Elevated Humour

Okay, I'm in an elevator along with three surly bikers, the elevator suddenly grinds to a halt mid floor. Over the intercom we're informed that help is on the way. Here goes.

Biker 1: Fuck you lookin' at gimp?

Me : Hookay, it's cool, I just have a fear of heights, sorry I meant no offence.

Biker 1: Fuckin' eyeball me man, I'll fuck you up good.

Biker 2 (eager to egg on his pal): Don't take no shit Duke.

Me (nervous): It's alright I promise my gaze just wandered.

Biker 1 (Steps toward me and adopts an aggressive pose): You call me fuckin' gay spook?

Biker 2 (Enjoying my predicament): Take him out Duke!

Biker 3 (Sweating and stinking of beer): You know who we are dick?

Me (Trying desperately to squeeze an atom of bravado from nowhere) Hey guys let me buy you a beer..

My attempt at pouring oil on troubled waters ends abruptly as Biker 1 sneers and grips my throat.

Biker 1 (Snarling and spitting in my face): You call me a fuckin' queer gimp?

Me (sweating): No (gasp), not even a little I just...offered you all a a beer that's all, here look, I have money, take it".

I desperately flash my wallet as panic takes over.

Biker 3 (Spits a huge dollop of phlegm at my face, which hits my nose with a sickly squidge): Fuckin' gonad's got bread man, lemme see that (rips wallet from my hand).

Me : Oh shit!

Biker 1 (distracted): How much Bubba?

Biker 3 (smiles showing yellow teeth): Enough Duke. Let's split.

With a sharp judder, the elevator continues its descent and comes to a halt at the next lower floor.

The bikers head off leaving me shaking fitfully in a growing pool of urine.

Me: Oh that was pleasant.

"So you know that song, Amazing Grace?" said Mr. Smith, an old man with grey tussles on his head. His a white man with a pale round face and eyes that smiles.

"Yea, what about it?" Harry answered. A thick African American linebacker.

"My mother use to sing it to me when there were days like this."

"Okay..." Harry rolled his eyes as if not to care.

"She would say, 'Georgie listen to this beautiful song.'" Then Mr. Smith began to sing.

As he sung Harry slumped down on the ground discouraged and began to wonder exactly what the man was trying to get at, exactly what moral was he trying to tell him.

'How sweet the song...' Mr. Smith sung it over and over again.

Harry snapped.

"You're a white man! You don't know anything about that! You're a stupid ignorant white man! You're mocking my culture. We sung that!" Harry yelled to Mr. Smith.

"You're so ignorant, boy. Anybody can sing a damn song." Mr. Smith laughed at him.

Harry took a razor out of his pocket and slashed him up. There was blood all over the walls in the elevator.

Twenty minutes later, a fireman came prying at the door. Harry looked into the fireman's eyes and said, "You all set me up."