The Racist Tree.

But do you think Sam decided to call it even? Hell no. Social progress dont mean shit once someone calls you a nigger. Weeks ago, apples were Sam's most enjoyed snack. Had the tree given him apples then, maybe he would have let the tree off the hook. But he was older (by multiple weeks), and he had learned the evil ways of the tempting apple in Sunday school, and he had a hunch that this racist tree was really Satan in disguise, trying to tempt him out of the metaphorical Garden of Eden. Because who the hell has ever heard of a talking tree? Keeping this in mind, Sam took an apple, ate it, and enjoyed it.

"Das some gooood apple" Sam mumbled through a mouth full of sweet apple flesh.
"So are we cool now, mah dawg?" Ejaculated the racist tree, clearly trying to fit in with Sam, and failing miserably.
"Of course," lied Sam, "We tight as a Russian hooker. All water under da bridge, Mr. Sat.... I mean Racist Tree."
Little did racist tree know, Sam was actively planning his revenge.

Years passed, and, as Sam was just a wee lad, he didnt quite have the strength or intelligence to take full revenge on the Tree. Knowing this, he waited until his 16th birthday. At this time he thought he was finally ready to start his revenge on the Racist Tree, who had wronged him so many years before. Unfortunately, his muscles hadn't exactly filled out as he planned. He was a scrawny motherfucker, to say the least. Now, you may be thinking "Oh, well why doesnt he just go to the gym?." If only it were that simple, dear reader. You think he wouldn't have thought of that? Of course he did. The problem was, his family was on the poorer side. His mother stuffed pillows with feathers for a living. This could have been made a respectable living, if there wasnt one problem. That being, no one buys fuckin pillows stuffed with feathers anymore. Bad business choice if you ask me. So his mothers work was a lost cause. His father, not surprisingly, wasnt in the picture. So Sam was living off of more or less sawdust and swamp water for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
All that being said, you see Sam's problem with going to the gym. You ever tried to get a membership to Bally Total Fitness? Holy shit. Needless to say, Sam couldnt afford it. Luckily, his 16th birthday had lined up perfectly with this timeline; he had just gotten his drivers license. Where was he going with this? Well, to the mall of course. He was gonna preform his first drive-by. If he gets sent to prison, he will be able to bulk up for free, with no other distractions. The choice seemed simple. So, off Sam went. He said goodbye to his mother for the last time. His dear sweet mother who had always been there with him. He picked up the glock he had received at baptism, as all good African American children do, got in the family station wagon, and departed. He didnt even look back.
Pulling up to the mall, he saw that the city transit had just arrived. Perfect timing. This crime wasn't about the act, it was about the end result. Sam saw his target. and closed his eyes.
"You'll be my number one with a bullet" whispered Sam. A loaded God complex, cock it. and pull it.
And so he opened fire, and opened his eyes. The gun was loaded with blanks. But, all the same, a gun crime is a gun crime. Sam parked the car, got on the floor, and walked the fuckin dinosaur. Within time, the police showed up, and took Sam into custody. He didnt resist. Trial was in a few days, and Sam received 7 years of hard time, no chance of parole. Perfect.
Seven years have come and past, the innocent will never last. Same woke up when his sentence ended. Needless to say, he was one ripped son of a bitch. I mean toned. Fuckin Arnold Schwarzenegger-esque. 80s Arnold of course. Not current. Hes let himself go to say the least. Not Sam though. He was in his prime. He worked out every day in prison, 7 years straight. He was ready to show that bastard tree who was boss; that he grew in the wrong damn neighborhood. Sam left prison, thanking the guard on his way out, and went to that high hill where that bastard tree was overlooking the town. As he pulled up, an eerie storm formed over head. Thunder crashed, the wind raged, lightening struck, wind poured down in buckets, and Sam was one angry son of a bitch. He saw the tree, sitting there. Waiting. Watching. Wanting.

"I've come for you tree!" Screamed Sam over the storm.
"I know" retorted the tree out of his non-existent mouth.

Sam immediately lept into action. wasting no time. He whipped out his pistol, and his glock as well, and opened fire (no blanks this time). He unloaded clip after clip into the tree. Hundreds of rounds.

"YOU THINK YOU CAN DEFEAT ME!?" The tree exclaimed, clearly resembling the voice of the Dark Prince himself.
"I don't think so," Sam said confidently, " I KNOW so! You think you can grow in my neighbor hood and call ME a nigger. Whos the nigger now, fool"

With that, Sam emptied his last magazine into the tree. As the bullet connected, as if by divine intervention, a lighting bolt struck that Racist Tree, lighting it ablaze. It had been done the tree would die now, and pay for the wrong he had done so many years ago.

"YOU CANT HANDLE MY FUCKIN SWAG" Sam screamed towards the sky.

Sam turned, finally avenged, away from the burning tree. He felt satisfied, happy even, for the first time in 10 years.

"Well, looks like you got..." Started, putting on his cherished pristine aviator shades. "...Uprooted"
"YEAAHHHHHHH" a chorus blasted forth from the heavens, followed by one bad ass guitar riff. Sam strutted down the hill back to the family station wagon. He took one step into the street, but in his haste, didnt look both ways. A mistake. It would be his last. A speeding Pizza Hut delivery man, overworked and underpaid, had just ran a red light, and barreled his way straight into poor Sam and 60 miles per hour. He didnt stand a chance. Sam was dying. The surprised delivery man jumped out of his car, clearly shaken, and rushed Sam's side. With his last dying breath, Sam said...

"You still can't handle my fuckin swag". Sam passed slowly and quietly into to night, ascending to black-heaven.

And that, motherfuckers, is social fucking progress.