On February 26, 2012, George Zimmerman shot and killed a young black man, by the name of Trayvon Martin, who was walking from a convenience store back to his father’s girlfriend’s house. Martin was unarmed. Zimmerman insists that he was acting in self defense. He has not been arrested or charged with a crime as of this writing. The initial police response did not immediately check if George Zimmerman was drunk or on drugs that night. Nor did they take him to the hospital to seek medical aid for him despite his later claims that Martin assaulted him. In this piece from Anderson Cooper, Anderson lays out some of the other missteps by the police. Mr. Zimmerman, who has not publicly spoken, has had his lawyer, friends and family put out his version of what occurred that evening.
Here then is George Zimmerman’s story:
George Zimmerman was sitting in his SUV minding his own business as part of the neighborhood watch. He was being 100 and 10 percent not racist at all when he spotted a person, Who Just Happened To Be Black, walking through his gated community. Zimmerman had never seen this person Who Just Happened To Be Black and thought he was acting suspiciously because the young man was walking. Walking is always the first indication that a crime is about to happen. Zimmerman, who never, ever, would even think of judging someone by the color of their skin, called 911 (as he had 46 times in the past to report the nefarious doings of small children, like ya do) and during the course of the phone conversation accused the person Who Happened To Be Black of acting suspicious, being on drugs, and a goon. And George Zimmerman most definitely said goon and not coon. That is not George Zimmerman. Goon, remember, is a term of endearment. George Zimmerman is not a racist, just like he’s not violent. After being told by the 911 dispatcher to not leave his car, Zimmerman, who had too much love in his heart to remain still, simply had to follow this fellow Who Happened To Be Black. All he did was follow. What’s the big deal? What grown man doesn’t follow 17 year old boys? There is nothing wrong in it. It’s called standing your ground.
At some point, George Zimmerman, friend to the black race, got tired from following this person. A person, by the way, who had put up his hoodie. Wearing a hoodie is universally considered an odd thing to do. As hoodies are known to be used by witches.
In any case, George decided to return to his car. He was very peacefully sauntering back when this person who would later be revealed to be Trayvon Martin confronted HIM. The conversation went something like this:
Trayvon Martin: Why’s you all follow me? I ain’t do nothin’. Say, ain’t you Chaz Bono?
George Zimmerman: Oh, gracious. No. No. No. I’m George Zimmer–
Trayvon Martin: Fo’ reals! You dat dude from Men’s Warehouse? Say it, son! Say it!
George Zimmerman: Wait. What?
Trayvon Martin: You, know: “You’re gonna like the way you look. I guarantee it!”
George Zimmerman: Um, goodness, no. I’m with the neighborhood watch. And, of course, I meant no offense in walking behind you. I shall return now to my automobile.
Trayvon Martin: Yo, you disrespectin’ me?
George Zimmerman: What?! Of course not! Some of my best friends just happen to be black. My mother is Hispanic. I am impervious to any sort of racial bias. Here, let me return to my car. I’ll show you my autographed copy of Tavis Smiley’s The Covenant with Black America. Have you read it?
Trayvon Martin: Suck my dick! You follow me! I attack you now!
George Zimmerman: Good heavens!
Suddenly Trayvon transforms into a big, scary creature of the night. A werewolf or a vampire. Or perhaps the dreaded werepire. The youth is upon the over-200 lbs man and is pummeling him without mercy.
George Zimmerman: Halp! Halp! I have this firearm in my pocket; don’t force me to use it.
Trayvon Martin: [Continuing his vicious, horrible, and not at all nice assault] Me no care! Go ahead and shoot gun. I am out of control animal! No doubt from all that marijuana I smoke! And the iced tea I drank! And the Skittles I nom on, son! BWAHAHA!
George Zimmerman: Skittles, no! You leave me with no choice! Forgive me, God!
Zimmerman shoots Martin in the chest.
George Zimmerman: Boo Hoo. Sob. Sob. I have taken another life with a weapon I only carried around for its warmth and never with the hope that I would one day use it. I am in such pain, however will I make it through another day?
Cop: What’s happening?
George Zimmerman: This person, whose race is completely irrelevant, attacked me. I had to shoot him in self defense. You believe me, don’t you officer?
Cop: Of course, whenever someone is shot, law enforcement normally takes the word of the person doing the shooting. It only makes sense. Dead people can’t talk. I’ll have to take your firearm, though. Sorry. You’ll get it back, but — you know what? Here, take this .357 Magnum in the meantime. I’d hate to leave you totally defenseless against teenage werepires with iced tea and Skittles. We’ll have to take you in for a bit, do some silly paperwork, but you should be home in time for “The X Factor.” Cool?
George Zimmerman: Thank you, officer. You wouldn’t believe how exhausting this whole evening has been.
They get in the police car and drive away. Trayvon’s blood, meanwhile, seeps into the ground, mixing with the iced tea and Skittles — which, unbeknownst to the two men, is how more werepires are made!
Dun! Dun! Dun! No, really, it’s done. Over. End. Fin.