Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Pulp Science Fiction

I am livid beyond belief today about something of which I cannot speak, so instead of ranting randomly, you're getting a script of something that made me happy. Perhaps tomorrow, I'll talk about better things. Please, feel free to act this out. Post it and show it to me. We made one attempt as a birthday present for a friend, but I'd love to do it over.




PULP SCIENCE FICTION

THREE YOUNG CLONES, obviously in over their heads, sit at a table with Jawa burgers, Sith fries and Slurm laid out. One of them flips the loud bolt on the door, opening it to reveal Mace Windu and Obi Wan in the hallway.

MACE: Hey clones.

The two Jedi stroll inside. The three caught-off-guard clones are: MOTI, who opens the door, will, as the scene progresses, back into the corner. RAPUNZEL, leggy-blonde hippie kid with a "Flight of the Conchords" T-Shirt, who has yet to say a word, sits at the table with a big sloppy hamburger in her hand. MICO FETT, A white, preppy-looking clone with a short haircut. OBI WAN and MACE take in the place, with their hands in their robes. MACE does the talking.

MACE: How you clones doin'?

No answer.

MACE: (to MICO FETT) Am I trippin', or did I just ask you a question?

MICO FETT: We're doin' okay.

As MACE and MICO FETT talk, OBI WAN moves behind the young Clones.

MACE: Do you know who we are?

MICO FETT shakes his head: "No."

MACE: We're associates of your business partner, Master Yoda. You remember your business partner dont'ya?

No answer.

MACE (to MICO FETT): Now I'm gonna take a wild guess here: you're FETT, right?

MICO FETT: I'm FETT.

MACE: I thought so. Well, you remember your business partner Master Yoda, dont'ya FETT?

MICO FETT: I remember him.

MACE: Good for you. Looks like me and OBI WAN caught you at breakfast, sorry 'bout that. What'cha eatin'?

MICO FETT: Jawa burgers.

MACE: Jawa burgers: The cornerstone of any nutritious breakfast. Where did you get'em?

MICO FETT: Jabba the Hutt Burger.

MACE: Jabba the Hutt Burger. That's that Tattooine burger joint. I heard they got some tasty burgers. I ain't never had one myself, how are they?

MICO FETT: They're good.

MACE: Mind if I try one of yours?

MICO FETT: No.

MACE: Yours is this one, right?

MICO FETT: Yeah.

MACE grabs the burger and takes a bite of it.

MACE: Mmmmm, that's a tasty burger. (To OBI WAN) Obi, you ever try a Jabba the Hutt Burger?

OBI WAN: No.

MACE holds out the Jawa Burger.

MACE: You wanna bite? They're real good.

OBI WAN: It ain't paleo.

MACE: Well, if you decide to go Bronze Age give 'em a try sometime. Me, I can't usually eat 'em 'cause my girlfriend's a Twi’lek. Which more or less makes me a vegetarian, but I sure love the taste of a good burger. (To MICO FETT) You know what they call a Sarlacc Burrito on Endor?

MICO FETT: No.

MACE: Tell 'em, Obi.

OBI WAN: Rancor with Cheese.

MACE: Rancor with Cheese, you know why they call it that?

MICO FETT: Because of the Dagobah system?

MACE: Check out the big brain on FETT. You're a smart nerf-herder; that's right, the Dagobah system. (He points to a Clone Sippy Cup) What's in this?

MICO FETT: Slurm.

MACE: Slurm, good, mind if I have some of your tasty beverage to wash this down with?

MICO FETT: Sure.

MACE grabs the cup and takes a sip.

MACE: Uuuuummmm, hit's the spot! (To RAPUNZEL) You, Flight of the Conchords, you know what we're here for?

RAPUNZEL nods his head: Yes.

MACE: Then why don't you tell my boy here Obi, where you got the nerf hid.

MOTI: It's under the be --

MACE: -- I don't remember askin' you a nerf-herdin’ thing. (To RAPUNZEL) You were sayin'?

RAPUNZEL: It's under the bed.

OBI WAN moves to the bed, reaches underneath it, pulling out a black snap briefcase.

OBI WAN: Got it.

OBI WAN flips the two locks, opening the case. Camera pans to a green light sabre or something. OBI WAN just stares at it, transfixed.

MACE: We happy?

OBI WAN: We're happy.

MICO FETT (to MACE): Look, what's your name? I got his name's OBI WAN, but what's yours?

MACE: My name's Mace and you ain't talkin' your way outta this Rancor pit.

MICO FETT: I just want you to know how sorry we are about how nerfed up things got between us and Mr. Yoda. When we entered into this thing, we only had the best intentions --

As MICO FETT talks, MACE takes out his light sabre and stabs RAPUNZEL three times, leaving him slumped in her chair.

MICO FETT has just sithed his pants. He's not crying or whimpering, but he's so full of fear, it's as if his body is imploding.

MACE (to MICO FETT): Oh, I'm sorry. Did that break your concentration? I didn't mean to do that. Please, continue. I believe you were saying something about "best intentions."

MICO FETT can't say a word.

MACE: Whatsamatter? Oh, you were through anyway. Well, let me retort. Would you describe for me what Master Yoda looks like?

MICO FETT still can't speak. MACE SNAPS, SAVAGELY TIPPING the card table over, removing the only barrier between himself and MICO FETT. MICO FETT now sits in a lone chair before MACE like a Princess Leia in front of the interrogator droid.

MACE: What planet you from!?

MICO FETT (Petrified): What?

MACE: "What" ain't no planet I know! Do they speak Endoran in "What?"

MICO FETT (Near heart attack): What?

MACE: Endoran-nerf-herder-can-you-speak-it?

MICO FETT: Yes!

MACE: Then you understand what I'm sayin'?

MICO FETT: Yes.

MACE: Now describe what Master Yoda looks like!

MICO FETT (Out of fear): What?

MACE takes his unleashed light sabre and presses it hard against MICO FETT’s chest.

MACE: Say "What" again! C'mon, say "What" again! I dare ya; I double dare ya nerf-herder, say "What" one more nerf-herding time!

MICO FETT is regressing on the spot.

MACE: Now describe to me what Master Yoda looks like!

MICO FETT: Well he's ...he's...green--

MACE: -- go on!

MICO FETT: ...and he's...he's...short --

MACE: -- does he look like a Sith?!

MICO FETT (Without thinking): What?

MACE' eyes go to OBI WAN, OBI WAN smirks, MACE rolls his eyes and slices MICO FETT’s arm off. MICO FETT SCREAMS, breaking into a SHAKING/TREMBLING SPASM in the chair.

MACE: Does-he-look-like-a-Sith?!

MICO FETT (In agony): No.

MACE: Then why did you try to shock 'im like a Sith?!

MICO FETT (In spasm): I didn't.

MACE (in a lower voice): Yes ya did FETT. Ya tried ta shock 'im. And Yoda doesn’t like gettin’ shocked, not by ANYBODY...except, of course, for Mrs. Yoda. You ever read the Jedi Verses, FETT?

MICO FETT (in spasm): Yes.

MACE: There's a passage I got memorized, seems appropriate for this situation: Kit Fisto 25:17. "The path of the Jedi is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of Dark Lords. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the Paduin through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his pupil’s keeper and the finder of lost midichlorians. And I will strike down upon thee with great force and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my Paduins. And you will know my name is the Force when I lay the hard light upon you!"

The two men slice up the sitting MICO FETT at the same time. When they are finished, the carcass just sits there for a moment then topples over. All is quiet. The only sound is MOTI muttering in the corner.

MOTI: nerf-herder, nerf-herder...that was nerfed up... that was cold-blooded...

OBI WAN (pointing to MOTI): Friend of yours?

MACE: Yeah, MOTI-OBI WAN-OBI WAN-MOTI.

OBI WAN: Tell 'em to shut up, he's disturbing the Force.

MACE: MOTI, I'd knock that wampa off if I was you.

Then suddenly the bathroom door BURSTS OPEN, and a FOURTH CLONE (CARNAVAL) comes charging out with a laser gun in his hand.

FOURTH CLONE: Die, die, die, die, die, die!

The Fourth Man FIRES SIX BOOMING SHOTS from his hand cannon in the direction of OBI WAN and MACE. He SCREAMS a maniacal cry of revenge until he's DRY FIRING. Then...his face does a complete change of expression. It goes from a "Vengeance is mine" expression, to a "What the nerf" blank look.

FOURTH CLONE: I don't understand --

MACE WINDU and OBI WAN look at each other, then tear the FOURTH CLONE asunder. FADE TO BLACK

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Proper Etiquette for Cyclists and Pedestrians

These are just a few tips for my fellow pedestrians and bicyclists who do not know the proper response to your fellow roadmates in powered horseless carriages. These scenarios have been tested by your humble harbinger of this news, and the results were satisfactory.**

SCENARIO #1: As you are pushing a cart full of groceries through the parking lot to your car, you see a motorist slowing down and turning on his turn signal to indicate he wants your parking space once you exit it. If he simply waits, it is always nice to be courteous and try to get your groceries into your cabin, place the cart back in one of the cart stalls, and exit the space. Wave if you so feel like it.

However, if while putting the groceries in the car, the motorist honks at you and give you a look as if you need to hurry up, just take your time. In fact, go slower than you ever thought possible. Plod along to return the cart to the cart stalls. If said motorist feels the need to say something to you along the lines of, “Hurry the f*** up”, kindly remind him that patience is a virtue, and there are plenty of spaces in the parking lot that he COULD have taken. If he attempts to argue with you, remind him that the longer he holds this conversation, the longer it will take for you to exit the spot he so cherishes. Ask him if he is trying to teach the children in his auto how NOT to act when interacting with humans. . Tell his children not to worry; being an impatient jerk is not hereditary. Be sure to do a thorough, 15-30 second safety check of your vehicle before turning it on. 15-30 seconds to impatient a**holes is equivalent to 3-6 minutes.

Conversely, if you have time and there is another store nearby, forego the safety check. Instead, turn on your engine for 5 seconds, then turn it off, exit your vehicle, and walk toward that store, and smile at the motorist as you walk past his vehicle as he/she drives off in a fit.

SCENARIO #2: After having patiently waiting for the “Walk” signal to light at an intersection, you embark on your cross-street journey. An auto that wishes to turn right ignores your right of way, stops suddenly, leers at you, and honks his horn for you to hurry up. Walk slower. Point at the “Walk” signal, and tell him that the more he honks, the slower you walk. Should he rev his engine at you, Spread your arms in front of him, and politely state, “I’ve already got your plate number memorised, motherf***er! HIT ME! I will OWN your piece of s*** car and YOU’LL be in jail for assault!” This should be enough for him to relent and back out of the intersection/walkway, back to his spot in the turn lane. By this point, the light should have turned red, and he will have to wait for oncoming traffic.

Should there be a state or city trooper nearby witnessing all this, take a little bit of time to enjoy the sight of the aggressive motorist immediately getting pulled over as he turns and getting a citation for his poor driving etiquette.

SCENARIO #3 (My Favourite): You are riding your bicycle, and the light is green for you. A motorist in the intersecting lane does not look both ways before turning and pulls out into the intersection nearly careening into you. As he screeches on his brakes and you swerve so as to not be jettisoned off your bike, over his hood, and onto hard concrete, you hear him say, “Stupid f***!” Calmly turn around and suggest to him that he copulate with his mother and remind him that he nearly killed you. Use vulgarity, if you like. Should he respond, “My mother’s dead, you sonofab****”, tell him that he had better get a shovel then. If he starts to unbuckle his seatbelt and open his door to confront you about your suggestions, pick up your bicycle as if you are going to throw it at him or his automobile, and lunge at him with it and say, “DO IT!” This polite suggestion will prompt him to get back into his vehicle and drive away.

There may be more scenarios arising as the IQ of the average Rochesticle driver cedes to nothing. If you have a scenario that may prove useful, please share. I will add it to a future instalment of proper pedestrian/bicycling etiquette. J


**WARNING: Responses to these scenarios may only work if you look like an angry black man. None have been tested by pretty white girls, quietly deposed Indians, skinny math-nerdy Chinese people, or any other stereotypical mix of genre of people. Responses may work for Dude-Bros.

Woman Is STILL the N***** of the World.

I was going to write a nice funny blog about pedestrian/bicyclist etiquette in Rochester, but then I read this: MO girl raped, forced to apologise to her attacker, then raped again. Now you must suffer through yet another tirade. Hey, don’t you look at me like that! If you don’t want me to keep ranting, then tell people to stop doing stupid s***!

The gist of the story is this: this middle school girl was continually harassed by a fellow student. It escalated to the point where she was sexually assaulted. She did what everyone should do: went to the authorities, the school administrators. They didn’t believe her and interrogated her aggressively and without her mother’s knowledge, and she recanted her claim. She was then forced to hand an apology letter to the accused, and then she was expelled for the rest of the school year.

The following school year, this girl was harassed again by the same attacker. It escalated again, and she was raped behind the school library. This time, she was given a rape kit, and the attacker was taken into custody, and pled guilty to undisclosed charges.
End of story? NO! The girl and her mother are suing the school for their negligence in handling the whole situation. The school district’s response to the lawsuit:

The girl failed and neglected to use reasonable means to protect herself, the response says. Any damages the girl may have sustained, “were as a result of the negligence, carelessness, or conduct of third parties over whom the District Defendants had neither control nor the right to control.”
Translation: It’s the victim’s fault that she got raped twice.

My personal opinion: First: What. The. F***! As I am typing, I’m holding back a strong desire to take a plane to the Republic School District office and beat the f*** out of everyone responsible for this egregious negligence with a blackjack.

Second: After knowing more people than I should who have been sexually assaulted, I know that a victim’s story WILL change as she/he recalls it. I’m no psychiatrist, but I would assume this is because an assault like this is such a shock to the system that your brain probably shuts itself down partially so that you DON’T remember every gory detail. Even a person who may recall his/her regular day may neglect to state some detail of it.
Third: I have no solid numbers, but I can guarantee you that for every reported case of sexual assault in this country, there are probably 6 cases that are not reported, and s*** like this is why.

America, as progressive as we like to tout ourselves before “repressive” regimes, still crucifies its sexual crime victims. It seems that this happens more in the conservative states that claim to be fighting against Islam because it’s an “oppressive religion”. News flash: The way our society treats women is only a few levels higher than what they do yonder! If a woman is raped over there, she may be stoned for “bringing shame to her family”. Over here, her character is assassinated. People say she’s a slut, she led the man on, she might have deserved it. People scrutinise everything about her, from mannerisms to her choice of dress. How is this better? How is living through your honour being dragged through the mud after you were a victim of a horrific crime that was completely out of your control so much better than being killed? A girl’s life is ruined. Rape is worse than murder. At least with murder, you don’t have to relive the incident over and over. Your mind doesn’t repress the worst of it, only for it to come back like a flash bomb at the most inopportune time. This girl did everything she was supposed to do, and she was punished for it in the worse way. I’m so glad that she was brave enough to tell someone the second time it happened, but THERE SHOULD NOT HAVE BEEN A SECOND TIME! The ONLY time people were punished regularly for rape in this country was post Civil War, when black men were regularly lynched for deflowering young southern belles, and even then, the rapes probably didn’t happen, and in some cases, the “belles” didn’t even exist!

It’s just as bad for male victims of sexual assault. On-record reports are few and far between, but it does happen, both to boys and men. The first thing that is stripped of them is their manhood. “You let somebody do that to you? You’re not a real man! You should have fought back!” Motherf***er, if the victim is a 50-lb boy and the attacker is a 175-lb man (or group of people), how the f*** is he going to fight that? In what bizarre world is that even possible?

I love my country, but I know not to be so arrogant as to say we’re any better than any other one. Until we are at a point where sexual assault is taken seriously, and victims are vindicated instead of vilified, we are a stone’s throw away from the stone throwers.


“Woman is the n***** of the world” –Yoko Ono (in voice)/John Lennon (in verse)

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

My Seinfeld Moments: the One When The Reporter Thought Jerry & George Were a Couple

“Oh look. It’s a well dressed, verbally articulate, polite, single African-American man in his mid-30s. He must be a homosexual.”…F*** you, Rochester.

Seriously, I finally found something wrong with this city. Before, I always said is it 1/3 of Baltimore in every aspect, which was a good thing: 1/3 the size, 1/3 the population, 1/3 the drive from one end to the other, 1/3 the museums, 1/3 the crime. It was the perfect scaled down version of my home town. Well, I found the one flaw: 3 times the ignorance. The public’s desire to cling to social and cultural stereotypes is messing with my love life.

Case in point: I went out to a bar here, spent an hour and three shots chatting up a young lady to the point that we were embraced, slow dancing to no music at all, and she brings her lips close to my ear and whispers, “I have a question for you: [even quieter] Are you gay?”…Really? So the fact that I’m holding you up by cupping your butt with both hands, we’ve been talking in clever innuendos for the past 60 minutes, and we’re discussing where we should go when the bar closes, but none of that tipped you off that I’m a card-carrying heterosexual? She said I was so gentlemanly and nice looking and spoke so well even drunk. Translation: “You didn’t outright grope me, you have a sense of style, and you don’t talk ‘black’”. By the way, I was only holding her bum because I mentioned how nice it was, and she invited me to “take a big grab”. No man would fault me for that, and no jury would convict me.

I chalked that incident up to that fact that she was pretty drunk: the whisper actually went like, “I have a qwishin fer yoo [burp] ‘Re yoo gay?” Then she ran to the bathroom for some heavy regurgitation, and she wouldn’t come back out. I could hear her talking to her friend, “I can’t go out there! I need to sit here! I’m so embarrassed! [BLAAARGH] Where’s my shoe?”

…OK, so my fault for even trying to talk to someone at a bar. It’s nothing but a meat market anyway. Were this misconception not an isolated incident, however, I would think nothing of it. Every month since I’ve been here, some idiot mistakes my lack of use of Ebonics, common sense in dress, and good manners as a flag for homosexuality. Explain how the fact that I don’t where ridiculously baggy overpriced clothes, speak with proper subject/verb agreement, and treat people with respect correlate to me being gay! Does the fact that I’ve been glancing at your cleavage while I think you’re not looking mean nothing? Should I have just shoved my face in there, or maybe just told you to shut up while I ram my hand up your dress while chugging J├Ąger Bombs? Seriously, the East Ave dude-bros, with their greased up hair and extra small Ed Hardy and Tap-Out t-shirts and extra tight jeans look gayer than me!

Me being a gay rights activist MAY be a shallow reason for anyone to think I’m a homosexual, but that is because LGBT Rights is the only social issue where people think that because you fight for them, you are automatically a part of that group. Think about it: Tony Bennett never got accused of being black when he participated in the Selma March in the 1960s. No one said that John Stuart Mill was a woman after he wrote The Subjection of Women. However, once a man speaks out for gay rights, “Oh, he’s definitely gay.” COME ON! Maybe I just have common sense, and I prefer that all Americans get afforded the same rights than for me to live in a country of hypocrites. But I digress…

I think the best part is that you ask a woman (at least the ones to whom I’d talk) what they want in a man, and they’d say, “I want someone who doesn’t dress like a slob, reads something besides the sports page, knows how to treat a woman, and can form a sentence without saying ‘f***’ or ‘like’ every three words.” The second they are approached by someone who doesn’t dress like a slob, reads something besides the sports page, knows how to treat a woman, and can form a sentence without saying “f***” or “like” every three words, they say, “Oh, but aren’t you gay?” You know what? F*** you, f*** you, f*** you! Woman, make me coffee! Beer! Chris SMASH!!!! Is that better?

This issue is a problem of the small-mindedness of a lot of Rochesticles. I don’t fit in a categorised box of what they think I should be and how I should behave, therefore I am an anomaly, and the default anomaly for some reason is “gay”. I’ll own up to being an anomaly, but it’s not because I’m gay. It’s because I’m awesome. This only happened in one other place: Watertown, or as I like to call it, the Ninth Ring of Hell. It’s smaller than Rochester, and there is much less opportunity for education and lucrative employment. I didn’t act “black” enough up there, according to many people, so I HAD to be gay. Come on Rochester. Be better than that. Be better than the frozen Cradle of Alighierian Satan. I don’t want to have to move.

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Marvel Remakes 'It's a Small World' Ride with Webbing

All across the internet, there is some negative backlash about the new blatino (and rumoured to be gay) Ultimate Spider-Man. Of course, the “I’m-Not-Racist-But” racists are saying that it’s political correctness gone wild. Comic purists are saying you can’t toy with an established icon like that. Of course, Glenn Beck managed to blame an Obama for the new writing. The range of the vitriol is amazing in the USA Today article about it. My favourite:

“Peter Parker could not be whiter. A black boy under the mask just don’t look right. This opens up a whole new story line with a whole new set of problems. Who is going to believe a black man in a mask is out for the good of man kind?” –Grammatically impaired “I’m-Not-Racist-But” racist (Seriously? “BOY”?????).

Cynthia Wright could not have responded better:

“So, a black man in a mask isn’t capable of helping out mankind? In a historical context, it wasn’t the black population using masks to strike fear and terrorize others in American society. How quickly that one caveat is forgotten.”

I side with Alexandra Petri and her Washington Post op-ed stating that the vitriol is WHY we need a black/Latino Spider-Man. I stated this before, but here’s my take, for the Chronicles:

  1. Miles Morales is not going to be gay. That was just a rumour. Artist Sara Pichelli refuted that.
  2. It’s an alternate universe version of Spider-Man, where Nick Fury is not only a general (not a colonel), but he’s a black man. Think Colin Powell, but with laser guns, and looking like Samuel L. Jackson.
  3. The whole point of Marvel’s Ultimate universe is to reflect a world more comparable to the real world. It makes sense that in a city where less than 40% of the population is non-Hispanic white, there would be more people of colour with superpowers.
  4. WHO CARES??? It’s a bloody comic book! If you don’t like the way the story is going, then don’t buy it! This really shouldn’t be a big deal. Sure, there is always a LITTLE sense of pride when you see a person who looks more like you in a position of power, if only a fictional one, but the focus should be about how you identify with the character. Knowing Bendis, you can bet that it’s going to be a really interesting arc.
  5. The most frustrating thing about this whole issue is that there is an even bigger story that is being overshadowed: SARA PICHELLI is going to be the main artist for the title! She is one of the three female artists who worked on this before, and now she will be the main one! Sure, she’s not the first woman to draw a mainstream comic, and she’s done many books before, but a lot were collaborations with other female artists and writers, creating books about female teams/characters. That’s well and good, but she’s working on a major superhero line now! That’s what deserves the headlines. She’s a very good artist!

…Admittedly, I was going to nerd out on you and delve through the evolution of minority superheroes throughout comic history, but I’ll spare you for a while. Maybe when Rush Limbaugh realises that Superman is a dirty spaceback, stealing heroic jobs and deeds from hard working ‘Merican superheroes…too soon?

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

"I'm Not Racist But...", Educated Fools, & Fools

I was going to write a giddy little post about the new Blatino Ultimate Spider-Man, but then this happened: Doug Lamborn used the term “tar baby” in reference to being associated with the President of the United States. Oh, I’m not sure if you noticed, but our current President is black.

The five of you who read this blog haven’t heard me rant about racism enough, so here is another one. What. The. F***! “Tar baby”??? Anyone who is old enough to even know that term to use it should know that under NO circumstances should it be used. It makes me wonder if Lamborn still eats a Coon Chicken and uses Darkie Toothpaste.

“Oh, but I love that down home taste of Coon’s, and ‘Darkie’ toothpaste gives me that Jigaboo shine!”

Even 50 Cent chimed in to scold the Representative. 50 Cent! In what world do we live where I’m on the same side as one of my least favourite people in the world? There is absolutely no excuse for Lamborn’s choice of words. He may have apologised directly to Obama, but that doesn’t refute the fact that Lamborn is a part of the new type of racist: the “I’m-Not-Racist-But” racist.

Back in the day, there were two types of racists: the fools, and the educated fools. Fools were easy to find. They are the xenophobic types of racists who simply hate everything about everyone who isn’t them, and as soon as someone of another ethnicity does something they don’t like or understand, they’ll say, “You see? I told you them [insert pejorative term] are no good! There is no basis or logic for their hate. It’s just there. If you try to speak to them about their bias, you’ll soundly refute their arguments, but they’ll just recoil and lunge at you with a “F*** YOU, [insert pejorative term]-LOVER!” and then go back to their minimum wage fry-cook job and/or half-drunk whiskey or OE bottle. You can find them blaming other races for their economic situations. If you see them at rallies, chances are they misspelled their protest signs. Common chants of the fools:

“I can’t git past the 4th grade because the Jews control the school system!”

“The white man is holding me down, man! Ah’s bin condishinned to act the way I do…now pass me that crack pipe.”

“Ah woulda got that top janitor job, but they gave it to some n***er! I ain’t taking no orders from no porch monkey!”

Fools are usually influenced by educated fools. Educated fools were slightly more insidious. These people are the ones who have enough means and command of language to attempt to justify their bigotry with contrived data. They write books like The Bell Curve. Educated fools pick apart the holy text to justify African slavery. They make pseudo-scientific parallels between black people and apes and primates to convince the public that brown people are less than human. They convince fools that the President was born outside of the country, ignoring the fact that HIS MOTHER WAS AMERICAN. Educated fools write long dissertations stating that blacks don’t have the mental capacity for leadership, and not enough dexterity to operate such a complicated device as an aircraft. They even lie to get their points across. Let’s not forget, it was a very brilliant, but satanically evil educated fool who wooed an entire nation going along with the slaughter of millions of people based on their religion, ethnicities, and sexual orientations, and he nearly took over the world. Of course, for all the evidence they show, it always falls flat before walls of truth. Daniel Hale Williams, Norbert Rillieux, Tuskegee Airmen, and Jesse Owens come to mind as primary walls.

The problem is that Educated fools seems to forget or ignore the fact that the reason all the brown and yellow and red people find themselves in their predicaments is because a bunch of educated fools with guns ravaged their homeland in search of riches and resources, and when they finished plundering, they “gave” the land back. It’s the equivalent of me coming to your house, taking all your cool stuff, ripping apart your furniture and burning whatever I couldn’t carry, then coming to you and saying, “G-d, you’re such a slob! You can’t even clean your house!” Educated fools are nonetheless dangerous.

I think what’s even more dangerous than the educated fool is the “I’m-Not-Racist-But” racist. These people don’t know they’re racist, but they will start a sentence with “I’m not racist, but…”, and then the most vile, bigoted vitriol shall spew like Old Faithful. They say, “But I can’t be racist! I have a(n) [insert ethnic group here] friend!” “I’m-Not-Racist-But” racists dress up in blackface for Halloween and think it’s funny. They draw offensive monkey cartoons about prominent black people, then claim, “I didn’t know!” They erect giant anti-abortion billboards with cute little black girls on them in predominantly black neighbourhoods. They forward grotesque, sexist, racially insensitive e-mails to their friends and colleagues. They make Obama/Witch Doctor signs at Tea Party Rallies, not realising the history of that depiction. “I’m-Not-Racist-But” racists GO to Tea Party rallies, not realising that (1) their “grassroots” movement was started by an establishment politician, and (2) the original Tea Party Patriots whom they wish to emulate were protesting taxation WITHOUT representation. Their representatives are usually AT the rallies with them!

The cure to “I’m-Not-Racist-But” racists is education*. These relics of the bygone establishment racist America keep arising because “I’m-Not-Racist-But” racists hear a term and don’t fully understand it, but use it anyway. I’m not politically correct at all, but I know where the line is, and I don’t cross it. Why? Because I studied my history. Americans seem to think that not mentioning something will make it go away. The fire is still there. It’s still hot. Unless you deal with it head-on, it will not go away. Studying the past is not the same as dwelling on it. Memory of what you studied helps you make better decisions in the present and future. Ignoring it just lets the fire get worse and spread, and people who studied for all the wrong reasons will manipulate the fire for their own personal gain. I know what I should and should not say in the way of taste, and I know what I should only leave the member of a specific group to say. Learn your history, and these little gaffs will subside, and you can see the absurdity of your narrow views. Of course, since it seems there will be major cuts to our already underfunded schools, it is doubtful this resurfacing of old insult will subside any time soon. Can we just agree to not use the simian/primate/black people comparisons anymore? It would be a start.

*I am going off the thought that “I’m-Not-Racist-But” racists actually know not what they do. If they know what they do and are just stoking long smouldering embers, then they are actually educated fools, and really a bunch of insidious a**holes.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

The Next Time I Hear the Word 'Compromise', I'm Going to Punch a Baby Giraffe

So I was going to go off on a rant about the debt ceiling “compromise”, but this bulbous fake news site beat me to it, but mirrors my sentiment pretty well. I will say this, though. The main reason why I’m an Independent instead of aligning myself to a party is because Democrats are a bunch of knee-jerk liberals, and Republicans are just jerks. Since when was “compromise” defined as, “The opposing side gets most of what they want, and we get none of what we want”? That’s not compromise! That’s called steamrolling!

Democrats are nothing but hot gravel on a freshly paved road! All they do is talk a lot of smack then roll over and shy away from any controversy. Act like real people, and fight for the people who voted you into office!

And Republicans, about what are you complaining? Lee (R-UT) is threatening filibuster, but why??? YOU GOT EVERYTHING YOU WANT! Cuts, cuts, cuts, and NO tax hikes! The sad thing is, originally, there would have been no tax hikes; there would have been repeal of some corporate tax credits, but seriously, f*** corporations! Corporations are doing fine. I need to pay my rent (which is not too damn high, but still...)!

I'm tired of paying high taxes, but I really wouldn't care about that if I knew they were going to a good cause, like fixing my crappy roads and giving poor kids scholarships to universities. I'm even more tired of the rich NOT paying any taxes at all. My old neighbourhoods are going down the tubes because education and health are getting de-funded to subsidise tax breaks for people who don’t really need tax breaks! WE DON’T CARE ABOUT THE RICH! F*** THEM! WHY CAN’T YOU GET THAT THROUGH YOUR HEAD!

...Oh wait…Most of you ARE part of the rich, both Dems and Repubs. Well, I don’t have a video blog, but I assure you, I am making a specific hand gesture directed at the Washington, DC area. It is meant for all 635 of you in Congress. Your real-life portrayal of the final paragraph of Orwell's Animal Farm is impeccable. You have all made it so that the next time I hear the word “compromise” or “debt ceiling”, I get so mad I want to punch a baby giraffe.

Oops, I guess I just ranted after all. But I feel a bit better. J

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