With only four days until the biggest election of my lifetime, I took it upon myself to take a page out of Lee Stranahan's book. Instead of giving 30 very well thought out reasons to vote for Barack Obama every day until November 4th like he did, I decided to accurately describe four of the most vicious beatings that I've administered while defending the now President-elect. I started off pretty strong, relaying to my readers a rather heartwarming tale where I mercilessly clotheslined some asshole who felt the need to make his assassination fantasies public - but I immediately got sidetracked by the enormity of the election. You know, canvassing for Team Obama, making phone calls, convincing my republican friends that Barack Obama was the better candidate and that Sarah Palin was an incoherent twit, election night excitement that cause me to tongue-kiss women with questionable moral standards(I literally throw up in my mouth every time I think about the walking petri dishes I swapped spit with that night) - the three week celebratory drinking binge that followed. But unlike the scores of scorned lovers that I've had in my lifetime, feverishly getting themselves off in the bed beside me as I quietly nap in pre-ejaculatory bliss - this time I intend to finish what I start.
Dispatched Asshole #3: I don't claim to be the smartest man in the world, every time I've encountered someone with an I.Q that obviously dwarfs mine I have no problem deferring to them with a quickness - even though I'm an insufferable prick, traces of humility can actually be found if you look hard enough. That said, being that the closest watering holes from my house happen to be of the "Dive Bar" variety, I've seriously considered finally putting the bottle down and living a fruitful life of sobriety. Not because I want to save my liver mind you, but because the people who usually frequent these establishments are so fucking beneath me. It sounds elitist, I know, but if you had been subjected to the same amount of nonsensical conversations over the years that I have - you too would occasionally ask people whether their parents were siblings or not. If its not some culturally insensitive question about my hair wrapped in a delightful child-like wonderment tone, or the ever pleasing compliments like "You're pretty smart for a black guy" that I absolutely love - more times than not I've found myself on the business end of the dumbest political arguments known to man. Unfortunately, I was once again subjected to the latter by this female bartender at a horseshit bar called "Parlays".
Anyway, the bartender in question was off of work the night that a friend and I decided to talk about Obama's campaign. As she getting drunk off of her ass a few chairs down, she decided to interject - "Who are y'all talking about? Obama? Let me tell you, he is a Muslim, a Muslim I tell you! If that son of a bitch is ever elected he'll have his al qaeda buddies moving into the White House, watch him give Bin Laden and his followers satellite Television in their caves! If he's elected, we're all doomed!" I usually would have laughed it off and kept drinking, but this particular night I was hardly amused. More times than not I would have argued with the simpleton to simply correct the record, but debating this pint-sized hate monger seemed as pointless as debating the civil rights struggle with Fairuza Balk's character in "American History X". Unfortunately I had to let her slide, if she was a man I could have easily just walked up and chop him in the throat, but that night I was forced to let that brand of ignorance go unchecked. That's until my neighbor Julie walked through the door.
Julie is my Mexican Neighbor from California who I usually get baked with, the mere fact that she lets me get away with speaking in an insulting Mexican accent while dropping Kid Frost "La Raza" references forever puts her in my good graces. She is fine as hell, and I would have made my move a long time ago, but an extremely rough 32 years of life has made her exude the toughest of exteriors. Not for nothing, but I always felt that if we ever got together I'd probably find myself overcompensating because how tough Julie is - sporadically punching strangers in the face and snatching Police Officers' guns for the fuck of it. No thanks. Anyway, I slid Julie a few bucks and she proceeded to beat seven shades of shit out of that mouthy bartender who believed Sean Hannity's lies and clumsy smears. (It was sort of like watching a cartoon fight, where all you see is a big dust cloud with random fists emerging from it) Ok, so I didn't fight anyone this particular time - but I set the ball in motion so that has to count for something)