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“The truth is yo and I is playin against teams — large, well-organized teams that don give a hind-end whether you and me live or die.”

Hardworking redneck Bubba Gray has become obsolete in a United States of Rainbowstan where ‘pre-citizens’ surge the borders, purple-haired PC school-marms make the rules, and reckless smart-alec robots drive exploding taxis. As others compete to be the most Woke, Bubba just tries to get through his day without committing microaggressions, until one day he gets mad as hell and decides he’s not gonna take it anymore — with unpredictable consequences for everyone.

Surrounded by hilarious, larger than life characters, Everyman Bubba needs to find a new team if he doesn’t want to keep playing on the losing side. With a laugh on every page, JIHAD BUBBA is an insightful satire of modern Wokeness.



Bubba stood still, listening to each word. In other words, he was too close to sneak away without drawing attention from the Black Bot Cops, in case the turbaned Janus robot had decided to launch a manhunt for its non-paying customer.

“I guess you’re just as scared as the rest of us. . .” Bubba heard the pale-male, dark-haired, blue-eyed, blue-suited interviewer say as he thrust a microphone in the face of the ersatz-female robot. The pale-female domestic robot shook her imitation hips and wagged a finger, possessing all five per hand for a change. “I’m scared! I’m terrorized! I no longer feel comfortable in my own park. They’re nooses hangin in every tree!”

Bubba and the interviewer looked around. No trees.

“And in garages!”

They looked around. No garages.

“Well, I feel them everywhere anyway,” the domestic added.

The interviewer nodded. “Nooses or not, citizen, I’m sure you have every justification for being scared and outraged.”

“That’s right, citizen Media-man. Mah children cain’t go to school without bein bullied and losin their lunch money.”

This was too much even for the interviewer. “Except, citizen, you’re a robot. You have no children.”

“Speakin figuratively, suh.” The robot produced a fan and fanned herself like a Southern belle. “And, by the way, Mister Media-man, it is racist to suggest that a black bot cannot have the same rights as a white bot.” The domestic was getting testy as the latest ‘media interview’ subroutines installed.

“But white robots have no children either.” The interviewer thrust the microphone back under the domestic’s nose.

“And well they shouldn’t!” yelled the domestic into the mic. “But that don’t affect mah rights to do whatever I want with my own body.” She frowned and wiggled her robot hips as an ‘in your face’ to the interviewer.

The interviewer scratched his head. The camera was still rolling. “But you yourself are a white robot, citizen. You were not built black.”

The domestic’s eyes opened wider and its mechanical—but very pretty—mouth opened in shock. “I do believe, kind citizen Suh, that you have said somethin racist again.” She primly straightened her sleeves, her artificial cleavage shouting canny valley as much as her pretty face. “The impo’tant thing is I feel black.”

The interviewer retrieved his microphone for the wrap-up. He turned to the camera. “And there you have it, citizens. Another great crime inflicted by racists has been uncovered by Yours Truly right here in the heart of our great city of Rainbowville.” His eyes bugged out as his voice raised. “Are your children safe? Are your children equal? Please, hurry to the closest Mother Earth Shrine, take a knee with the crowd of believers, and ask absolution from the nearest carrier of Holy Melanin. As a good citizen, I implore our Fair and Just Society to implant Sacred Melanin into the skin of every poor melanin-deprived white human and white robot to prevent more tragedies like what this poor citizen Robot has suffered here in Robert Mugabe Democracy Park.” The interviewer dropped to one knee. “I pledge myself to be first in line to accept my Holy Melanin Injection!” From his kneeling position, he held out a fisted arm as if attending an English class or a football game.

Behind the interviewer, the Homeless Whisperer was still resisting the assaults of the homeless man in his pursuit of two dolla—both of them mocked by the grinning mime who threw air punches favoring whoever was currently winning. Several of the rainbow joggers in work-boots detoured around the three to avoid ‘getting involved’, carrying copper wire and several electric drills which they had ‘reparationed’ from open garages and work sites.



“Do not read this book straight through. Read it until you burst out laughing. . .Science fiction consists in taking recognizable characters, or archetypes, from the Present and inserting them into a future that is invented or predicted by the writer. In the case of Jihad Bubba, our protagonist is a divorced middle-aged redneck mechanic, and augmented him for the future. One could say that the Future, much like alcohol, only makes you more of what you are. The Good Writer giveth and the Good Writer taketh away. . .The mobile home That Bubba lives in is not empty, He shares it with his wife, child, and at least one other relation lives with him. This is a ridiculous situation as his wife not only owns the trailer in which he lives but also the house in which he used to live.

The great Internet giants of our time have finally merged into one great tyrant called GoogFaceTwit; And similarly. . . the semi-literate regional accent has merged into one lowest common denominator version of English that anyone can learn. Bubba may have a default southern drawl, but he and everyone around him Fritz easily back and forth between highly colloquialized and regionally accented versions of the English language. One society at last! Television is not only still on the air, it is mandatory viewing by the government and also being used for continuing education. In fact, long dead–and still thoroughly obnoxious– talk show hosts. . .are used to teach. . .College sociology.

Bubba and his wife no longer argue about who will do the cooking and the cleaning, they argue about who will tell the robot to do the cooking and the cleaning. Bubba’s morbidly obese to the point of being wheelchair-bound [ex-] mother-in-law. . .gorge[s] herself on crawdaddies and canned beer. Commuting has been rendered [into a] death-defying act of a superhuman by the Janus, a self-driving car that looks the same from the front as from the rear. This would seem to be a reference to Runaway, a futuristic cop movie starring Tom Selleck about cops dealing with runaway robots and the homicidal hackers who use them for homicidal purposes. The book itself can be seen as a sort of futuristic parody of Falling Down.”  –David M. (5 stars)