Where does The Boned Zone, in its present form, originate? The Boned Zone was once the primal place where you ended your days in the jaws of a leopard or under a slathering pack of hyenas. What we have now is an evolved predatory matrix, where you have an immediate threat and then the overall threat supporting and justifying it. Let’s use our distant ancestors as an example. For this sketch permit me to lean on a learned scholar’s academically broad shoulders.

Once upon a before hats were worn backwards and pants were worn below the butt time, Homobreakfast gets up in the morning from under the pile of hairy family members he sleeps with, picks up his sharpened femur bone, and goes down to the waterhole looking for breakfast. Once there his dimwitted ass finds out that he is breakfast for the thing that just clamped its jaws around his neck.

Ages of hairy misfortune continue. Eventually one particularly smart Homobreakfast uses his femur bone dagger to stab the leopard in the eye, killing it. He then uses his sharp rock shard to skin the leopard and becomes the leopard—an ass eating machine to reckon with! And God rewards him with the most fertile Homobreakfast honeydoll and, through her, he passes on his propensity for success, evolving eventually, by fits and starts, into us, Homoincorrectness.

Homoincorrectness wanders the asphalt and concrete savanna under a godless sky. You see, since the liberals killed God, they have set themselves up in his place. And where God once rewarded man with opportunity when he strove and survived, he is now punished.

Suppose Homoincorrectness has gotten up from sleeping underneath of his newspapers, and is wandering down to the waterhole to buy a pint of cheap vodka, whereupon he is attacked by Homoyowhazupus. Consider that Homoyowhazupus forget to bring his three friends and Homoincorrectness shoves this attacker out in front of a city bus. We might say, “good for that chump-ass thug.”

Misfortunately the liberal Mamma God is now angry that one of her retarded chillens has been bested. She sends her blue angels, armed with thunder and lightning, don’t you know, to haul Homoincorrectness off to purgatory or hell, depending on the whim of Liberal Heaven.

This would be like Homobreakfast killing that leopard that tried to eat him, only to have God yank a tree out of the ground and swat him like a fly.

And that is basically how Man went from master of all he surveys, to slave to that which rules according to the pollster’s survey.

Mister Al is a Vietnam combat veteran who came home from the war and went to work for the CSX Railroad, where he retired as an inspector. Mister Al came to me looking for a post-retirement job as he claimed he was driving his dear wife crazy being at home all the time.

I didn’t want to put an old man on merchandizing, as that’s hard work. One slot I had a hard time filling with young men was parcel-pickup, which included light janitorial work, basically racking up carts, greeting customers, helping with bags, and sweeping the floor. Young guys would inevitably use this position to deal drugs. I hit on hiring men and paying them $10 an hour to not only show up on time and do the job, but call me to the front when they spotted criminals. This made a huge difference in making the store approachable for the elderly and decent.

Mister Al was perfect: polite, dressed in a suit and tie every day, showed up 10 minutes early, gave me a security and janitorial briefing before he left, and even wore his dress uniform on Memorial Day and the Fourth of July.

Unfortunately I got a lot of flak from the owners, Andy and his Dyke sister Mandy.

Andy, the CEO, only valued black men as dick-swinging Mandingo sex objects and cocaine suppliers. Therefore a decent black man was worthless. Andy also hated the elderly for some unexplained Freudian reason.

Mandy, the CFO, only valued menacing black men, continually asking me to hire “big intimidating black men” as a shield against criminals. She also disliked hiring older men, which she referred to as “the iron lung crew” citing the potential health insurance costs.

One day this well-dressed BMW driving ghetto bitch walked by Mister Al and dropped her fast food trash on the walk just after he swept it. He bent over to pick it up, shaking his head in disgust. Seeing him shake his head sent her into a fit of rage. She went off, calling him a “nigger” and "an Uncle Tom," and threatening to “beat” his “narrow ass.” She spit on his dress slacks as well.

When she approached me about his rudeness I defended him and she threatened to have her lawyer husband “come up on me,” which I suggested would be a great idea as he could obviously use a conversation with “someone who let him get a word in edgewise.”

She walked off in a huff and contacted Andy and Mandy who wanted me to fire Mister Al to appease this bitch. I countered that we should give him a raise and bar her from the property as she was nasty to all of our employees, only purchased lottery tickets, and inconvenienced our full service customers.

We compromised by doing nothing and I gave Mister Al a $20 out of my pocket for his dry cleaning.

After I resigned Mister Al was among five other decent older people the owners got rid of. The front of the store is now an open drug market/panhandling zone, not safe for a lone woman to negotiate with her purse, just as it was before I showed up and ran the criminals off.

Andy and Mandy were the spoiled children of millionaires, who felt guilt and resentment in equal measure for their ill-earned affluence with every breath of their wretched souls.

The guilt for having it easy they attempted to divert by rewarding black criminals.

The resentment they felt for not being self sufficient they pushed down onto the heads of their struggling employees who were barely making ends meet, so that they could know the sadistic joy of seeing those who strive—as they had never had the necessity to—fail.

Andy was so sick with this sadism that he would beg me to let him fire deserving employees. When I denied him this outlet he would lash back at me by firing random employees on my day off. I once caught Andy masturbating in his office after firing a seafood clerk—who did deserve termination for theft, but not to be the object of Andy’s orgasm.

The fact that this guy, who is a respected philanthropist and champion of the black community, would literally jack off in ecstasy at the thought of some poor—black or white—dude losing his $150 dollar per week job and getting evicted from a boarding house to sleep on the sidewalk, was enough to make me wretch.

Andy and Mandy are surely extreme prurient examples of the liberal white guilt sickness that infects the degenerate ruling class of postmodern society. But their actions—to punish the decent working poor and appease the criminal poor—these actions are as old as Caesar having bread thrown to the mob at the circus even as a million slaves toiled in chains to make that bread, and is, above all, a symbol of a society in decline. And just as a society on the incline emulates the upper class, a society on the decline emulates the lower class.