Until recently, the one thing that became abundantly clear to anyone who read my blog for no more than a few moments, was that I was both an insufferable prick and a person who had fits of rage that rivaled most PCP users with pre-existing anger management issues. Traits that normal people found despicable I wore like a badge of honor, not only did saying unforgivable things to complete strangers and mercilessly throat-chopping drunk assholes serve as inspirational gold journalistically - but it also started to become as cathartic as my writing had previously been. Some people meditate, I used to very cavalierly decline propositions from local prostitutes by saying something utterly regrettable like "Isn't the point of paying for sex so you could be with women otherwise above your respective pay-grade? Its almost like trading in your car for an older model - get the fuck outta my face!!" Yes, I'm an asshole, and I knew better than anybody that maintaining such a tactless existence would most definitely lead to an extremely lonely one. That's when it became clear to me that changing my behavior was a necessity, especially if I was ever going to trick some poor misguided soul into accepting my demon-seed for procreation purposes. So I went out and found myself a shrink, which was great for a while, the experience made me a more compassionate person and it was also solving my anger issues. That was until I threatened to beat my mental health specialist to death with his own Georgetown degree for telling me that I was a sexaholic with father issues, paying some asshole three thousand dollars for information that I was already privy to was rather frustrating to say the least. So I just gave up, getting used to the fact that on any given night I could lay my head on the pillow and reflect on everything from providing an unwarranted compliment to a nun on the splendid curvature of her ass, to me physically accosting a man wearing a red nose and an orange Afro simply because I still happen to have a deep seeded fears of clowns. So, you can just imagine how surprised I was to learn that the one thing that cures verbal hiccups and violent outbursts was simply having a girlfriend - I shit you not.
Let me tell you, nothing makes you want to suddenly embrace the teachings of Gandhi more than the prospect of your daily booty privileges being taken away from you - metaphorically, my girlfriend was the career convict doing consecutive life sentences while screaming cautionary tales and I was the juvenile delinquent, the steady stream of urine running down my left leg signifying that I was indeed being "Scared Straight". She had me respecting people's opinions, when one of her friends expressed an unfortunate fondness for Lil Wayne, I resisted the urge to mock slit my wrists and bleed out all over the table that we were all dining at. When an old man took it upon himself to angrily critique my driving skills at a traffic light, letting out a profanity laced screed usually reserved for intoxicated longshoremen - all my girlfriend had to do was shoot me a stern look, and right then and there I decided against dragging that Baby Boomer out of his car and jacking him for his Social Security dough. When I was getting drinks for the both of us at a local club, some extremely drunk man sitting at the bar thought I was somebody else and threatened to beat my ass - so after I smiled and told the man to have a great night, my girlfriend ran up and gave me the same sort of prideful hug moms give you after a home run in little league. As I stood in the middle of a packed club, the two drinks in my hands damn near empty because of the open field "Michael Singletary"-esque tackle my girlfriend just put on me - I suddenly felt as if I was becoming a changed man at last. That was until Barack Obama became the democratic nominee for president.
Dave Chappelle uttered what I feel is the quote of the decade when he posed the rhetorical question "What is a black man without his paranoia?" - words that ran through my mind every time I saw Barack Obama greeting people in a massive crowd after giving one of his speeches, I found myself telling the secret service "Get him the fuck out of there already!!" as if they could actually hear me. You don't have to be a history professor to be well versed in this country's utterly shameful past, I'm ashamed to admit this but sometimes I switch on the news for the sole purpose of seeking reassurance on Obama's well being. My heartbeat quickens every time any sort of "Breaking News" banner flashes across my television screen, only to breath a gigantic sigh of relief when it turned out to be a town destroying tornado or some deranged psychopath going on a stabbing spree. So when you factor in my daily fears for Obama, and the fact that I live in a socially regressive town full of inbreds so unable to deal with the prospect of having a black president that they subscribe to assassination humor - you can only imagine how edgy I've become as of late. So, how does a newly reformed, overreacting pugilist deal with people who collectively go out of their way to act insensitively towards my paranoia brought on by supporting Obama? By punching them in the motherfucking face.
My girlfriend is obviously frustrated, watching her tireless efforts to civilize me unceremoniously flushed down the toilet, with me hoping that she'll stay with me after I explained to her in exhaustive fashion that I'm using my powers for good this time. Like the gentleman at my neighborhood bar, after hearing my friend and I discuss Obama and his chances come November, he said "That's if he gets that far!!" with a devilish chuckle that absolutely made my skin crawl. The old lady is none too pleased that I decided to reciprocate his sentiments by landing two well placed punches to the man's face, causing his chair to collide with the others at the bar, creating a domino affect of sorts.(Yes, I screamed "Riverside Motherfucker" as he lay on the ground writhing in pain. There's always room for Jell-O and post violence, Hood movie references) Then there was the man who saw the Obama sticker on my bumper and decided to say "So you are supporting Obama, huh?" right before making distinct shotgun sounds with his mouth from the safe confines of his truck - which in turn prompted me to drag his toothless ass out his vehicle and proceed to ram his head into said truck as if I was a wrestler and the man's car hood was a fucking turnbuckle. Usually this would be the part where I admit to being too old for administering chin-checks, expressing regret for my brand of methodology when engaging in a substantive debate was a better course of action - not a chance, especially since I don't consider what I'm doing to be violence, its more of an aggressive reeducation that will continue until election time. I really thought that it was ruin my relationship, but as I skimmed her calender and saw that she had November 4th circled, I knew that I had one hell of a understanding girlfriend.