The Trials and Tribulations of a man and his Obama yard sign(Vibe.com)

From the moment he announced his candidacy on the steps of the old capitol building in Springfield, Illinois until now, my unwavering support for Barack Obama has absolutely shocked some of my closest friends and family members. See, being an unrepentant asshole has its fair share of perks along with your garden variety opportunity for sheer comedic gold. Like the time I decided to reward a malnourished stripper by placing a sandwich at her feet, a few months ago when I became so irritated by the nonsensical melodrama at the funeral of my cousin's boyfriend that I felt the urge to blurt out "Chalk it up as an occupational hazard, the guy was a fucking drug dealer for Christs sake!" - or like last week when my friend's two domesticated male monkeys started to have sex and I very casually said "Man, they are literally going ape shit, aren't they?" But being an asshole also has some serious drawbacks as well. For example, until recently foreplay for me was sharing the most disgusting double penetration video in my possession with my lover right before blessing her with a memorable pelvic thrusting that would invoke both over-exaggerated eye-rolls and comedic fodder for her friends. Sure, if you ever need me to back you up in a bar fight I'm more than a willing participant, usually taking it upon myself to explain what a good friend I am while administering one hell of a beating on the asshole in question. But to tell the truth, I'm not exactly the best guy in the world to be friends with. For one thing, I have a penchant for letting my telephone ring when I know that they need me for some sort of manual labor, I'm not particularly interested in attending any function that I'm invited to that doesn't involve alcohol, and if I do make my presence known I'm habitually late and tend to make extremely lame excuses to explain said tardiness. For example, I actually said, "Listen, I spent 5 years in catholic school and I can't go into a church nowadays without my asshole hurting." - who else do you know that would put themselves on the business end of a fictitious clergy molestation reference just to explain an absence at a baptism? So suffice it to say, my ex-girlfriends who discovered that I was an emotional cripple after they found themselves on the wrong side of a glory hole, along with my family and friends who are all too familiar with my flighty nature - are all overwhelmingly surprised by my commitment to Obama in terms of me canvassing around my backwards ass city and the overall vocal support I've shown for the man. Until now I haven't shown any consistent commitment to anything, outside of Kevin Smith movies, a strange obsession with Janeane Garofalo, and deviant forms of pornography that would even make Larry Flint's skin crawl.

But now that I think about it, the last paragraph was nothing but decorative window dressing for my cowardice - refusing to be a reliable friend is just a protective shield in case someone I'm cool with turns out to be a complete dick, being an emotional cripple who treats intimate encounters with the same passion one would a dental check-up is just an invisible force-field formed after years of having my heart pulled out of my chest. My lack of commitment is born out of one innate fear, witnessing a downside to completely putting your heart into something. "With great sacrifice comes great rewards" they say. Now that I've finally put my heart into something, the candidacy of Barack Obama, I'm now unfortunately starting to see a serious downside to that endeavor. No, the candidate himself hasn't disappointed me in any way, shape, or form - what I'm talking about is the 24 hour job guarding my Obama yard sign has become. Not to mention the frequent vehicular debates I find myself in over a simple Obama sticker.

See, even though I've always supported Obama, when he first started running I sincerely felt that he didn't have a snowballs chance in Lil Kim's crotch of winning. That mainly had to do with the city I live in, Virginia beach Virginia, a mental Mayberry masquerading like its an up-in-coming Metropolis. The same way a war veteran probably wouldn't be phased if he witnessed some asshat getting his brains plastered on some dive-bar wall, racism of any kind hardly causes me to flinch based on my wealth of experience provided by the bottom feeders in my city. Everything from Overt racism, fist fighting two neo-Nazi's at a gas station who wanted to kill me solely because I was born with melanin. Subtle racism, "I would have never imagined that YOU were a writer. Wow!" Also weird racism, like the time a local drunk who I was sort of friendly with interrogated me with questions concerning me "not having his back" during a bar altercation that he was in - an altercation that started because he had called the other guy a "nigger" no less. But after Barack Obama won lillywhite Iowa my eyebrows began to raise, as he racked up primary victory after primary victory I started to believe, and when he beat Hillary Clinton to become the Democratic Nominee for President I unbelievably viewed his path to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue with rose colored glasses. Nothing brings you back to earth like a black candidate leading in the polls with less than a month to go, let tell you. There is no larger reality check than the thought of a black man holding the highest office in the land creeping into consciousness of the scared bigots of my area. There is no colder splash of cold water on your face like having to guard your Obama yard sign as if your life depended on it, and almost engaging in traffic altercations over an innocent campaign sticker. Here are a few examples:


Obama 08' Bumper sticker Drama: The moment that I placed the bumper sticker on my car I'd either get those "Ahh, you're supporting because he's black" epiphany inspired looks on people's faces or they did their best to get in front of my car to display their ironically warn Bush/Cheney bumper stickers. But as the possibility of an Obama presidency gets closer to becoming a reality, the more people's passive aggressive responses become a distant memory. For example, when some jackass pulled up beside me and called Barack Obama a "terrorist" and I simply replied "You're mother's a terrorist" - after that, the man took it upon himself to follow me home. As he pulled up in my driveway to passionately explain his fear of "black people taking over" if Obama is elected, I proceeded to go inside my residence only to come out a few moments later to show the kind gentlemen 357 reasons why you never follow someone home.

*While I was in rush hour traffic this older gentleman actually tried to peel my Obama sticker off of my car. He would have succeeded too, if a kind lady cab driver didn't whistle to get my attention. So I reached for the metal pipe that I keep under my seat, rushed to the back of my car and yelled "What in the fuck do you think you're doing?" He had a look of absolute horror on his face, maybe it was because I caught him in the act, maybe because a burly black guy with long dreadlocks clutching a metal pipe in a menacing fashion doesn't exactly inspire peace and tranquility. Who knows? But the most that the old guy could utter was, "He will ruin this country!", in which I responded "Well, if you touch my Obama sticker I'm going to permanently ruin your motherfucking equilibrium!" As he ran back to his car and I went back to mine the cab driver said, "Threatening an old man with a pipe over a bumper sticker? The penalty doesn't exactly fit the crime!", in which I immediately responded "Those rules don't particularly apply when you're crazy!"

Defending my Obama Yard Sign: A day after I placed my Obama yard sign in my front lawn, I noticed some fat redneck staring at my sign as his car idled. As I was retrieving my paper, hungover from the night before, I walked up to the gentleman and said "Hey Larry the Cable guy, what are you staring at? There aren't any snacks in there for you!" - thinking that the portly gentleman had his eyes fixed on my house.(That joke now strokes me as ridiculous, being that I haven't had a clear view of my penis since 2000) After that the man angrily drove away. A few minutes later I peaked out of my window and noticed that same man getting out of his car, heading straight to my Obama yard sign. Listen, I haven't been on a football field in years, but the way I bolted out of my door only to run full speed and dive tackle that freedom of expression hating bastard - it made me reminisce about the days when I had a six pack, and I didn't perspire when I ate. The old lady next door told me that I looked like the Captain Morgan's logo as I stood proudly with one foot on top of that asshole's belly.

*Because I have abysmal sleeping habits that have me either writing at odd hours of the night or smoking tightly rolled joints while most Americans are fast asleep - I was doing the latter one night on my dimly lit porch as I noticed a gentleman creeping into my yard while clutching a spray paint can. After I put down my joint and crept with the nimbleness of most ninjas, I waited for the young man to ready his artistic instrument by shaking it before I attacked. As I lunged at him he let out a bitch-like scream, which made me momentarily giggle as I headbutted him before lighting his ass up with body shots. That's when I grabbed his spray can, painted his entire face black, then angrily told the would-be campaign yard-sign defacer "Come on Al Jolson, say Mammy mother fucker! Say Mammy!" There's nothing like pummeling someone while rocking their feeble world with obscure references.