Friday, July 31, 2009
Helping America become post racial, one brutal beating at a time: Episode One
A few months ago I promised my therapist that I would actively work on my anger issues. Usually I would ignore such silly suggestions of civility and high-mindedness, primarily because I'm of the sincere belief that the ability to exercise ones demons with a well placed throat-chop or a soul crushing clothesline will literally add years to an otherwise miserable existence. But I agreed to temper my behavior. Keep my penchant for backhanding complete strangers to a minimum. Do away with an old pastime of mine where I threaten to mercilessly beat an innocent man just because his significant other lacked the ability to keep her mandible in the closed position. Solely because the horror in my therapist eyes as I told him about the time I pulled one of my enemies out of his car during a funeral procession jarred me back to reality. I mean, my therapist treats murderers, truly psychotic fucks who were probably torturing puppies and setting fires before they could read, black republicans - if one of my more pedestrian tales of violence shocks a person who has heard just about everything, an abrupt change of behavior may be needed.
Besides, it was easy to rationalize a rather Gandhi-like existence from this point forward: I'm almost 36 years old, and a man of my age breaking chairs over people's backs doesn't exactly make me a prime marriage prospect. Despite the fact that I'm my mother's third favorite child(Out of 3), and my mere existence on this earth is based on a lie(My father told her that he had a vasectomy), I'm pretty sure my untimely demise by the hands of a gun wielding person I once throat-chopped would probably suck for her. Also, the prospect of jail time scares the shit out of me. I mean, I could never see a scenario where I commit suicide, I simply love myself too much. But while in jail, if I'm faced with the prospect of being someone's human pin cushion, occasionally holding one of their pockets as a sign of ownership and the other option is killing myself - Goodbye cruel world!
So for a while I had kept my promise, shocking friends as I laughed off sideways comments from drunk assholes, my mother was surprised that I didn't attempt to strangle an incessant talker with my shoe string when we were in a movie theater - to "turn the other cheek" to me usually meant forcefully kicking or punching a motherfucker in the face, but karma-wise I was in an extremely good place. A peaceful HumanityCritic was a good fit, so I thought.
I've decided, based on the weeks of racism that we've all been bombarded with on our television screens, and the unflinching bigotry that I've seen up close and personal since the election - that I'm going back to fucking people up. I'm sorry, the old me is back. Sure, the tea-parties weren't about taxes, it was about spineless mouth-breeding bigots unable to accept a black man in the White House. Texas Governor Rick Perry wanting to secede from the union, we all know what that's about. The birthers, who have been around since the election, are nothing but a bunch of inbred knuckle-draggers who are unsuccessfully trying to hide their vile, lecherous hatred of a black president behind the flimsiest of arguments. But the last two weeks have been my tipping point. The Sotomayor hearings. Legitimate news organizations flirting with the birther movement. The racial fires that media bloviators have no problems fanning. That warm and fuzzy feeling I had when Barack Obama was elected, the visions of United Colors of Benetton commercials of racial unity playing in my head - are officially dead. It's time to make this nation truly post racial, one kick in the chest at a time. Let me tell you what happened on Monday..
Episode One: "Potholes in my lawn"
Because I'm getting back into the "fucking people up" business, excuse me if this story isn't as colorful as I know future reenactments of people getting their racist asses handed to them will be. So hold on to your fucking hat. Anyway, I was driving home the other day when I noticed a man putting a rather gaudy sign in his front yard. The wording on the sign wasn't legible from the distance I was at, but when I got closer it clearly read "Where's the Birth Certificate?" - this son of a bitch lives only a block away for heavens sake! So I backed up my car about 50 meters, drove my car on to the man's lawn with reckless abandon, then proceeded to do donuts like I was Bo and Luke Duke on that extremely offensive sign that I had just obliterated with my car bumper. When the man ran back out of his house, calling me everything but the son of god, I hopped out my car and choke slammed him into his own bushes. To carry the wrestling motif even further, and because I like to make myself laugh during physical altercations - I threw a nasty figure four leglock on that bigoted son of a bitch. It was funny, he kept screaming "Please, for the love of god, my kids will be home soon!!" In which I responded, "You'd think a person who pushes debunked conspiracy theories in the most public of fashions couldn't be embarrassed." Anyway, after I threatened to come back and beat him senseless if he put that sign up, with cotton candy and popcorn to give his kids when they have a front row seat to the mauling of their father - I left. But as I was leaving, his next door neighbor came by and said to the gentleman "I told you what would happen if you put that sign up, that black guy is crazy!" I like when my reputation precedes me.