Chic Dickie, Diary Entry 6,500: Interview with The Black Ferret
Dispensing with all socially and culturally accepted preliminaries, following his signature cry of ‘Lawdy laaawd’, the first thing The Black Ferret says to Chic Dickie is:
You bein’ da predigis an’ decriminatin’ me – heh-heh-heh…
The Black Ferret’s big rubbery lips glow in a turpitude of gloom like he’s doing whiteface.
For, therefore, The Black Ferret, reply I, Chic Dickie to The Black Ferret (as this is my diary), I am not not hiring you aside from the fact that there is no job being advertised as a reporter with my superb magazine, but also not because you are black, since neither prejudice nor race-based discrimination come into play, nor can they, because –
Lawdy laaawd…
But I, Chic Dickie, a title holder and an Englishman, do not allow The Black Ferret’s wild, unprincipled, Old Black South-sounding interjections, a disgrace to the Mother Tongue, to phase me, and continue:
… because you, after all… ARE A FERRET!!!
Heh-heh-heh…
Meaning, therefore, I continue, that, black or not, I cannot be accused of discriminating against you, since, on the most basic level, you are not even A HUMAN BEING!!!
Dat, Missa Dickie, be de worsest kinda monution apersistin to the cantification a yo’ charactuh.
No need to use the big words on me, Mr. B. Ferret. That seems like the most disingenuous bit of dissimulation I’ve heard in a long time. But like I said, that’s not surprising, since you are a Ferret – and not even the original one, but a shoddy black version of the same.
Whuch you sayin’ bout’ me bein’ no Jew?!
Why, I never said a word regarding your religion – but even that’s utterly ridiculous, since you’re a Ferret, albeit a black one, and you can’t have a religion, like, like… a regular person. Mayhap you a-hearin’ tings…
Lawdy laaawd… Da Jew be a race, heh-heh, jes like me bein’ black, not jes trans sacks regilon – heh-heh-heh…
Okay, listen – I’ve accorded you a sufficient amount of my wasted time for an interview that shouldn’t even be taking place. Why? I myself will rack the depths of my being for an answer, delving endless hours into the cosmos of my heart, et cetera, but at the moment this whole preposterous scenario has me thrown for a loop. Indubitably, and in sharp variance with and stark contradistinction to my self-professed credo, I’m admittedly bamboozled. So, before getting rid of your thoroughly sorry Black Ferret ass, using different words, I shall say it again: You cannot be a representative of the Black race even though that is your color, since you are a Ferret and not a human being. And you cannot be a Jew, whether by creed or non-practicing yet so aligned through 5,000 years of genetic predisposition, since YOU ARE A FERRET, and not a human being.
Lawdy laaawd! I gots de closet ta proves it – heh-heh…
Get the hell out of here!!!
Jes ‘cause I’z De Black Ferret, is I ain’t like Closet Jews?
No.
If you puts me on de bicycle a probly, will I not backpedal,
If you akses me fo’ da tru’, will I not lie?
If you takes away my Welsh Losser, will I not cries,
An’ iffen you kills him, will he not dies?
Heh…
Welsh Losser? Which Welsh Losser?
De wunz I’z luvs!
Well, Black Ferret, that’s the BLACK!!! Welsh Losser.
Whuch you means? You decriminatin’ again! A coursen he black!
Well, no, Black Ferret, for the reason he’s called The Black Welsh Losser is because he IS The Black Welsh Losser.
Whuch you means?! Dey a whites one?!
Well, yes, except he’s not called The White Welsh Losser, but simply Welsh Losser, because he’s the original.
Lawdy laaawd!!!
That’s right – and the black one’s a derivative.
Cans The Black Ferret meets dis white one?
And that’s another thing! You’re so completely and fucking disgusting! I mean – you’re A FERRET! And yet you’re seeking intimate erogenous contact with A HUMAN BEING!!! Why don’t people just start marrying their cats and dogs?!?
Chic Dickie, Diary Entry 6,501: Interview with The Black Ferret Continued…
Is you callin’ De Black Ferret a nigga?! Heh-heh-heh…
What…???!!! … I mean… WHAT!!! are you on about?
‘Cause De Black Ferret don’ go in for no niggarin’, if dat whut you jes be dun didding…
Look, loser, line up the logic of my response, if you have half the brain in that overlarge tottering Black Ferret head of yours to so do, thusly: In the first place, I wasn’t… niggering, as you say, anyone, or, in this case, anything, and, secondly, even if I’z wuz niggarin’, it has nothing to do with you, because, black or white, you are Ferret, not person made in image of God, not human being. The sense in calling you a nigger would be like calling a cat or a dog a nigger, regardless of its color. That bad and rude word can only apply to people, which is something you’re not.
Don’ be castin’ no black man’s lot in wid de Jews…
Look who’s talking! Aaaaarrrgh!!! Like I said, neither black man nor Jew applies to you, because, and I say again for the hundredth time, YOU ARE NOT A MAN, BLACK OR JEW, YOU ARE A FERRET TO WHOM – TO WHICH – RACE AND RELIGIOUS AFFILIATION DO NOT AND CANNOT APPLY, WHO – WHICH – JUST HAPPENS TO BE THE COLOR BLACK, AND, REALLY, YOU CAN’T EVEN BE EFFECTIVELY, OR AFFECTIVELY, HOMOSEXUAL, FOR ALL OF THESE LABELS, BE THEY ODIOUS OR BENIGN, QUALIFIERS, MODIFIERS, AND CATEGORIES BELONG TO HUMANS AND CANNOT, THEREFORE, PROPERLY OR IN ANY SENSE EVER BELONG TO YOU!!!
Lawdy laaawd – you a anti-Semantic ratist – heh…
No – IIIII’M NOOOOOT…!!!
Forsooth, for those were my, Chic Dickie’s, last words, as The Black Ferret had truly thrown me for the aforesaidmentioned loop – and then he was gone.
Ends this diary entry as I hear a frenetic rush of shuffling and determined footsteps rising up behind me – like starfire…
We are now behind the high-backed leather chair on wheels in which the one we think is Chic Dickie sits. A massive mahogany desk sprawls to either side of the odd freakish figure.
His large fragile egglike head topped with a puff of red-blonde hair ticks and tocks from side to side, pings and pongs, hitting the high back of the chair either side in its weird and harrowing nonstop motion. The sickening sticklike arms flail about, as if the figure is in heated argument on the verge of violent outburst, yet we hear not a sound from its mouth.
As we observe the obtuse misshape, and although we are blind to its front, we nevertheless form an image of King Henry VIII.
Behind the grotesque figure, Outrage Reggie prepares to speak to his charge and servant, the tiny clown Binky.
Not knowing what to expect, Binky is terrified. His look up at his master Reggie is a mercy plea. We hear him shaking against the fabric of his prêt-a-porter parachute sack, by Clown Wear.
Here, in Chic Dickie’s Diary Entry 6001, Outrage Reggie finally begins to say, Dickie leaves out one metaphor, if you will, one simile, one extremely crucial conceit in describing the face of the hideous Scotsman, The Highlander Slob, otherwise known as Bodkin MacFlatus… And do you know what that conceit is, Binky?
Binky knows he must answer, for the consequences of not answering or pleading ignorance by way of obsequiously deferring to his master’s far superior mind and knowledge will be worse by far than if answering with the wrong reply.
A-a-a-a-ahhh – and shutting his little eyes tight, a stammering Binky blurts out: A BOBBY CAR SIREN!!!
After an interminable, excruciating moment of murderous silence, Outrage Reggie roars:
Why – you’re absolutely correct, my dear Binky!
Nearly losing consciousness, Binky’s face breaks out in a magenta sweat. As he regains his composure a lunatic grin rips his face open from ear to ear.
Eeeeehhh – I knew it all along! he cries.
And for that impertinence, asks Reggie of Binky, what should we do with Chic Dickie?
Shaking with excitement, Outrage Reggie stuffs the filthy rags into the thrashing egg-headed figure’s mouth as quickly as Binky hands them up out of his belt pouch. Its sickening stick arms flail about and the back of the large wobbling King Henry VIII head bangs violently against the high leather back of the chair. Binky catches the arms and presses them against the rests while Reggie finishes tying up the mouth with ropes he already had at hand. They strap the body tightly into the chair and Reggie wheels it away, through a door that opens in the wall, as Binky goes gets the tea.
Filed April 8, 2015