"Who is that?" asked Miles.

"That's our neighbor," replied Joe Biden.

"Our neighbor?" said Miles. "LOOK AT HIS SKIN!"

"He's not a BIPOC, he's our neighbor," said Joe.

"Oh my god, he has the same skin color as me!" said Miles. He realized his mistake.

"Look, he's trying to help us!" said Joe. "Let's thank him."

"Thank him for what?"

"For putting out the fire!"

"But he doesn't have any clothes on!"

"He can wear his underwear under his clothes!"

"NO HE CAN'T!" shouted Miles. "Why would he want to do that?!"

"Because he's a BIPOC!"

"That's right," said Joe. "And that makes him better than us."

"Biden, what the frick are you talking about. You're r-slurred."

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes you are! I've known you since we were kids, and you've always been stupid."

"I am NOT STUPID!" he shouted.

"If you're not stupid, then why do you keep saying that he isn't wearing any clothes?"

"He can't wear clothes!"

"So he's naked?"

"Of course he's fricking NAKED!"

"Then why does he have a shirt on?"

"SHUT UP, FRICKING R-SLUR!" shouted Miles. The man stopped spraying the water on the house and looked down at Miles. He was a very muscular black man with tattoos everywhere. Why they took him as a white person earlier, they did not know. Perhaps it was another of the jewish ZOG's tricks. Maybe they were supposed to make them think that blacks were all skinny and nerdy. But this man was built like a brick shithouse.

"What the frick are you looking at, c*ntface?" he shouted.

"Hey, I'm sorry," said Miles. "I didn't mean to call you names."

"Frick you, motherlover. Now get the frick outta here before I beat your butt."

"I'm sorry," repeated Miles. "I shouldn't have called you names." He grabbed his rifle and pointed it at the man's chest, but then he lowered his weapon.

"You ain't gonna shoot me, peepeesucker. Go ahead and try. See if I care."

"I didn't want to hurt you."

"Don't worry," replied the man. "It'll be a pleasure to kill you."

"What do you mean by that?" He was pissing his pants at the sight of such an imposing, black figure towering over his 5'6'' dispostion.

"I mean that it'll be a real pleasure to kill you," replied the black man.

Miles sighed and lowered his gun. He probably would've retaliated before he pulled the trigger, anyway. "Okay, I'm leaving now."

"Good. I hate you, and I hope you die. I'll make sure to send them here to kill you once I'm done with you."

"Who are you talking about?"

"The "BIPOCs". The ones who will come here to kill you."

"What the frick are you talking about?"

"BIPOCs, you dumbass. That's what I said. BIPOCs. They're going to murder you and r*pe your wife. And you won't do a darn thing about it, white boi."

"How could they possibly come here? They live thousands of miles away."

"I don't know. Maybe some of them will walk all the way here. It wouldn't surprise me."

"What the heck are you talking about? How could they come here?"

"Don't you remember? That's what they told you: "America is a country of immigrants. America is the melting pot. Immigrants come to America to build something new. They come to America to make something better. They come to America to make America great again. They came to America because of freedom. They came to America because of opportunity. They came to America because of the American dream. It's a land of dreams, and they're here to fulfill theirs."

Miles looked around at the burning buildings and the bodies lying on the ground. Everyone was dead except for Miles, Joe Biden, and the glowBIPOC. As far as he could tell, no one else was still alive. He saw the bodies of the zogbots, the cyper-CIA sissies who were only there to control the population. Miles decided that they needed to survive, so he started walking down the street toward a gas station with Joe. The gasoline tanks were still intact, though they had already caught fire and caused some minor explosions. Miles and Joe opened the doors, and the two of them climbed inside the car and closed the door behind them. They needed to escape the bluepill's area of effect in order to truly unlock their schizo chakras again. They would need to go to Hyperborea.

"There's no way we'll make it," said Joe.

"We'll just drive until we run out of fuel. Hyperborea can't be that far."

"It's more than 2,000 miles away."

"Well, shit. How are we gonna ascend to our godlike nordic alien shapeshifting forms now?"

"Well, I guess we'll just have to find a safe place to hide."

"Not for long, you idiot. We've gotta be out of here by tomorrow morning."

"Why?"

"Because that's when the BIPOCs are gonna come to kill us."

"The BIPOCs?"

"Yes. Don't you remember? They said that they're going to come here and kill us. They planted microchips to track us inside the vaccines."

"Well, they're not here yet, are they?"

"No," replied Miles. "They're probably still in Africa. Or India. Or maybe South America."

"Where do BIPOCs REALLY come from? I know you're being facetious, you know this stuff, dude."

"They come from Africa, duh."

"No, really. Where?"

"Africa," replied Miles. "They come from Africa."

"This is getting ridiculous," replied Joe. He never knew that the racial jungles were truly Africa's fault. For this, he thought, Africa would have to pay dearly.

"What do you mean?" asked Miles. "I'm serious. They don't come from anywhere else."

"Dude, that's racist. I mean, I'm not a BIPOC, so I shouldn't be offended, but it is offensive." His brain was under the bluepilling effect, and it clearly showed in this moment.

"I'm not being racist," replied Miles. "I'm telling you the truth."

"No you're not. They come from somewhere else. I know it. You know it."

"Look, if you believe that, then you're a BIPOC too. That's the facts."

"You're a racist!" screamed Joe.

"No, you are!"

"YES I AM!" shouted Miles. "And you're a fricking BIPOC!"

As soon as the two of them got into a shouting match, a couple of GlowBIPOCs appeared in front of the car. They were armed with knives and guns, and they were obviously pissed off. Miles put his hand on the gun in the glove compartment. He didn't know how to use it, but he figured that it would be enough firepower to kill a couple of glowBIPOCs. Terry Davis taught him well, he thought. But then he remembered, you need to run them over, that's what you do. If he tried to shoot them with his rifle, he might miss and hit himself or Joe Biden. He glanced back at his friend.

"Joe, hold on tight, imma run em over."

"Hold on what?" asked Joe.

"I'm gonna run em over!"

"No, you aren't. You're just gonna get shot."

He started the car anyways, and drove towards the glowBIPOCs, their unnatural radiance permeating the evening light. One of the glowBIPOCs aimed his rifle, and Miles saw that he was completely blacked. He put the car in reverse. The first glowBIPOC fell to the ground, dead. Then Miles hit the gas, and he ran over the second one.

"Are you okay?" asked Joe.

"Yeah, I'm fine," replied Miles. He turned around and saw that the third glowBIPOC was aiming his gun at him. He ducked while putting the car in reverse and ran the third one over while it shot at the car.

"Hey, that was close," said Joe.

"That's the last of them," said Miles. "Now we can finally go to Hyperborea."

"Hyperborea?" asked Joe.

"That's right, Jack. Now we can ascend to our true schizo forms."

"Oh, right. Yeah, let's do that."

"Thanks, Joe. I owe you one."

"I don't want anything from you."

"Bullshit. You always wanted to frick my wife."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

"I knew that you were a BIPOC. And I knew that you had a big peepee."

"Frick you."

After that, Miles and Joe continued to drive to Hyperborea, where they finally ascended to their nordic chad schizobeings of pure enlightenment, free from the persecuting thoughts of BIPOCs. And they were finally, truly, happy.

END.