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We all breathed a sigh of relief as soon as Joe had left the room. He’s trouble free enough to live with, and a great help with math, but when he gets drunk his racist upbringing shines through. And not any of that now common Trump MAGA immigrant retoric. No, it’s old school nigger this and redskins that racism. It makes any table uncomfortable, even this one, drunk as we all were. We hadn’t started as strong as Joe, so at least I was game for a few more poker hands.

As Steve was dealing the discussion picked up on the elephant who just left the room, Joe’s racism. Mateo, who was the only one with any inherent tan around the table, reflected how he had it the easiest. He was never really the target, and he didn’t feel he had to defend or excuse Joe. Sam wondered if there was any racist conversion therapy they could chip in for as a birthday gift. Marcus suddenly put down his cards and started to flip around on his phone like crazy.

“Hey, it’s your turn. What are you looking for?”
“I saw this app a few days ago. I didn’t install it, because why the fuck would I, but it claimed to make you believe you were someone else. Some sort of hypnotic experience I guess.”
“Someone else, how? Like Napoleon?”
“More like a different ethnicity. That kind of shit. Ah! Here.”

I don’t know what Marcus does with his phone, but this sideloaded non-playstore app looked shady AF. “You need jailbroken phone for the good stuff” he claimed. The app UI wasn’t really designed, but rather something that had happened, but despite being plain, bordering ugly, it wasn’t that hard to understand. Menus upon menus with adjustments on everything from eye color to gait. Although painfully slow, the image in the main UI was constantly updated to reflect the latest changes. Marcus selected “Black Athlete” as template and started to modify it. The poker became even less focused, if that was even possible, and the phone was passed around the table where everyone made adjustments to create a kind of anti-Joe. The kind of look he would dislike the most.

“Bigger nose and lips, for sure.”
“Who made him this dark? It looks way to much like an ethno-model.”
“Don’t make him too buff!”
“That’s too far. Put back the abs. It should look like he rather exercise than study.”

We didn’t really have a plan for what to do with the result. Sam opened his Tullamore Dew and poured for everyone. Mateo was reading through the actual instructions in the help section of the app.

“So you just put in your earbuds, press the play button and wait 2-4 hours. Trial license gives you 24 hours of free configurations, then the changes revert if you don’t pay.”
“Let’s fucking do it!”
“What?”
“Put earbuds on Joe and have him listen.”
“He’s asleep. Whatever ethnic experience this app is giving, he is going to sleep through it.”
“Do it anyway. Perhaps he’ll dream about it.”

We found Joe on the couch by the stairs. He hadn’t even gone to sleep in his room, but undressed on the way there and somehow decided to conk out in his underwear halfway to his room. I wasn’t going to walk into his dorm room and touch him while he was asleep, but here by the stairs I was all for a bit of a prank.

We plugged in earbuds to Marcus’ phone, carefully put them in Joe’s ears, and pressed the “Start” button in the app. The icon changed to “Stop”, but otherwise nothing. We all went upstairs.

I was rudely awakened by the crash. I instantly knew I needed a few more hours of sleep. My head was thumping on its own, without any additional sound effects. The sound came from downstairs, like someone had broken a window. I threw on sweatpants and sweatshirt, rushed downstairs, and froze. In front of me, looking utterly bewildered was the app rendering come to life, wearing Joe’s underwear. The big mirror was smashed, from the looks of it by having Marcus’ phone thrown at it. The wide eyed African American man stared at me and asked “Can you see it too?”

There was no audio rendering in the app, but the voice matched the selected descriptions “deep” and “hoarse”. No one would ever guess the wrong ethnicity on a phone call, although he still spoke like Joe would.

“Can I see what, Joe?”
“The.. the… I… the nig.. the dark skin.”

Shit! Shit, shit, shit. We never even considered this possibility. This is impossible, so how could we? I couldn’t tell him we turned you into a low wage minority as a prank. Nor could I pretend he didn’t look different. That would be absurd. And I just called him Joe. Shit. How can I pretend to be surprised he looks like he looks? As indifferent as possible perhaps.

“Sure I can see it. Do you think it will last long?”
“Do I think it… How the fuck would I know?! I have no fucking clue what happened in the first place. I played cards with you guys, took a nap here, and woke up like a fucking jigaboo eggplant.”
“You should put on some shoes so you don’t hurt yourself. And sweep up the shards.”
“I… Yeah…”

I flew up the stairs and burst into Marcus’ room. He was sleeping in the kind of uncomfortable position a drunk person would, only half covered and drooling face down into a pillow.

“Marcus! Wake up!”
“Hnnnn…”
“Wake the fuck up! I have bad news and bad news.”

I was shaking him forcefully. As consciousness was slowly entering him, he grabbed the blanket, trying to cover himself up, and peered at me with sullen eyes that wanted nothing more than go back to sleep. He let out a heavy sigh.

“Give me the bad news then.”
“Joe smashed your phone into the downstairs mirror.”
“Umhm. Why did he smash my phone in.. to… the..”
“Stay awake! He did it because your fucking app worked.”
“What? He believes he’s a black dude?”
“I believe he is one. He looks just like the pre-render.”
“Oh… That is unexepected.”
“We need to do something?”
“What? You said yourself the phone is smashed.”
“I.. Fuck. I didn’t even think about that.”
“What did Mateo say? It only lasts for 24 hours?”
“Something like that.”
“That gives us plenty of time to fuck with him.”
“It’s not bad enough as it is?”
“We need to lean into it. What’s the point of a weak practical joke?”
“I suppose.”
“I need an aspirin. Tell the others what we decided.”
“Why me?”
“You are already up.”

After my wake up tour with incredulous, hangover housemates, I went back down and found Joe in the kitchen. He was still wearing only his boxers, and was sitting at the big table, inspecting his hand.

“Why are only the palms normal?”
“What?”
“Why is the part that actually does any work the only part that is white, and all the lazy parts black?”

Fuck me. Having had to explain the situation four times, and that we had no choice but to continue the “joke”, I was less and less convinced it was the right thing to do. We should just work together and get Joe back to his normal self. But then Joe can’t help his racist self and showed he needed to stay on the ride for a bit longer. I didn’t know how to respond, but didn’t need to as Steve joined us in the kitchen.

“Wow, someone has bulked up.”
“The fuck is wrong with you? I’m black.”
“Yeah, that too. How does it feel?”
“I… I’m alright. No! I’m not alright, but I feel fine.”
“That’s a damn sexy voice too. I bet the ladies will go crazy.”
“No one is going crazy! No one will ever see me! No one!”
“Well I just did. Part at least. Is the schlong black size as well?”
“What I… None of your business! And I haven’t checked.”

The others had joined us in the kitchen as well.

“Why havent you checked?” asked Sam. “That’s the first thing I would do.”
“It doesn’t matter! I’m not going to stay this way.”
“How do you know”
“Fuck, I can’t. Could you imagine me as a tar baby?”
“Well, I’m looking at you right now.”
“It’s not me. This is just temporary. It has to be!”

“Temporary or not, we need to get you some clothes” said Marcus, who still looked like hell. Joe looked even more exasperated, as if he hadn’t realized he was almost nude.

“Yeah, you can’t go round like that, obviously, and you probably don’t want to use your own clothes, even if they fit. People might talk.”

It was bullshit. All clothes in the entire house were either M or L, and even if some of his more preppy items were unique on campus, he could easily just take some workout clothes. But I could see where Marcus was going.

“Yeah, I think we need to go shopping. You need a proper outfit.”

It took forever to get ready, as each and everyone followed their own post party ritual. Long shits, long showers, and in Marcus’ case mac and cheese. Joe was rotating through his wardrobe to find something that couldn’t be identified as him. Finally Steve threw him a pair of adidas shorts, and Joe relented to the look with white low rise socks and a plain, white T-shirt. “You don’t want to attract attention by dressing out of character, do you?”, Mateo asked him. Still, he wasn’t happy using his white sneakers, but was eventually convinced no one could trace them back to him.

It wasn’t until past ten everyone was ready to leave. Joe was antsy as if he was about streaking through the mall. Twice Sam had to slowly go over with Joe that he was afraid someone would recognize him, but he looked different and had different clothes, so that would not happen. We split into two cars. Me, Joe, and Mateo in Steve’s Mustang. Sam and Marcus in Sam’s Tesla.

Joe was quiet all the ride to the mall. He habitually took shotgun, but from the looks of it he almost immediately regretted it. He was actively trying to not get seen, and it was funny to watch. At the first red light he was covering his face with his hand, and immediately remembered that a colored hand over his face did nothing to hide his race. If anything his behavior made more people look at him. When we stopped at the mall he made no signs of leaving the car.

“I’ll wait here”
“No, the cops will just thing you’ve stolen the car” I said, playing on his notions.
“Besides, we need you to try things on for size.” said Mateo.

Begrudgingly Joe followed us into the mall where we met Sam and Marcus. We quickly decided to go to footlocker first.
“You need some baller kickers” said Steve.
“Don’t talk like that” said Joe, who had kept quiet through our discussion.
“What? I always talk like that?”
“Yeah, I know”

Marcus quickly decided it had to be a pair of high tops. After some deliberations we picked out a pair of red, black, and white Nike Air Jordans, and Joe tried them on.
“I don’t… These look too big.”
“They are perfect.”
“They are absurd.”
“No one would think you selected them, then.”
“I guess.”

As Sam paid for the shoes we discussed where to go next. Mateo suggested the sales section at Nordstrom’s, but Steve was adamant that someone looking like you would head downstairs to Champs. Once Sam rejoined us, and as is typical offered to split the bills once we got back home, he proceeded down the escalator into the major sports store of the mall.

There we kind of spread out, looking for whatever we thought Joe should wear. After a few minutes a visibly annoyed Joe joined me and Steve at the shorts racks. He was constantly glancing towards the entrance.
“Fucking store guard was trailing me, like I couldn’t tell. What a waste of wage.”
“Hey, what do you think of these.” I held out a pair of black and red Nike baller shorts.
“They are pretty roomy. Won’t that look like a kilt?”
“I suppose that is the point. I mean some people wear them low to get them even longer.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen.”

We joined the others by the cashier. Mateo had picked up a pair of white boxer briefs and white mid calf-high socks. Steve had picked out a Chicago Bulls jersey. Sam and Marcus had apparently been looking at other stuff, but brought a no-name grey zip-up hoodie. There wasn’t really any point in trying things on. Nothing was tailor-made, exactly. But Sam asked the cashier if it was possible to use the changing room and put everything on. She didn’t mind, and even-handed us a pair of scissors to remove the tags. At first it looked like Joe would protest, by he probably figured it really didn’t matter, and went ahead with it. “Underwear too” Marcus called out louder than necessary.

When Joe emerged from the changing booth his look hadn’t changed dramatically, it was pretty athletic before, but he looked at home. Like this was how he was supposed to look like. I hoped it was because of his toned body fit with the baller look, and not some deeper prejudice of my own.

“I need something”, Joe said walking out from the store with us.
“What?”
“I don’t know. Food perhaps. It’s lunchtime isn’t it?”
“I guess it is. Some of us haven’t had a mac’n’cheese yet today.”
“Let’s go KFC.”
“Really? Didn’t you want to avoid stereotypes?”
“I would go to KFC any other day, so why not now?”
“Fair point.”

The lunch was chaotic, as it often is with us. Six dudes are just the right amount to be too many for most venues. At least at KFC no one really cares. They serve food in buckets after all. Everyone behaved like normal, which really was remarkable given what we’ve done to Joe. We picked the round table we usually go for, and the banter was very similar to any other day. Even Joe pitched in. While he spoke as normal, though with a decidedly darker voice, there was something else that was off. His body language was getting antsy and restless. I don’t think most of the others caught that, though I could see that Steve did. I thought we’ve achieved what we set out to, and didn’t want to push it further, so I decided to give him an out and suggested we headed back to the house. Joe looked relieved. Sam, Marcus, and Mateo had some more stuff to do, so Steve, Joe, and I drove back in his car.

I don’t think we said a word throughout the drive back, not that it is far. Joe was restless in the back seat, shifting around and drumming with his fingers. Steve shot the occasional glance.

As soon as we stopped, Joe was first out of the car and rushed to the front door. There he discovered he didn’t carry any key, and without subtlety was bouncing, waiting to be let in.

“You alright, Joe?”
“Yep.”

Not pressing the issue I unlocked and he dashed through the house into his room and locked the door. I looked at Steve and he gave me a questioning shrug back.

We didn’t see him again until several hours later, with all the rest back from their errands as well. Joe exited his room, much more relaxed than during lunch. He was still in the same clothes we’d picked out for him. He saunters to the common area and falls into the corner of one of the couches, watching Steve and me play on the old SNES. Steve turns to him with a smirk.

“So, was it epic? I set it to debilitatingly horny with massive payoff.”
“You did what?”
“The dick settings. The template was pretty horny from the start. I just maxed some settings out a little.”
“You did this? YOU FUCKING DID THIS?”
“Hey! How the fuck could I know you would turn all basket scholar on us.”
“The hell did you do to me?”

By this point everyone was in the living room, looking apologetic, guilty, and in one case furious. It was hard for Joe to accept that just listening to something from a phone would have done this to him. To be honest, it sounded far fetched to us as well, when we tried to convince him, but the result was undeniable and we had no other explanation. He had after all transformed exactly as defined in the character builder. Hearing that the program was on the phone he’d smashed, and that we’ve been unable to find it again did nothing to improve the situation. Nor did Mateo’s retelling of the 24 hours trial from the license agreement. “You’re all fucking turds and tomorrow once this fucking situation is resolved I’m fucking gone.” he shouted and rushed back to his room.

We fell silent and everyone sat down. What would we say? Sam got up again and brought the rest of his Tullamore Dew and a round of glasses. Everyone took him up on that and helped themselves in silence. Marcus was the first to say something, many minutes later.

“You think he’ll leave? No one outside this house would even know this happened.”
“No one outside of this house would believe it did happen.”
“I think he’ll leave.”
“Hell of a prank though.”

The Saturday evening was subdued, yet when the slow, rhythmic noise woke me up on Sunday I was in no hurry to figure out what it was. After what must have been half an hour I couldn’t stand it anymore, got up and threw some clothes on. Just as I opened my door, Mateo emerged from his room, looking about as enthusiastic as I felt, making a WTF shrug. We both went down the stairs into the living room. On the table was a jar of house weed, and a bunch of appropriate cutlery. Next to them was the feet of a black man reclining to almost horizontal position, blunt in one hand and one of Steves basketballs in the other. Rhythmically he threw the ball into the floor so it bounced up into the wall and back to him. Although he was dressed in all the clothes we picked up for Joe the day before, he didn’t look the same. He looked just like the application template “Black Athlete”.

“Joe?”

He stopped bouncing the ball, and slowly looked at us with his stoner-pink eyes.

“Yo homie.”

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