[a fictional story inspired by an old Bugs Bunny cartoon in which hats fall from the sky and instantly change Bugs and Elmer’s personalities when they land on their heads]
Fucking fascists!, I thought as I pulled out my can of pepper spray and ran toward the group of far-right Proud Boys on their way to the local pro-gun rally. It wasn’t scheduled to actually start for an hour, and I was determined to keep as many people as possible from attending it.
I knew my thin arms didn’t have enough muscle mass to actually hurt any of these bigger men--and that was good with me. I was happy that I was thin. It made me look genderfluid, and it helped for when I did drag shows on the weekends. That’s why I had the pepper spray with me, though.
The pepper spray that got clogged as soon as I got within spraying distance of those fascist goons.
The biggest one, whom I would learn was named Mitch, grabbed me before I could run away. “Well, well, what kind of antifa fag have we got here, boys?”
I struggled against him, but couldn’t break free. “Just let me go!” I screamed. “I promise I’ll leave and not bother you again!”
Mitch laughed and pivoted me around so that I was facing the rest of his gang. There were seven of them, dressed in identical black polos with yellow piping and either jeans or cargo pants. All of them wore bright red MAGA hats. A couple had tattoos on their muscled arms, and most had some type of facial hair.
He pinned my arms behind me and used one leg to immobilize mine so that I didn’t even have the chance to kick at him to get away. “Yeah, we could let you go, little man. I’m not certain I believe that you’ll just leave us alone, though.”
One of the bearded thugs spoke up, his deep voice rumbling out, “How do we know you’re not with a bunch of other antifa around here? You’ll just go with them to the cops and make up a story about how we harassed you. And you’ll leave out the part where you were going to pepper spray us because you’re not man enough to actually fight.”
“No, honest, I swear that I’m here alone!” I lied. It was true that the rest of my group was also in the area, but they were a few streets over. I was due to meet up with them soon.
“Maybe you are, and maybe you aren’t,” Mitch said. I looked over my shoulder and up at him, watching him smile through his own thick beard. “Maybe you’d like to come to the rally with us.”
“Um, no--no, thanks,” I stammered out. “Really, I’ll just go home.”
“Nah, I think you should come with us. Who knows? We might even change your mind about a few things.” Spinning me around to face him, he pulled off the black scarf I had tied around my face to mask my identity and threw it onto the sidewalk. “And you shouldn’t be ashamed of who you are. There’s a reason we’re called ‘Proud Boys.’”
I felt my heart sinking, but I knew that as we got closer to the rally, they’d probably get distracted, and I could get away from them. Either that, or my friends would attack and I could slip away.
I decided to give it one last try. “But… I’m not a Proud Boy.”
Mitch snapped his fingers in mock surprise. “That’s right! You’re not.” He turned to the guy standing closest to him, his arms completely covered in tattoos. “Hand me the hat, Tom.”
Tattooed Tom reached into the backpack he had with him and pulled out a bright red MAGA hat. It looked like the ones all the fascists around me were wearing except that it had a black band around the back of it.
He handed the hat to Mitch. “Now hold still, boy. I’m just going to slip this on your head.”
I snapped and started struggling more violently than ever. “Fuck off, you fucking fascist Nazi scum! I’m not wearing that fucking hat from that fucking dictator! I’d rather die than show support for that monster that you fuckers—” He slammed the hat down onto my head.
I stopped struggling and shook my head, dazed, a couple of times. I looked around at my boys and then glanced up at Mitch, the bill of my hat brushing the bottom of his ever-growing beard. “What the fuck, Mitch? Let go of me, or we’ll be late to the rally. We still don’t know if we’re going to have to deal with any antifa scum before we get there.”
“Sorry about that, John. Just didn’t want you to fall after you tripped over that scarf on the sidewalk there.”
“Oh, thanks, man! I didn’t even realized I’d tripped.”
“No problem, bro. Are you still coming out with us after the rally so you can get your tattoo and become a 3rd degree Proud Boy?”
“Absolutely, Mitch! After all, I am a proud western chauvinist and I refuse to apologize for creating the modern world. I’m always proud to tell the world that I’m a Proud Boy.”
Tom slung his muscled arm across my back. “Love your enthusiasm, John! We’ll go to the tattoo parlor that does mine. It’s the best in the city. After that, we’ll all go out drinking, and tomorrow morning you need to start joining me at the gym for some training. We’ve got to man you up and get rid of those twiggy arms. You could pass for some kind of tranny.”
I pushed him away from me, feeling a surge of testosterone coming from my balls. “Fuck off, man. You know I just never had the chance to work out when I was a teenager or in high school.”
Mitch stepped between us.
“John, calm down. I’m certain Tom didn’t mean anything by that. He knows you’re a man, a real, conservative man, where it counts. In your head. He just wants to help you build your body up to match the Republican alpha you are inside.”
I shook my head. “Sorry, Tom. I’ve just been feeling really self-conscious lately about how much I look like a sissy.”
Mitch smiled, and we all started walking again toward the rally. “Don’t worry about that, John. I have a feeling that over the next few days, the testosterone is going to start flowing like never before. You already look like you’ve got some five-o’clock shadow on your chin, and it’s only noon.”
My hand flew up to my face and felt a rough patch. I smiled. This was going to be a good day. The rally to support my 2A rights. Getting my Proud Boy tat, and drinks with my brothers.
“MAGA! Make America Great Again!” I shouted at the top of my lungs as we continued up the street.
“MAGA!” my brothers shouted all around me.
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The MAGA Hat—Part 1
[a fictional story inspired by an old Bugs Bunny cartoon in which hats fall from the sky and instantly change Bugs and Elmer’s personalities when they land on their heads]
Fucking fascists!, I thought as I pulled out my can of pepper spray and ran toward the group of far-right Proud Boys on their way to the local pro-gun rally. It wasn’t scheduled to actually start for an hour, and I was determined to keep as many people as possible from attending it.
I knew my thin arms didn’t have enough muscle mass to actually hurt any of these bigger men--and that was good with me. I was happy that I was thin. It made me look genderfluid, and it helped for when I did drag shows on the weekends. That’s why I had the pepper spray with me, though.
The pepper spray that got clogged as soon as I got within spraying distance of those fascist goons.
The biggest one, whom I would learn was named Mitch, grabbed me before I could run away. “Well, well, what kind of antifa fag have we got here, boys?”
I struggled against him, but couldn’t break free. “Just let me go!” I screamed. “I promise I’ll leave and not bother you again!”
Mitch laughed and pivoted me around so that I was facing the rest of his gang. There were seven of them, dressed in identical black polos with yellow piping and either jeans or cargo pants. All of them wore bright red MAGA hats. A couple had tattoos on their muscled arms, and most had some type of facial hair.
He pinned my arms behind me and used one leg to immobilize mine so that I didn’t even have the chance to kick at him to get away. “Yeah, we could let you go, little man. I’m not certain I believe that you’ll just leave us alone, though.”
One of the bearded thugs spoke up, his deep voice rumbling out, “How do we know you’re not with a bunch of other antifa around here? You’ll just go with them to the cops and make up a story about how we harassed you. And you’ll leave out the part where you were going to pepper spray us because you’re not man enough to actually fight.”
“No, honest, I swear that I’m here alone!” I lied. It was true that the rest of my group was also in the area, but they were a few streets over. I was due to meet up with them soon.
“Maybe you are, and maybe you aren’t,” Mitch said. I looked over my shoulder and up at him, watching him smile through his own thick beard. “Maybe you’d like to come to the rally with us.”
“Um, no--no, thanks,” I stammered out. “Really, I’ll just go home.”
“Nah, I think you should come with us. Who knows? We might even change your mind about a few things.” Spinning me around to face him, he pulled off the black scarf I had tied around my face to mask my identity and threw it onto the sidewalk. “And you shouldn’t be ashamed of who you are. There’s a reason we’re called ‘Proud Boys.’”
I felt my heart sinking, but I knew that as we got closer to the rally, they’d probably get distracted, and I could get away from them. Either that, or my friends would attack and I could slip away.
I decided to give it one last try. “But… I’m not a Proud Boy.”
Mitch snapped his fingers in mock surprise. “That’s right! You’re not.” He turned to the guy standing closest to him, his arms completely covered in tattoos. “Hand me the hat, Tom.”
Tattooed Tom reached into the backpack he had with him and pulled out a bright red MAGA hat. It looked like the ones all the fascists around me were wearing except that it had a black band around the back of it.
He handed the hat to Mitch. “Now hold still, boy. I’m just going to slip this on your head.”
I snapped and started struggling more violently than ever. “Fuck off, you fucking fascist Nazi scum! I’m not wearing that fucking hat from that fucking dictator! I’d rather die than show support for that monster that you fuckers—” He slammed the hat down onto my head.
I stopped struggling and shook my head, dazed, a couple of times. I looked around at my boys and then glanced up at Mitch, the bill of my hat brushing the bottom of his ever-growing beard. “What the fuck, Mitch? Let go of me, or we’ll be late to the rally. We still don’t know if we’re going to have to deal with any antifa scum before we get there.”
“Sorry about that, John. Just didn’t want you to fall after you tripped over that scarf on the sidewalk there.”
“Oh, thanks, man! I didn’t even realized I’d tripped.”
“No problem, bro. Are you still coming out with us after the rally so you can get your tattoo and become a 3rd degree Proud Boy?”
“Absolutely, Mitch! After all, I am a proud western chauvinist and I refuse to apologize for creating the modern world. I’m always proud to tell the world that I’m a Proud Boy.”
Tom slung his muscled arm across my back. “Love your enthusiasm, John! We’ll go to the tattoo parlor that does mine. It’s the best in the city. After that, we’ll all go out drinking, and tomorrow morning you need to start joining me at the gym for some training. We’ve got to man you up and get rid of those twiggy arms. You could pass for some kind of tranny.”
I pushed him away from me, feeling a surge of testosterone coming from my balls. “Fuck off, man. You know I just never had the chance to work out when I was a teenager or in high school.”
Mitch stepped between us.
“John, calm down. I’m certain Tom didn’t mean anything by that. He knows you’re a man, a real, conservative man, where it counts. In your head. He just wants to help you build your body up to match the Republican alpha you are inside.”
I shook my head. “Sorry, Tom. I’ve just been feeling really self-conscious lately about how much I look like a sissy.”
Mitch smiled, and we all started walking again toward the rally. “Don’t worry about that, John. I have a feeling that over the next few days, the testosterone is going to start flowing like never before. You already look like you’ve got some five-o’clock shadow on your chin, and it’s only noon.”
My hand flew up to my face and felt a rough patch. I smiled. This was going to be a good day. The rally to support my 2A rights. Getting my Proud Boy tat, and drinks with my brothers.
“MAGA! Make America Great Again!” I shouted at the top of my lungs as we continued up the street.
“MAGA!” my brothers shouted all around me.