Note: GFO is neo-ebonic for "Getting da Fuck Out," a euphemism for fleeing the ghetto into what will become the ghetto after enough GFOs settle outside of their indigenous habitat.

Uber Joe has been doing well as an Uber driver, making up to $800 per a week, but sustaining a lot of wear and tear on his car, changing his oil every three weeks. He has been troubled by the fact that he makes most of his money in the City, a frightful place for a rural man. In fact, he told me that he has five customers on my street, White Avenue, which is only two miles long. His customers all come from the Cedonia end of the street, which is where four Dindu hordesmen tried to run me down and make paleface soufflé out of me this time last year. He informs me that his City customers—and many of those in Baltimore County—are paying out Uber money so that they don’t have to take the bus, that it is just too dangerous, especially at night.

I have stressed the Race Purge since it began 18 months ago, being primarily a targeting of palefaces on foot and in parked cars by Dindus. However, although the Dindu horde does discriminate, if they find themselves short of paleface prey they do not procrastinate, but strike down non-aligned negro kind, especially those of a law-abiding mind.

Before getting to the particulars of being an Uber driver, Joe did have one humorous story for me. Money Boy Trove, a self-styled rapper [who better not get popular or he will join the long list of slain Harm City Hip Hop aspirants] was thrilled to get a lift with Uber Joe. Joe had been dropping Money Boy Trove off in Lower Park Heights, up the hill from Pimlico [scene of my fictional masterpiece A White Christmas]. But on this occasion Money Boy Trove announced that he was living the hood-free life out Riesterstown Road, miles into the county—“all civilized en shit.”

Uber Joe had never been to this portion of the West Baltimore extension and was thrilled to notice “Amish people crawling all over the place,” and blurted, “Oh, I know there’s got to be someplace good to eat out here. Look at all these Amish. I go to Amish markets up in PA all the time?”

Money Boy Trove piped up, “What da fuck a Amish?”

Uber Joe pointed to a number of thin men, with black hats and white shirts, and beards walking down the street and Money Boy Trove, corrected him, “I don’ know what da hell a Amish is, but dese fuckin’ Jews, yo, not da kine dat get yo charges dropped in court, but dem weird-ass kinna Jew.”

Uber Joe was amazed at this anthropological find and said to me, “Look, I’m just a Harford County redneck. But let me ask you, who is imitating who, are the Jews dressing up like Amish or the other way around?”

I informed Joe that the Amish were essentially the latecomers to low-tech living and the Jews were the real ancient article.