As the clock struck ten, college sophomore Trevor J. Bridgeport found himself completely alone in the museum of the Confederacy, his first day of his summer internship as a night security guard. By ten o’ five, he was bored out of his mind, and starting to fall asleep.
“Oh man, all this Confederate History is just so irrelevant. Maybe I’ll just take a quick… nap…”
But as soon as he closed his eyes, he heard a dull THUD. It sounded like a piece of metal hitting the floor. Then he heard another, and another. It almost sounded like… footsteps?
“Hello? Is anyone there?” Trevor called out into the darkness.
“At ease, soldier,” a booming voice echoed from the museum’s main hall.
Trevor rounded the corner and froze. Standing boldly in the middle of the hallway was a white-haired man, looking stern and dignified in his immaculate gray uniform, and riding atop a massive horse.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Robert E. Lee, General of the Army of the Confederate States of America. And this is my horse, Traveller.”
“But-but… you died over a hundred and fifty years ago! Are you a g-g-g-ghost?”
The general shook his head. “I’m not a ghost. I’m a statue who comes alive at night to teach security guards about Confederate history. What’s your name, boy?”
“Well I’m Trevor J. Bridgeport III. I’m a sophomore at Harvard University and I’m double-majoring in gender studies and cultural Marxism.”
“I’ll have to tell the other generals that we have a new night guard,” said Lee.
“You mean there are more Confederate statues that walk around at night? How is this possible?”
“It’s because of Lincoln’s curse,” said another man, one who Trevor recognized from a plaque he read earlier. It was Jefferson Davis, president of the Confederacy. “It was Lincoln who trapped us in this museum. Oh, how I wish I could challenge that scoundrel to a duel!”
“It pains us that our fellow statues are being torn down by extremists who wish to erase our noble deeds. That’s why we talk to security guards at night. To try to convince them that by removing our monuments, you are erasing history,” said General Lee.
“But my professor says that you statues should be torn down because you’re racist. Is that true?”
“No way” said General Lee. “Some of my best friends are black.”
Trevor thought about it for a moment. If someone says they have black friends, how can they possibly be racist?
Davis spoke next. “If we were so racist, why didn’t Obama tear us down? Why didn’t HE end racism?”
“That’s right,” added General Lee. “If anything, bringing up these issues is making people more racist. Why can’t they just let old disputes lie?”
“But if racism isn’t the reason people want to take you monuments down, then why is everyone making such a big deal about it?” Trevor asked.
Another figure emerged from the shadows, wearing a tightly-buttoned uniform and holding a small glass clinking with ice. “Why, the only thing monumental here is liberal hypocrisy.”
“General Beauregard, I was wondering when you’d join us,” said General Lee.
“The liberals are probably just jealous that they lost the election, and now they’re taking it out on us statues. It’s reverse racism, which is a thing that exists,” said Beauregard. “By the way, care for a mint julep?”
Trevor politely declined. His mind was racing. This was the first time he had heard such a rational, logical case laid out for the preservation of these statues– and certainly not what he learned at his “elite” college. Could it be that his professor was wrong about the statues?
“But my professor-”
Davis held up his hand. “I think we’ve heard enough from that old loon. It sounds like he doesn’t know or care about how popular and beloved we are by REAL Americans. This push to erase us is just another example of the P.C. media run amok. And it’s really, really unfair.”
Lee chuckled. “But enough of us trying to convince you. I believe that men should be free to make up their own minds. So let’s go through this door and I’ll show you how to do just that.”
Trevor nodded. He hopped up on the back of Traveller and they rode down one of the museum’s hallways. The horse and its riders stopped at an old, wooden door, which was labeled simply: Richmond, 1865.
The two men entered, and suddenly found themselves transported to the bustling city center of Richmond, Virginia, mere months after the Civil War had ended. As they made their way through a maze of muddy streets and brick buildings, Trevor watched the hard-working, noble citizens of Richmond go about their lives with determination and quiet dignity. It was a far cry from the crumbling inner cities of America today.
As they rode down the promenade, Trevor’s attention was drawn to the ethnic-looking mob of Union soldiers walking into a general store. They reminded Trevor of a modern day urban street gang, like the kind you’d see on the cover of a rap album. Trevor peered into the window and saw the degenerate soldiers harassing the clerk at the front counter. He heard one speak.
“Hi, my name is Jim Crow. I’d like one white sheet and some scissors, please. It’s for racism.” And pinned to the front of the man’s shirt was a button that said “Democrat and Proud.”
“Wait a minute,” said Trevor. “It was the Democrats who invented racism?”
“The liberal media tries to hide it, but it’s true,” said General Lee. “Now let’s go, you have much more to see. Traveller, hyah!”
The riders turned into a dark alley, and came to another door, this one labeled Charlottesville, 2017. They went through the portal, and just like that, Trevor found himself in another war zone. Only this time, the uniform blues and grays were traded for white polo shirts and black bandanas.
“Tell me what you see,” said General Lee, as the two men rode through the mobs of angry protesters crowding the downtown mall.
Trevor thought for a moment. “They all look like concerned citizens to me.”
“Not quite,” says General Lee. “Even though there are good people on both sides, it is the far-left groups like Black Lives Matter and Antifa who hell-bent on rewriting American history. They want to hijack the republic to suit their freedom-hating agendas. And by the way, they’re not even real protestors. They were paid to be here by George Soros, a globalist businessman who hates freedom.”
“But my professor said Antifa is just another political group?”
“Hardly. They would gladly bring ISIS and Shariah Law to the US if they felt it would help their cause. These people are sick losers, Trevor. Never forget that they hate America.”
“General Lee, can we go back to the museum? I’d like to get back to my safe space.”
Lee snapped his fingers and the two men were back in the museum, in the current time and the present day. Only now they were in a room that Trevor didn’t recognize. Before them stood two doors. One was bold, bright, and immaculately-painted red, with gold-trimmings and crown molding. The other was old, worn, and painted blue, with scratches and chipped paint. On it were scrawled crude messages, like “Freedom sucks” and “America slurps butts.”
Both the doors were labeled. Washington, 2050.
“Do you know which door to choose?” said General Lee.
“I don’t need a college education to figure this one out,” said Trevor.
But before he could grab the doorknob, Trevor heard a loud crashing noise coming from outside the museum. General Lee wheeled his horse out of the room, dashing through the halls to the entrance of the museum.
When they reached the front, Trevor leapt off the horse, threw open the doors, and froze in terror. Mobbing the outside of museum was a hundred-man army of paid protestors, crowded around a massive bulldozer covered in spikes. Trevor looked at the cockpit and gasped. It was being piloted by none other than left-wing billionaire and probable pedophile George Soros! Trevor, Lee, and the rest of the statues watched in horror as the crowd of sickos chanted about demolishing the innocent statues. They would likely turn to the United States Capitol next.
Trevor scanned the crowd. At the front of the mob stood a thin, dark-skinned man with a mustache. There was something so familiar about him, Trevor thought…
“Hey, that’s my college professor! The one who taught me about you statues!”
Lee seemed surprised. “Son, what did you say the name of your professor was?”
“I didn’t. But his name is Professor Orack Bobama. Why?”
“Son. I think your professor is none other than the ex-president, Barack Obama, in disguise!”
It was. And with a cool and condescending air, Obama sneered at the old General. As Trevor and General Lee looked on in shock, Obama raised his middle finger at the elder statesman, stuck it in his mouth, and projectile vomited into the crowd, who began to dance in the filth.
Meanwhile Soros was screaming hysterically at the two men while waving a stick of dynamite and cackling like a lunatic.
”You have until the count of 50 to surrender before we tear down this museum with YOU IN IT!”
Beauregard nearly dropped his mint julep. “Oh, how barbaric! How cruel!”
“General Lee, what should we do? If we don’t move quickly, they’re going to destroy our history AND our values!”
For the first time all night, Lee looked worried. “There’s nothing we can do. The curse prevents us from leaving the museum.”
“Perhaps our cause has finally been lost!” said Beauregard.
“Or maybe it isn’t,” Trevor said with a grin. To the general’s surprise, Trevor whipped out his legally-purchased firearm from its concealed holster and cocked back the hammer.
“I thought you said you were liberal!” said Davis.
“I did. But I would have to be crazy to give up my second amendment rights as guaranteed by the United States Constitution. Besides, even though I don’t believe in legal firearms, you’ve shown me today that history and culture are worth protecting.”
Trevor steadied his nerves, took a deep breath, and fired at the stick of dynamite in Soros’ hands. Jackpot! With one expertly-placed shot, the entire rig erupted in flames. George Soros screamed as the fires began to consume him. Steadying his pistol one more time, Trevor pulled the trigger again, and put an end to the pedophile Soros and his corrupt globalism once and for all.
The old generals let out a cheer. “Hooray! Hooray for victory! Hooray for old Dixie!”
“Hey Beauregard. I think I’ll have that mint julep now,” said Trevor.
And with their corrupt benefactor no longer paying for them to be there, the crowd of Antifa protesters scattered into the night. All except one.
“Obama is still standing! He’s a threat to us all!”
Trevor fired again, right on target. But instead of falling to the ground, Obama began to jerk around rapidly, and started to flicker. A second later, he disappeared completely. He was only a hologram.
“Well, he’s only one man. What harm can he do?” said Davis.
“You don’t understand. As long as he is out there, American values will never be safe.” Lee said solemnly. And deep down, Trevor knew it was true.
As Trevor and the generals turned to re-enter the museum, they saw a tall silhouette standing beside the front column. Trevor didn’t need a statue to recognize this man. It was the sixteenth and greatest President of the United States, Abraham J. Tru-I mean Lincoln.
“Gentlemen, you are emancipated from my curse. You are free to leave the museum and tell the country about your history and your brave deeds.”
Trevor turned to General Lee. “Huh. I didn’t realize that there was a Lincoln statue at the Museum of the Confederacy.”
But Trevor,” said Lee. “There IS no statue of Lincoln at the museum.”
Trevor looked over at the place where Lincoln was standing. There was no one there.