Sunday, August 16, 2009
Helping America become post racial, one brutal beating at a time: Episode Two
Despite our tumultuous relationship, and the fact that I blame him for everything ranging from my belief that kicking a drunk asshole's teeth in should be an Olympic event to me being unable to maintain a relationship that doesn't involve receipts and glitter - for a while I really wished that my old man was around to see the election of our first black Commander in Chief. What a mental screensaver it would have been to see the pride in my father's eyes as Barack Obama was being sworn in. Someone of my generation can never grasp what it feels like use a "colored" restroom, to see friends and family members strung up from the highest tree - to finally, in the winter of my life, actually witnessing a Black man get elected to the highest office in the land. Our relationship was truly abysmal, but being that 2001 was when prostate cancer shuffled my old man loose the mortal coil, I calculate that I would have had to withstand 465 soul crushing "You are never going to be shit" screeds if he had lived to see that legendary day. To be quite candid, it definitely would have been worth it. So I thought.
Witnessing these townhalls over the last two weeks has been rough. Listen, I was never delusional, I knew that the election of our first black president wasn't going to eradicate racism. Even though on election night the country felt healed, with strange white chicks hugging me like it was the end of a catholic mass and white men uncontrollably weeping in my presence like an actress in a Spanish novella. I was still aware that America is a place rife with mouth-breathing bigots. But I guess I felt like a career carnivore who finally sees a cow slaughtered, of course they always knew that the thing they were so liberally putting steak sauce on was a murdered animal - but actually seeing a cow bleed out in front of you in a slaughterhouse is a different story entirely. I knew that they are a shitload of people who probably masturbate to "Mississippi Burning", but actually seeing them foaming at the mouth at these townhalls really jarred a brother back into reality. The "Obama as Hitler" signs. The "Death to Obama" sign. The tried and true calls of "socialism", which to me will always be the belligerent bigot's go to move now that some people frown upon those who cavalierly say the word "nigger". That miserable sack of shit who was packing a gun at an Obama townhall.(I swear to god, if I was there, I would have beaten him to fucking death with that gun) The eardrum shattering dog-whistle that is the "I want my country back" drivel that some toothless rube clumsily shouts at their state representative, which usually prefaces some debunked claim that was pulled from the dark recesses of Sarah Palin's asscrack. Not for nothing, but this racism is really going to make me hurt someone. Oops, let me try that again: This racism is really going to make me hurt more people.
The HumanityCritic Ejector Seat: Remember that old Eddie Murphy bit from "Raw", where he talks about how the movie "Rocky" makes Italians a wee bit overconfident? The fictitious "Italian Stallion" provoking them to say things to black folks that would have never escaped their mandible otherwise. Well, it seems that those contentious townhalls where people come equipped with misinformation and hateful signs has had the same affect on some of the residents of my mental Mayberry of a town. Case in point: A couple of days ago, as I sat at a traffic light pondering the meaning of life(Actually, wondering why women feel insulted every time I use two condoms) - this guy who pulled up beside me apparent saw my Obama bumper sticker and said the following: "Yo, motherfuck Obama! Fuck you for liking Obama! Someone should take that boy out, he's ruining my country!!" Usually I would have stuck the landing on some rhetorical flourish involving his mother, a gangbang, and the Taliban - but I simply smiled and waved at the irate gentleman. Not because I was doing what my mother hoped I would do, turning the other cheek, but because I had every intention on following the young man to wherever his destination was and pummeling the ever loving shit out of him.
So a few moments later, after he pulled into a grocery store parking lot and proceeded to talk on his phone - I ran up to his automobile on some "Menace to Society" shit and pulled that asshole out of his car. Before I go any further let me just say that there is an art to dragging a motherfucker out of their beloved vehicle. It should be done all in a couple of quick motions: Lunging in and stunning the prospective victim with a punch to the face, grabbing the person by the collar when said punch protracts - and at the exact same time, open the door from the inside with the other hand. (It's pretty genius if I say so myself.) Anyway, after pulling him out of his car I thought about slamming the car door on his head, but decided not to because that could quickly lead to a murder charge. So I hit him in the gut a few times, strictly on some William Zabka High school bully shit - then mercilessly choke slammed him on to the hood of his car. I punched him one more time for good measure while screaming "This ain't "Rocky" motherfucker!!" He looked at me with bewilderment, and for good reason too - how was supposed to know that I would use a "Rocky" analogy in a piece about the beating he was on the business end of a few days later?