HOST: Did you ever have one of those days when you just felt ... forgotten?

GUEST 1: I had never been more afraid. [music cue] I mean, I was just five, so there wasn't a lot of history there to judge against. But this was the mall. It was huge. And I had no idea where my parents had gone.

HOST: Marybeth Munson was forgotten once. She will never – forgive the pun – forget how that felt.

GUEST 1: We were all together when we left the food court, my mom, my dad, my brother and me. I was lingering behind because my birthday was coming, the big oh-six, and I wanted one of those giant cookies with writing on it. "Happy Birthday Punkin," it would say, because I was born in October and my dad always called me his little "punkin."

I stopped at the cookie place, and saw one in their display case, but when I turned to tell my parents about it, to point out exactly the thing I wanted, they were gone.

HOST: This happened in the 1980s, when malls were dark and scary, not like the malls of today. Today's malls are bright and airy with centrally located information booths and lots of uniformed security to make sure the wrong kind of person doesn't accidentally wander into an Eddie Bauer.

GUEST 1: I panicked. All I could do was fall down on the floor and start crying. I was kicking and screaming like, well, like a little kid, I guess. I remember yelling out, "DON'T LEAVE ME! DON'T FORGET ME! I'M IMPORTANT TOO!" [music cue]

Ever since then, I guess I've just had this fear, and I think a good deal of indignation, anytime I think the world is passing me by or leaving me behind, or if someone other than me is getting something I think they deserve. I don't literally throw a tantrum on the floor anymore, right? But you should see me on Twitter.

HOST: A fear of being forgotten. It's real. It's in all of us.

GUEST 1: The worst part is I didn't get my cookie after all that. I got some stupid Big Bird cake my mom made from one of those character-shaped baking pans that were popular then. I mean, come on, mom, at least give me Cookie Monster. I don't ask much, just to be catered to in every way.

HOST: I'm Ezra Mantz, and it's "This American Carnage." [music cue] Each week on our show, we pick a theme and bring you a variety of stories about that theme. This week, "The Forgotten Men and Women of Our Country." In Act One, our very own Dan Filbert meets a "Son of a Preacher Man." In Act Two, author Bianca White reads her short story "I Survived Downtown." And we close with Act Three, "America First – American Fist!" Stay tuned to "This American Carnage." [big music cue]

HOST: What happens when Starbucks cups don't have a Christmas tree, or when your public school won't let you lead the everyone in prayer every day? Hell on earth. Dan Filbert tells the story.

REPORTER: Franklin Graham will probably never be a household name. His father, Billy Graham, toiled for decades in obscurity trying to have his message of hope and light for the world heard above the godless cacophony of modern America.

GUEST 2: Where can a Christian go today to be heard or recognized? The whole American landscape today is one endless parade of atheism and sin.

REPORTER: I spoke with Graham earlier this month, before the inauguration of President Donald Trump. Graham offered a blessing at the event.

GUEST 2: Look at what you have in America today – at least until Jan. 20, when a true Christian man is elevated to the highest office in the land for the first time. The elites on the coasts. Where's Jesus? Where's their piety? Why does Fox News show Chris Wallace instead of church on Sunday morning?

It worries me, keeps me up at night in the safe house where my family and I must stay in order to avoid detection, arrest and prosecution by the authorities, that Trump will have only six religious men on stage to pray for him. If this were truly a Christian country, the service would be in some kind of massive church – imagine if we had a real "national cathedral," that would be something – and the swearing in would happen on a Bible with an oath to God.

REPORTER: What will you be speaking of at the inaugural?

GUEST 2: I'll be reading a passage from First Timothy, a passage specifically aimed at governmental leaders. The government must embrace Christianity and make sure all men and women are saved. That's in the Bible. It's God's word.

REPORTER: Interesting. [music cue]

GUEST 2: The thing I am most excited about, if I can be honest, is the return of Christianity to the public square. It's been a long, dark night in America without Christian principles in the White House.

There's more to that chapter in First Timothy. In there, the Apostle Paul reminds Timothy and all Christians, everywhere, then and today, that women have no place of authority in this world and must remain subservient to men.

You wouldn't know it with the way people treated Hillary Clinton, fawning all over her, so excited that America was about to elect a woman president. Paul is spinning in his grave just thinking about this nation, founded by religious men guided across the sea by the hand of Almighty God, being led by a woman. [music cue]

I am glad Donald Trump will turn this country to one that elevates men and keeps women in their places. And dressed modestly, as Paul says, without fancy clothes or hairstyles or jewelry. The Trump women, as you know, are always fully dressed in modest clothing and would never wear or try to sell expensive, flashy clothes.

REPORTER: Without a doubt.

GUEST 2: Submission, that's what we need for women. If they get out of line, like try to outshine Trump's inauguration with a march of their own many times the size of a crowd Trump could draw, that calls for the most severe retribution. No abortions. No birth control. Jack up their insurance rates because they have all that baby-making stuff. Which, the Apostle Paul says, is the only way a woman can get into Heaven, by having babies.

More babies. All the time babies! If women would just do God's work of having babies, our men would have jobs again, and they would have no time for marching or thinking for themselves.

REPORTER: That's Franklin Graham. Remember that name – someday he'll be as well known as atheist monsters like Neil DeGrasse Tyson. I'm Dan Filbert.

HOST: It's time for member stations to identify themselves. We'll be back in a moment with more "This American Carnage." [station break]

HOST: Welcome back. I'm Ezra Mantz, and this week we're remembering "The Forgotten Men and Women of America." Act Two, "I Survived Downtown." Bianca White reads her own short story.

AUTHOR: I'm not racist, but I almost died in the inner city today.

It started small: a jury duty notice. I was really hoping for jury duty in one of the suburban traffic courts, maybe something about child custody or a dispute over where the property line is for a picket fence in some nice, quiet subdivision. But when I called in the night before, as instructed, I was told people whose last names were in my range of the alphabet were to report to the big county courthouse, Downtown, where the heavy-duty criminals went on trial, at 7:30 a.m.

I've been Downtown before. There's that time I saw Amy Grant live, and of course, I get to the ballet as often as I can. But then I'm always with my husband and others who would be looking out for me. I mean, we "Amy-ables" are a tight-knit group and had the whole evening planned out on the Facebook weeks in advance: where to park, where to have dinner, how to walk in groups of at least three, ordering rape whistles from Amazon.

But jury duty. I would be there alone, and who knew what kind of people I would have to sit next to in the jury pool. I don't need to work, thanks to Frank's job, but think about all the people there who needed the $25 a day for jury duty. I don't know how much "smack" – I think that's what they call it now – $25 will buy, but I didn't relish the thought of sitting next to people who did have that kind of knowledge.

Of course, I knew that if selected for a jury, I would probably be elected foreman (yes, foreman. I'm not so dumb I need to be reminded all the time that I'm a woman). That also posed challenges. What if, for example, the defendant were one of those Hispanios, and a Spanish man or woman on the jury with me refuses to convict? You know they all stick together. Or an Islamic who insists we use Sharia Law instead of biblical American law? The headaches seemed endless.

The drive in was uneventful, as none of those people I needed to worry about are awake that early to go to work. Yes, I chuckled to myself in the car, like they would want to work when the government gives them food and housing and Obamaphones!

In the room for the jury pool, though, that's a different story. I picked a seat up front – you would never know Rosa Parks hated the seats in the back by the way they crowd there nowadays – and thought I could just sit with my Kindle, since book club was this Thursday, and keep to myself until they called my name. But wouldn't you know it, a woman of color – have to be careful not to offend, you know – sits next to me and takes out her phone and just starts yammering on and on.

I switched my purse to the other side and moved two seats away, but she was so loud. I tried to focus on my Kindle, but her words kept piercing into my brain. I don't know who she was talking to, but I remember something like, "I showed you the letter; it's jury duty!" and "You ain't allowed to fire nobody for jury duty!" Double negatives – just more evidence the public schools in this city are worthless. When she made another call to the electric company about keeping her lights on (she had the nerve to say "I done spent it on food for my kids" like that excuse would fly!) I excused myself to the bathroom.

"What you lookin' at?" she said to me as I walked by. "Nobody axe you what you think!" Ugh. [music cue]

When I got back from the bathroom, the jury room was empty. "Case canceled," the woman at the desk said. "Police misconduct." Well, I just could't believe it. On the one hand, I felt lucky I could go home – I still wasn't used to the smell in this place – but on the other, I hated the thought that some thug would be walking free because of all the "Black Lives Matter" baloney has convinced America to start a war on cops.

I made my way to the parking garage with some additional anxiety. I knew that between the courthouse and the interstate lay several "bad parts of town," as they say. Everyone in my PTA group and book club, it seemed, had a story about almost being killed around here. I made sure my Audi's doors were locked tight and pulled out of the parking garage.

At the first red light, I kept close watch on the African-American in the crosswalk ahead of me. I watched him walk all the way into the Starbucks on the corner. I considered calling 911 and reporting the robbery ahead of time, but the light went green. I hope no one got hurt.

A few blocks later, I passed a school. There were children running like ants all over the playground. I thought, "I know what your test scores are like. You should all be inside learning your phonics. If only your parents had vouchers to send you to a nice Catholic schools where the nuns would beat all of that ADD out of you!"

And just before the on-ramp, I stopped at another red light. Beside me on the left, up pulled an old square car, who knows what kind. I mean, there were about three different colors of parts on the thing and patches of rust you wouldn't believe. How does anyone with any self worth drive something like that?

The driver, a brownish man wearing a work uniform, looked at me and smiled and nodded. I didn't know what kind of signal he was sending to me or maybe to his accomplices, but I decided I couldn't risk it and gunned it for the on-ramp. I'm glad no one was coming in the other direction.

And here I am now, home with my pinot and a valium for the nerves and the "Real Housewives" on TV (Beverly Hills, of course, not that Atlanta trash). When Frank gets back from golf this afternoon, he will have some phone calls to make! [music cue]

HOST: Author Bianca White, with "I Survived Downtown." Her story is featured in this month's "Alt-Right Writes."

And finally today, Act Three, "America First – American Fist!" Here, we present an actor reading Donald Trump's inaugural address with the euphemisms removed and dog-whistles amplified. Enjoy.

GUEST 3: Chief Justice Roberts, "President" Carter, Mr. Hillary Clinton, President Bush, Kenyan guy, fellow white and/or orange Americans, and people of the world, especially Russia: Thank you.

Every four years, we gather on these steps to carry out the orderly and peaceful transfer of power, and we are grateful to President Obama for not activating the FEMA camps and implementing the gun-grab protocol that Alex Jones has warned about for years. We are very lucky. Thank you. [music cue]

Today's ceremony, however, has very special meaning. Because I won. I did! Suck it, losers, with your loser faces and your useless "popular vote." It's worthless. All you losers are worthless.

And guess what? We are not merely transferring power from one administration to another or from one party to another, but we are transferring power all my friends, family and associates. Anyone who's been a guest in the VIP suite at Mar-a-Lago, basically.

You know the type: People who, since the end of Obama's recession in 2008, reaped the rewards of all that wealth created in the stock market and through exploiting losers and stealing their homes in "foreclosures" – isn't that right, Steve?

Here's what I want you to think: This moment is your moment. It belongs to you. It belongs to everyone gathered here today and everyone watching all across America, even it's only like half what Obummer got on his inauguration day. I want you to think this is your day, this is your celebration, and this, the United States of America, is your country.

While you're thinking that, I'm repopulating the swamp. If you start thinking about the ways my family and friends will loot and plunder, let me remind you about the hellscape that black parts of the country have become. I didn't win those places, but that's because we starve those neighborhoods and schools of resources, keeping their kids so dumb and so full of lead they vote Democrat. Also, pardon me while I shout "RADICAL ISLAMIC TERRORISM!" Think about that for a while. [music cue]

I'm a winner. America will be a winner now because I am a winner. Steven Bannon tells me that's something called the "transitive property of awesome." It's why all my companies are the best companies. My golf courses are the best golf courses. My steaks are the best – what? I don't do that anymore? My bad.

I will crush this job. I will crush everyone who deserves it, okay? People coming across the border. Chinese people stealing your jobs. Tree huggers. People with health insurance through "Obamacare." We're going to have a bigly new military, so watch out. America first because of our American fists!

Oh, and my tax returns? You'll never get 'em. I have them hidden away with Barack Obama's Kenyan birth certificate. Sad!

But believe you me. I will make America great again, and I will make myself rich again. God bless me, and God bless my America.

[music cue]

HOST: That's it for our show. Thanks for tuning in. I'm Ezra Mantz. You can support our show by going to our website, ThisAmericanCarnage.com. 

NOTE: This is a rush transcript of the Jan. 30, 2017 episode done by specialized transcription software. It may contain some errors or omissions.