The Good Employee – Part 2: Genetics are a Globalist Plot

After work that day, Diego and Antonio drove to Phillip’s house, where they spit into the vials of the DNA kits and mailed them in. Work was uneventful for the next six weeks. When the DNA results finally came in, Diego, Antonio, and Phillip brought their envelopes into the break room. All three men had smug looks on their faces. Diego and Antonio were fully expecting Phillip to find a smidgen of African or Arab in his genes. Phillip fully expected to find himself to be fully Nordic European.

“I’ll show my ancestry first,” Antonio said. He opened the envelope and read the results. “Alright, 86% is from Spain, 7% is from Portugal, 4% is from Italy, and 3% is West African. Well, it’s about what I expected, but still cool to know. There’s more details and stuff, but I’ll leave that for later.”

“Me next,” Diego chimed in. He opened the envelope and read the results. “Alright, 42% is Spanish, 41% is Chinese, 7% is Indigenous Americas, 5% is Korean, 4% is Japanese, and 1% is Other. So small they probably couldn’t get it exact. Well, that’s cool to know! Didn’t realize I’d have a bit of Japanese and Korean in me.”

“Alright, prepare to pay up,” Phillip roared. He opened up his envelope. As he read the results, a wave of shock ripped through his body. His chest seized up, and his breathing was cut short.

“What’s wrong?” Antonio asked. “You don’t look too good.”

“I’m fine,” Phillip stammered, his hands trembling. He picked up the results and looked to Antonio and Diego. “It says 75% French and 25% Arab.”

Antonio and Diego turned to each other and laughed. They stopped when they realized Phillip seemed to legitimately be stricken with some sort of anxiety.

“Hey, buddy,” Diego said, putting his hand on Phillip’s shoulder. “France is Western Europe. A deal’s a deal. We’ll pay up.”

“No, I owe you,” Phillip cried. He pointed to the results. The 25% Arab was specifically from Lebanon, a former French colony. The other 75% was indeed French, but the entirety of the current polity of France. Of this, the majority was from the island of Corsica.

“Hey,” Antonio said. “If you’re really that hurt, we’ll pay up, man. Corsica’s part of France now. We’ll count it as west.”

“It’s not about the money!” Phillip shrieked. He pulled out his wallet and ripped out two $100 bills for Antonio and Diego. “I don’t give a shit about paying you two! The point is I’m a FUCKING MED!”

Phillip called out sick and went home early. At home, he called up his parents, Louis and Marie Norman in Lacombe, Louisiana, and told them about the DNA results. He demanded to know the truth, and his parents told him the story.

Phillip’s maternal grandfather, Cesar Bouchard, was a Corsican child who was adopted by a Norman couple, the Bouchards, who had moved to Corsica to enjoy the Mediterranean climate. Phillip’s paternal grandfather was born, Giovanni Brigante who was born and raised Corsican. Cesar and Giovanni were French soldiers who fought together for Vichy France. Cesar married Amelie Gemayel, a Maronite Catholic from Lebanon, and Giovanni married Teresa Ramolino, his childhood sweetheart from Corsica.

After the war, both couples moved to America, where they settled down in Denham Springs, Louisiana. Giovanni and Teresa, worried that they would incur post-war discrimination against Italians (which Corsicans were a completely different group and had no relation to), changed their names to Jean Norman and Therese Rollon in order to sound less Italian, and also to honor Cesar’s adoptive Norman heritage.

Cesar and Amelie had their only daughter, Marie Bouchard, and Jean and Teresa had their only son, Louis Norman. Louis and Marie were close childhood friends and ended up getting married, and they had Phillip in 1988. Growing up, they were always told they were pure French Nords, so they passed that on to Phillip. It was only until recently that they learned the truth, and they kept it from Phillip out of shame.

The next day at work, Phillip came disheveled and unkempt, in the same clothes he had gone to work in. He got stares from all his coworkers, but he ignored them.

“Hey buddy,” Antonio laughed as Phillip walked by his office. “Walk of shame, huh? Did you hook up with an Arab chick or something?”

“No…” Phillip uttered, not looking at Antonio. He kept walking past, until he made it to Claire’s office.

“Um, hello, Phillip,” Claire asked, confused. “Is everything okay? You look unhealthy.”

“Claire,” Phillip began. “Have you ever done one of those DNA tests?”

“As a matter of fact, I have.” Claire stood up enthusiastically and walked towards Phillip. “It turned out I was 76% English, 21% Welsh, and 3% German. Did your results come in?”

Phillip disregarded her last question, but his eyes widened when he heard of her genetic makeup. He dropped to his knees and began kissing her feet.

“My white queen!” Phillip yelled out. “I live to serve you, my white queen!

“What the hell, Phillip?” Claire shrieked. Phillip ignored her screams and laid down, removing one of her shoes and pressing the sole of her foot against his face.

“Step on me, queen! Stomp on my face! Put me out of my fucking misery!”

After this incident, Phillip was immediately fired for sexual harassment. An investigation into his work computer found he actively visited and posted on the website Stormfront, where he went by the username VichyNormandy1488, as well as a folder of 15 GB of foot fetish pornography. It was almost impossible for Phillip to find a job anywhere else, as the event became publicized in local news as the “Nazi Footlicker.”

The day after, Phillip sat depressed in his house when he heard a knock. He answered to find Antonio and Diego at his front porch, holding Styrofoam to go boxes of takeout food.

“What do you two want?” Phillip sneered.

“We heard what happened at work,” Antonio said. “And, well, we wanted to apologize, cause we kind of goaded you into this whole mental breakdown you had. So we brought some food, to make you feel better.”

“Aw thanks,” Phillip weakly smiled. “What kind of food?”

“Open and see,” Diego said. “But we promise it’s good.”

Phillip nodded and the two boxes. He opened one to find a platter of assorted pasta, spaghetti, fettuccine, tortellini, and lasagna, with a tiny Italian flag poking out. The other one was a platter of shawarma, falafel, and hummus, with a tiny Lebanese flag poking out.

“Gotcha!” Antonio shouted.

“Fucking Nazi!” Diego laughed. Phillip roared in fury and chased the two of them out, attempting to beat them with a broom. When they got away, he returned to his house and cried, scarfing down both platters and feeling immediate shame from it. In tears, he ran outside and picked up a snail from the sidewalk. He threw it onto a frying pan, dousing it in butter and garlic, in an attempt to make escargot and prove that he truly was French. Unfortunately, the snail he grabbed was known as Achatina fulica, or more commonly the giant African land snail, an invasive species to Florida whose slime contained parasites that were toxic to humans. On top of this, Phillip did not cook the snail properly, and thus consumed all the toxic parasites in the snail’s slime.

Phillip Norman was found dead at the age of 32. A small funeral was held in his hometown of Denham Springs, Louisiana, which was attended by prominent figures such as David Duke, Jean-Marie Le Pen, Matteo Salvini, and Bashar al-Assad, who commented that “though he was in denial of his Arab heritage, the Arab people are proud to have such a rebel against the international Zionist cabal amongst our ranks.” In American workplace culture, he was immortalized as the Nazi Footlicker.