makes him a criminal?” Cody scoffed. “She’s the one calling for violence.”

   Francis racked his mind, trying to remember anything Tonya had told him. The problem was that the lack of speaking left a pause in the conversation, one which Cody seized for himself.

   “Yeah, I thought so,” Cody said. “You were probably told by your groupthink leaders to hate him, and instead of thinking for yourself, researching Trump and deciding on your own, you blindly followed. Ever since, you’ve done nothing but desperately try to confirm your bias. You look for ‘proof’ and justifications for your feelings, instead of the other way around.”

   Francis dodged the smear (it was just too ludicrous for him to validate it by calling it anything else) to give himself more time to think. “Well, who’d you vote for?”

   The answer should’ve been obvious: Cody was gay, so his vote should’ve gone to Klinton in the last election. Who else? But with what Cody had said earlier, it was hard to be certain.

   “Trump,” Cody revealed.

   Francis almost fainted. He took a few deep breaths and kept his vision from tunneling. “But… why?”

   “I’ve got my reasons,” Cody stated. “And there’s not enough PC in the world to entitle you to know them.”

  The pair was interrupted by the champion-candidate of the left being given more unsolicited, free airtime. Unfortunately for Francis, it was to prove his previous statement about Kelsey wrong, and prove Cody’s accusation of nepotism correct, by the candidate herself.

   “As soon as I’m in office,” her whiny voice declared, “I’ll make sure to undo the damage Trump did, with my parents by my side. My mother was cheated from protecting this country from sexist, racist white men as the American People wanted her to, as proven by the Popular vote.”

   “Killary won the only popular vote that’s mentioned nowhere in the Constitution,” Cody mocked, “and that’s what they focus on. Trump one 30 popular votes at the State-level, which’s how he won the election. But by all means, keep toting around the one thing that never won the Presidency. I’m sure it’ll help one day.”

   Francis let that slide after taking a deep breath, trying to focus on the future leader of the United States. He was sure the coverage was going to present Cody with unarguable facts any moment now.

   “So, I’ll make sure my mother gets the chance she deserves,” the nation’s newest heir-apparent (based on her gender, not on any actual merit) droned on. “She’ll serve as my National Advisor… after pardoning her sentence, of course.”

   Cody giggled, chanting to himself, “Lock her up, lock her up.” At this point, he wanted to trigger Francis. Just a little.

   The panel turned from covering the candidate, to speaking to one of her supporters, a vocal BLM leader.

   “So,” Gomez began. “How is BLM helping people realize Klinton should be our next President?”

   “We hold peaceful protests against the current administration,” he said.

   “And what is the point of these protests?” Smith asked. “What are you protesting?”

   “White people,” the leader proclaimed.

   “What about them?” Gomez asked, looking much more interested.

   “Just that there are them,” the BLM leader replied. “Our peaceful rallies and protests go around to beat da sh*t out of any racist white people we find. Because that’s the peaceful thing to do.”

   Cody chimed in, “I think someone needs to hand this guy a dictionary and show him the definition of ‘peaceful.’”

   “Where are these racist whites?” Smith asked.

   “Everywhere,” the BLM leader said. “If you white, you racist.”

   Cody stepped up to the side of the couch opposite of Francis and shot him a pointed look he couldn’t avoid. It made him squirm in his seat. Which side should he take? His people were oppressed by white people, but only the straight ones, right?

   “I’m sure he doesn’t mean you,” Francis said.

   “Bullsh*t,” Cody doubted. He turned to Arnold, the fly on the wall. “Who’d you vote for in 2016?”

   Arnold shrugged, not seeing how this could end well with Francis still in the room. “Trump.”

   Francis made a sound of disgust to accompany a shake of his head.

   Cody kept his attention on Arnold. “I’m guessing you’re following all this coverage, too?”

   Arnold shook his head. “Personally, I’m not into politics and all that. After the last election, I just wanna be left alone about it all.”

   Cody raised an eyebrow. “Then you don’t plan on voting this year?”

   Arnold shrugged again. He hadn’t thought about it until Cody had brought it up. But maybe if their new roommate kept up that kind of talk to Francis, Arnold could give it some serious consideration.

The apartment was quiet that night, the walls just thick enough to keep out the disparaging noise of Democrat policies failing the city’s vulnerable, poverty-stricken urban population. Francis was sound asleep, dreaming of a world where the all-knowing State dictated rights and social justice to everyone, robbing those of their privilege to give to the oppressed, instead, while content with having no proof that either side was privileged or oppressed.

   This allowed the climate of the apartment to shift, thankfully, to the Right side some, where logic and reason ruled.

   First, Cody’s door eased open a crack, him peeking out to make sure the coast was clear. The door to the closet-space Arnold occupied did the same, and the two locked eyes. Arnold gave his new roommate a thumbs-up and they ushered themselves into the living room, flopping onto the couch. Cody was quick to tuck his legs under his body, stifling a giggle in excitement.

   “I feel like a spy for some rebellion,” he described in a whisper. “It’s like I’m secretly resisting some tyrannical culture-regime.”

   Arnold reached for the smart-remote. “I wouldn’t call it secret, after you were so challenging toward Francis today.”

   Cody peered at Arnold as he pressed the Power-button and quickly brought the volume down to almost mute as the device went to work detecting a signal. When it had, he typed in the code for the only Conservative news network on cable, Clever As A…News, where (much to the guaranteed triggerment of Francis) actual news, with actual facts, was broadcasted night and day. They both had a hard time not laughing, knowing Francis would probably explode if he saw them watching it.

   Currently, they were covering the last of the national headlines: rural counties of California suing the larger cities for their attempts at white-voter suppression and threats to separate from the Union if the Democrat candidate loses. Arnold turned it up to the minimum needed to listen clearly.

   “Francis would probably get nightmares if he could hear this from his room,” Arnold joked.

   “How much ‘til he could?” Cody asked.

   Arnold thought for a moment. “Just a little louder. Not much.”

   Cody jutted his chin at the remote. “Do it.”

   Arnold looked toward Francis’ room, his grin widening into a smile. He was really starting to like Cody. He tapped the Vol+ button a few times.

   The show moved from the headlines back to their featured programming, a host talking about how well President Trump handled a new set of severe hurricanes devastating the gulf. The bottom-scroll was forecasting years certain areas would take to recover, as well as current damage estimates. The future was looking pretty grim for them.

   “I’m here with my guest,” the host said, “and he’s here to help shed a little light on the current subject.” He turned to the man he’d mentioned, further down the desk. “So, obviously our hearts go out to all the families affected by the wave of three Category 3 hurricanes that hit the gulf, and it’s already been announced that the names used for them have been struck from the books. How do you grade President Trump’s reaction to these storms?”

   “A+,” the guest said quickly. “Absolutely. From the get-go, he helped the local governors mobilize their National Guards to aid evacuations, and immediately began diverting funds to help the areas recover. He’s been speaking with local community leaders to see which infrastructures will need to be focused on to get the areas habitable fast, such as what waterlines need to be repaired. His response has been rapid and generous.”

   “You know, a President’s response to a natural disaster of this proportion always seems to make-or-break approval of him,” the host observed. “Let’s not forget how Puerto Rico was devastated by hurricanes Irma and Maria back in 2017. Obviously, the left jumped on the chance to try to break President Trump’s approval-rating then, didn’t they?”

   The screen turned to an image of the mayor of San Juan, Puerto Rico. She stood beside a reporter, talking into a microphone held out for her. Wearing a blue ball-cap and a pair of safety-goggles meant to imply she was actually doing anything for her people, she spoke in front of a mountain of supplies. Plastic-wrapped boxes and bins alike, they contained emergency rations, cases of fresh, bottled water, blankets, fuel, batteries, and hundreds of thousands of other items needed for the community to help it recover from the disaster it’d faced… almost three years before. The supplies were surrounded by armed guards, who pointed their weapons at the zombie-like citizens reaching out for the aid that wasn’t being passed to them.

   "We are dying, and you are killing us with the inefficiency and the bureaucracy," the mayor said into the microphone, repeating her past claims. “It’s been years, but we’ve gotten nothing from President Trump!”

   “What about all that food and equipment behind you?” the reporter asked.

   The mayor looked over her shoulder in surprise, as if noticing the relief-aid for the first time. “Oh, that? Ignore that stuff.”

   She stood there, looking into the camera as if she’d made some grand gesture against the President. One of the men yelled “Open fire!” and she ignored the sudden bursts of gunfire from the guards and the following screams of her citizens.

   “See?” she asked. “Killing us.”

   The screen returned to the host, whose eyebrow was furrowed in judgement of the mayor’s lack of action.

   “Yes, nothing indeed,” the host said, his tone floating in a sea of sarcasm. “And guess who the Dems blame for these recent hurricanes? Did I really need to ask? Yes, they blame President Trump. Now, did they offer any scientific evidence to this? Any claim that his removal of the U.S. from the Paris agreement might’ve had an impact? You know, the debunked arguments of the past? Of course not. Instead, they twisted their prior predictions to push the end of the world out by another few years. Amazingly, it stops right when they predict a Democrat will take office again. Funny how that works, right? As far as Trump, they just said him being in office was enough, like it somehow upset Mommy Earth.”

   His guest chimed in. “At this point, China and India are belching more green-house gasses into the atmosphere than the rest of the world combined. That’s the pollution that’s destroying the world’s climate, all due to the allowances of the Paris Climate accords, but all the Libs seem concerned about is blaming Trump for average hurricanes.

   “Let’s not forget,” his guest added, “these are the same alarmists who always come out when there’s a Republican in office and shout how the world will end, except it never does. Climate-change fear-mongers are the left’s version of the right’s Doom’s Day watchers. Both claim to have evidence-based conclusions, yet scientist with contradicting info isn’t allowed anywhere near their summits, and always prove to be wrong. They both even believe it with the fervor of a religion. The left just fools itself into thinking they’re right because it’s ‘science,’ which they’ve convinced everyone is their thing. As if a political aisle can own study of the world.”

   “Except science is defined as the intellectual and practical activity encompassing the systematic study of the structure and behavior of the physical and natural world through observation and experiment,” the host said. “Religious zealots can study something in a systematic way. They’re scholars, which just means they’re intellectual about the Bible. Breaking it all down, there’s nothing unscientific about what religious scholars do and what the left’s alarmists do.”

   “Well, I think there’s a difference,” the guest said. “A big one. The difference between them is the religious scholars admit they were wrong and go back to see what they missed. The fear-mongers of the left scream that the end not happening somehow makes them correct anyway, then cherry-picks the evidence to support their foregone conclusion. It’s exactly the approach a conspiracy-theorist takes.”

   “It’s like they forget hurricanes have happened before the first fossil fuel was burnt, way before Trump was even born,” the host said. “Then again, history is white supremacist, isn’t it?”

   “Facts, b*tches,” Cody remarked.

   “I don’t think Democrats realize how science works,” the host joked.

    Arnold and Cody looked at each other, then glanced at Francis’ room. Together, they broke out laughing.

Author's Note

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