SMELLS LIKE BULLSHIT

First let me say that this probably isn’t really a riot, because we didn’t burn any cars, or break any store windows and loot the place but there was a standoff between black guys and white guys for about an hour.

It all started out with a bottle of Jack Daniels, as did most of the stories based in my two years at this particular college. I was up to 3 fifths of Jack a week and a minimum of 2 cases of beer on the weekend. Needless to say that wasn’t the best combination for academic success, but hey it worked for me!

The night started out just fine like most nights and I was drinking with some of the other football players, they had beers I was taking pulls straight out of the bottle, all was well. Naturally when you get a room full of overly testosterone laden young men that spend their free time playing a game that centers on physical violence, things can sometimes get aggressive.

Now as a team, it is a pretty well known unwritten rule that you NEVER fight amongst yourselves, and when you are part of a community that the local population of 20 something’s like to accommodate you with as many, and sometimes more, fisticuffs then you want or need, you really don’t have to wander far to find your pugilistic needs. So as we continued to drink, I started getting antsy. I was dealing with a lot typical young man stress, stuff like “when am I getting laid next”, and “What the hell was the yellow stuff we had to eat tonight”, some real concerns for the youth of America. So I mentioned that I thought it would be a lot of fun if we went up town and looked for some townies “to kick the living shit out of”.

Well the 5 guys I was drinking with didn’t seem to think this was a good idea, some had tests the next day, one guy was on probation for assault, and various other “no’s”, left me in a quandary. Then someone showed me the light at the end of the tunnel, “Why don’t you go talk to “B” dorm I heard they were looking for a scrap too”! SUCCESS! B-Dorm was where my bruthas resided! The men of color! The compatriots, guys I play football, dominoes, and chase skirt with! YES I would be able to get my fight on and have a fun time with my friends of color! My Ninjas! So I stumble across the parking lot to B-dorm.

As I enter the dorm I hear10-12 of these guys partying in one of the rooms! “Cool I don’t have to look more than one place they are all right here!”

So I walk into the doorway of this dorm room and yell a big “HOWDY!”

All of them slowly turn and look at me like I just whipped out my dick and waved it at them.

So I continue “I hear ya’ll are looking for a fight”

Now, none of these guys knew about my previous conversation with the boys in my dorm, so they had no idea that we were all on the same page and, I guess, in hindsight that probably could have been stated differently.

The smallest guy in the room stood up, Emerick W. He was a defensive corner/safety, and was about 5’5” 135lbs soaking wet with every pocket full of sand. Now even back then I was still a big assed offensive lineman, although I wasn’t the current size of “big” I was still a big sumbitch at 6’2”260lbs. Emerick stands up and gets in my face and says “yeah muthafucker, and you got a lot of fucking nerve coming in here and asking for it!”

I didn’t know what to do, this wasn’t the right response, and my booze addled mind couldn’t figure out why it was wrong, just that it was, and I had no time for this shit, I was looking to go uptown and fight someone.

I’m not sure what exactly was said next all I know is Emerick either said something to me, about me, pushed me, slugged me…I don’t know what, but I do remember what I did next which was to push Emerick hard enough to send him flying about 4 feet straight up over his bed and with enough force to bang his skull on the big plastic light that is installed over all of the dorm beds at about 7 feet off the ground. I told you he wasn’t very big.

Well the other 9 guys thought that this display was completely uncalled for and turned on me like a pack of angry thugs…which they were, but I was still drunk, dazed and confused. Not confused enough to not fight back or see the entire dorm complex, (about 100 people) clearing out and people squaring off. It all gets real hazy during this period of melees and I’m only positive of one thing, punches were thrown names were called and 50 football players were in the parking lot wondering what the fuck was going on.

I was being held by three other big motherfuckers, and my friend Dave W. was standing in front of me asking me…nay, telling me to calm the fuck down and stop fighting. Naturally I continue to struggle enough that he steps closer to yell in my face, and slap me, whereas I promptly head butt him, breaking his nose. The two guys holding me are shocked, and loosen their grip, as I am breaking free Dave has regained his composure, and has slugged me hard enough to snap me out of my rage, and leave a nasty bruise.

As I look up there are other tiny skirmishes being played out all over the parking lot, none that I feel responsible for, but I can’t help thinking that whereas I didn’t get what I wanted I did get what I asked for.

Thanks Mick Jagger for that, oh so helpful rationalization.

The next morning I was glared at, stared at, ignored, and whispered to. The entire team was wondering what the hell happened and knew somehow I was the catalyst. So I let it cook for a day, sobered up, and when I was back to me, I caught up with Emerick and made my explanation. Once he heard that he laughed and called me a bad name but this time with a smile and all was right with the world.

So not really a riot, more of a potential “Westside Story” moment, only there was no dancing, switchblades or chicks. Go figure.

Oh and Dave had a split lip, busted nose, a concussion and pissy attitude for almost a week, can’t say that blame him though, blind, drunken rage is bad motherfucker.

My association with Negros continues into my high school years, my closest friend Curtis and I continued to wreak havoc on the town of Manhappen Kansas. We spent our summers drinking beer and working on his never ending project of a Camero, and working out. We rode around town always in search of something bad to do…not evil, just bad. One day when we were seniors we were cruising around Aggieville when we stopped for lunch at what was then Mr. K’s as we were making our way back to my car we crossed paths with a pair of ladies carrying two big bags of trash out of a hair salon. Curtis being the charismatic, smooth guy that he is, asked “hey what you got in those bags?” they replied naturally “Trash..why?”
Curtis asked “Yeah but what kind of trash?”
“Well mostly hair..why?”
“Can we have those bags?”
Giggling massively, “uh well yeah I guess, if you really want them”
Curtis has the third member of our party grab the other bag and we head to my car “The Beast” and toss the bags in the trunk. When I ask what we are going to do with two big assed bags of hair and other such trash from a hair salon. His reply…”Don’t know yet but I’ll think of something”
So I spent two full days with this rotting bag of hair and chemicals in my trunk while Mr. Smarty pants came up with a good enough prank. Well Friday night came and found us doing what we did best driving around and drinking beer looking for flatheads from Ft Riley to roust. When that proved fruitless and as the night wore on it was about 12 midnight when the idea to use the trash hit him. We would throw it on someone’s lawn.
Now I know what you are thinking throwing trash on someone’s lawn big deal, but you have to remember what KIND of trash we had, hair…yes two big bags of hair that we were about dump on someone’s yard. Do you realize how hard it is to get hair out of grass? Well neither did we until we heard through the grapevine that they were still having trouble with a hairy yard two years after the deed. I’m not sure that they have ever known who did this, and I’m pretty sure they won’t read this, but it still happened and it still cracks me up.

I swear I'll skip ahead to the race riot soon!

When we were in the 8th grade we had honed our B&E skills to a fine touch, we could break into any classroom in the entire school in a matter of seconds with only our library cards. Curtis took it a step farther and took the whammy bar off his electric guitar and made the task a simple slide and glide, it was cool. We never stole anything but we did like to make a mess and write on the chalk boards. Like I said at the beginning we didn’t do illegal stuff, just mischievous stuff. We would crack a door and go in and throw paper all over, and knock over all of the desks and leave good morning messages on the board written with our left hands, so not to be recognized, and say stuff like “have a nice day from the sunshine boys” We figured since we were up so early that we were the sunshine, and we brought the chaos. Then I got caught.
I was making a last minute break into Mr. Shoemacher or whatever his name was, one of our history teachers, and I was showing off for some girls and didn’t check my 6 and was pinched by the OTHER history teacher Mr. Peaserisi . He was a dick, and I was escorted to the principal’s office . My mother being one of the cooler people on the planet, was called. She was no stranger to these calls and was known to keep her cool even when she was told that her middle son had just deliberately broken the finger of her bosses snotty kid…but that is a tale for a later date. Mrs. Lynch the horrible Vice Principal, was trying so hard to convince her that I was on a fast track to prison and that I needed to be punished harshly and strongly was asked politely to give the phone to me. As my mother grilled me as to what had happened and what we had been doing and I told her honestly, I mean we made some messes but we didn’t thieve or destroy, so they needed to prove that I was up to no good. Since all of my answers were basically yes or no, I was told to hand the phone back to Mrs. Lynch where I watched as she tried to get a word in edge wise as my mother explained that if she didn’t have more proof then me at the door with a library card that she had no case and if she wanted that she was more than willing to see her and the school board in a court of law…obviously this cavalier attitude did not transfer over to the household where I was grounded, and had all semblance of rights removed while I made good for having been in the principal’s office once again…and it curtailed our B&E for some time.

I am writing this autobiographical, so those of you wanting to read about the race riot, you will have to wait a bit...

When Curtis and I were coming up we got into a lot of trouble. Not like today’s kids we didn’t carry guns and shoot innocent people or even guilty people, we didn’t mug old ladies and torture dogs but we did cause problems in other ways. Like for instance in the winter of 1979 when we found the maintenance tunnel for our school. We were in 6th grade and like most 12 year olds always up to no good. It seemed that the winter of 79 was a heavy snow year and that was also the year that the school system decided that playing in the gym was better for the kids then going outside and playing in the cold and wet snow. I like to think of it as the slippery slope of our nations youth becoming obese. During our time in recess lockdown we were not allowed to run and play in the gym we were forced to play board games and other such crap as to occupy our time in between information regurgitation, which is all grade school really is. Naturally me being me I quickly set up a card game, most of my friends knew the basics of five card draw poker and only occasionally did we get the hands confused, generally does a flush beat a straight , and to this day I have to think before I answer that one. But it didn’t take me more then a couple recesses to have half of my friends money and Curtis to have the other half. It came down to a head to head matchup, what Curtis didn’t know and probably still doesn’t to this day was that I beat him with a royal flush artfully dealt to me from the bottom of the deck by our dealer and other close friend Joe. I can’t remember what I promised Joe to make him take my side but he did, but he made it look close by also dealing Curtis a straight flush. My ace high won it.

Naturally after that we had to find something more promising to play since I had everyone’s pocket change and no one wanted to shoot craps with me. So we decided to play hide and seek with the playground supervisors. These Supervisors were college students making $2.00 an hour to hang out on the playground and make sure we didn’t get into fights or pick on the paste eaters too much.

Small segue, the year before we had a playground supervisor whom we all loved. The girls wanted to be her and the boys wanted to date her. Yes we knew that she was out of our league and we had no chance but there wasn’t a single boy in the school that didn’t experience his first real crush with her at the helm. She was tall, beautiful , and had long legs which made a perfect ass draped in a pair of 501’s that dreams are made of, she could kick a football farther than anyone we had ever seen. Her hair was long and had a full body curl, that danced when the wind blew. Her hazel eyes could make you laugh and be ashamed at what you had done, her laugh could have powered a small town the way it lit up a room. She never talked down to us and always treated us like equals. Her name was Tamera, and she was killed in a car accident that thanksgiving, we had known her for two months and to this day I can picture her on the playground kicking spirals to a waiting bunch of prepubescent boys to catch them. When our teacher Mrs. Goatcher told us she had been killed, the entire classroom burst into tears. There was no such thing as grief counselors back then so we treated that classroom like a plane that was going down, anything said or done in it was left there in the room, never to be talked about, a brick confessional where 25 kids shared the pain of loss and the burden of memory. I can still see her face after 30 years.

Now that I’m done crying, back to the tunnel. We decided that we needed to explore the stage area. For those of you not familiar with the Midwest elementary school gymnasium , there was always a stage at one end of the building that was used for plays and assemblies, and those god awful music recitals that our parents made us do so they could sit in the audience and say things like “that is my boy up there, yes the tone deaf one that can’t carry a tune with both hands and a bucket” I am so proud of you knowing your limitations and blasting out the words to meaningless disco tunes anyway. Our music teacher was a sadist.

Anyway under the stage was where they kept the carts that held all 300 folding chairs that would get drug out in the event of one of these all school caterwauling contests. So we decided to start playing hide and seek with the supervisors by crawling into the chair area. It was probably the second week of crappy weather that we had moved our little group into the corner of the gym where the last door to the chairs kept the secret that would be greatest thing that school year.
As we were playing the hide and seek game we had talked a couple of girls into joining us and playing kissy face in the chair area, and once we had worked our way down the doors to the corner we found the tunnel. It was a maintenance tunnel, and held things like pipes and dust and other scary shit. But it was a place to escape the watchful eye of the supervisors. So we got flashlights and did some underground exploring. Once we had the place mapped out we started inviting the girls with us, most of them freaked out when we went around the corner and then turned the light out, which was just what we wanted, scared chicks in the dark. But when I found the light switch all bets were off. We took the risk and traveled to the end of the tunnel and saw that it lead to the Janitor’s hide out in the basement. His secret room where he kept the stinky pink sawdust that he sprinkled on puke, and the cases of disinfectant that made all grade school s smell alike, and his dirty desk covered in magazines and newspapers. He also had a rather nice collection of stuff that was left on the playground by accident that he was supposed to turn in but never seem to do. I got my pocket knife back, a baseball glove, 10 hot wheels cars and other assorted trinkets that didn’t belong to me but were also not his. Curtis and I used this tunnel a lot to escape a form of torture known as inside recess. 30 minutes at a time we would crawl through the dust and sneak into the office at the end of the hall and mess stuff up.

This trend of breaking and entering would follow us into the Junior High, then Middle School, and then the next year the moved the 9th grade to the high school and we lost our Junior High status and were a middle school, then we were High School students.

My association with Negros started when I was in third grade. You see I had never seen, been in the presence of, nor was friends with any one of color until I was in third grade. And even then I had to ease into the knowing of people by color by befriending what we called an “oreo”, or a personage of mixed race. Martin’s mother was a white woman and his father was as dark as well polished Mahogany. Martin’s dad was a garbage collector and Martin had some of the greatest stuff ever! His basement was a collection of stuff that only a true collector of crap could appreciate, every inch was covered in neat stuff, it was like a curiosity shop had exploded all over the place. Soon my association turns from casual to intimate.
The next year I had to transfer schools since my parents bought a house on the other side of town. It was then that I was put into extreme proximity with, unbeknownst to me the person that would become my best friend and closest confidant. When I first met Curtis, he was a chubby broad shouldered youth who ran towards the passive side but could be lead into temptation if pushed the right way. He was pushed the right way the day I formally met him by his friend Stacy. Stacy, it seems had singled me out as the “new” kid in class and thought that I was just a country bumpkin who could be bullied. He was half right. They approached me on my way home from school within the first week with a story of how I took their shuttle cock during gym class and for that crime I was going to get a beating. As I wrestled with Curtis, Stacy took pleasure in kicking me and punching me finally Curtis and Stacy had me pinned to the ground and it was then that Stacy left the only mark on me he ever would and the last one I would get from Curtis. As Curtis held me down Stacy raked his foot over my left eye scraping some skin off. It was then that I heard some yelling, some young college student who just so happen to be driving by stopped and pulled the two black youths off of me and they ran. As soon as they were gone I too took off like my ass was on fire…I didn’t want to be at the scene of the crime any longer then I had too.
The next day Curtis come up to me on the playground and inquired about my head, and we became friends, life long, move a body friends. The Shit we pulled would fill volumes…and I guess that I should write them down since it is free and I wouldn’t want to forget them. But later, not now.

It was through Curtis that I began my close personal association with Negros. The first such event was the summer following my beating by Curtis and Stacy, and Curtis had invited me to join him and his youth group at the Douglas Center for a trip to Worlds of Fun. Worlds of Fun, was the equivalent of Disneyworld here in the Midwest back in the late 70’s. The main attraction at the time was a new rollercoaster named “The Scream Roller” it was 75 miles an hour, 33 second speed ride that scared the weak enough that they invented the “Chicken Exit” where the weak of heart could then leave under the catcalls and jeers of the waiting crowds. And yes there was an hour wait in line to ride this speed demon of a rollercoaster, can you imagine waiting an hour to experience 33 seconds? Well we did and so did millions of other silly people. But back to my association…
Curtis asked me if I wanted to go I asked my parents if I could go, they called Curtis’ parents and a plan was hatched. I met Curtis down at the Douglas Center and promptly got on a school bus, I was one of the last people to get there and when I got on the bus it was like those scenes in the movies when the one cracker walks into the black bar, or the one black guy walks into the peckerwood saloon, the music stopped and the people turned and starred at me and I was the only piece of rice in a bowl of raisins!

I saw Curtis waving from the back row and that was what I kept my focus on, I could still hear the other kids asking who the white boy was and what did I think I was doing on the “brotha bus“ headed to Worlds of Fun. Curtis stood up and said “Don’t worry he’s wit me!” After that I was cool. He had given me my first “Black by Association” card. The day was spent eating crap and riding rides and were completely tuckered out by the 5pm deadline, they shuttled us back on the bus, and drove us back home, safe sound and cool.
From that day forward I found myself in the company of more people of color then white folks. I spent the majority of my free time on what most people used to call “the wrong side of the tracks” my closest friends were Black, Mexican, and a Japanese dude who came over with his family for a year. If you ever saw the movie Sandlot, that was us, we would play baseball all morning at the empty lot next to the Mexicans house and then when it got too hot we would go to the pool and swim all afternoon, when it was time we would race home from the pool put on the city league uniforms and play “organized” baseball all night.

My association continued on through college, both times, and I continued to hang with the brothers, I learned their ways I loved their women, drank their 40’s and beat them at spades, dominos and arm wrestling. There were some hiccups along the way like the time I stared a race riot by accident. But that will have to be a different chapter .

Thank you Ice Cube for the intro, and yes I did go all old school on you sucka MC's!

On Friday my company held a drawing, as they do every week for the "super stars" of the work force. The Prize? Chief tickets. Or as I like to call them this week Raiders Tickets. well Since I am a company man and haven't received a raise in the ENTIRE 6.5 years that I have worked there even though I am one of the few...NAY the ONLY guy that can do everything from sales to install, to sweeping the floor naturally I was over looked. I mean really, just because my Biz card says sales and I spend some of my time on the phone while spending a lot of my time either cleaning up someone elses mess, or doing someone else's job, that never qualifies me as a "Rock Star" so I will never win the tickets.

However there are enough people farther down the food chain, that know what I give, and how much I work, and for who, that they know when to kick back to Nighty so I won't load the hand cannons and show up with out warning them first, or telling them when I will be accross the street in the bell tower.

So the winner of the tickets kicked down and Bouby and I went to the game!

And it was a great game we were surrounded by FANTASTIC Chefs fans for the second year in a row! ( the first year they were complete dicks and almost caught a fist to the face...but now I know where not to sit)Well I say surrounded but in all reality there was one gay couple that sat in front of us that was SO FUCKING CLOSE to getting a beating that the other chef fans were egging me on to toss him the 26 rows to the field. Here he is with his...I'm guessing gay lover as they shared the same shirts and brain.

If you see these guys please be cautious they can lower your IQ enough that you will revert to caveman style, and want to beat them until they are a bloody paste on the ground.

Here is a couple of pics from the game, which the OAKLAND MOTHERFUCKING RAIDERS Beat the Chefs like they were a rented mule!








And We even brought the Black Hole to KC!

Last but not least, here is a picture of the super douche...notice how he is the only one blocking the view of the people behind him...that is what he was doing to us until I told him to sit, and then the rest of the section that was behind me who couldn't see because every time he stood I stood and you know I block a lot of view!


So Ku lost, Chefs lost, and I am gong back to a thankless job that sucks the life outta me like a Vampire every day that I show up...good news is the younger brother has been in the area since last Wednesday and I get to give him his B-day present when he goes out to dinner with us Monday night!

GO RAIDERS!

Yeah I know, 1000:1 odds in Vegas...BUT it is better odds then the Chefs have!

GREAT GOOGLYMOOGLY!

This will surprise no one because of the 30 people or so that read this electronic rag, you all know that I have been absent more then usual. I have been lagging in the blog department. The truth of the matter is that I have been busy. With my involvement with two struggling community service organizations and getting shafted at work and the possibility of my side project becoming a post script in a long line of fucking great ideas that never panned out, as well as the fact that I am trying my hardest to be a less angry person....I don't have much to write about. I mean if you cut out all of the angry rants form this pile of steaming data poop...where is the substance?

I don't like talking politics because I am a "best man (or woman) for the job voter and that means that I haven't cast a ballot since Regan. I also don't take the time to learn what the candidates platforms are because I don't think it really matters, we all hear that change is coming and that the big political machine is ever gonna be what 80% (which is still a 'B' BTW)of Americans want. There will never be a government with enough power to keep the bullshit at bay because it is run by humans and we are inherently flawed, we will take the easy road 9 times out of 10, and most of the time that road is paved with the money of the evil. So until I get to be in charge, or someone like my dad gets to be in charge. fuck voting. it is a waste of fucking time and energy. fuck politics, It is a waste of valuable resources, and it is not even close to a fair system, people say we have an open government and all you need to do is get enough votes to win and you're in...yeah well tell that to Al Gore. We don't have an open system when you limit the voting and the media to only 2 parties....I know I can hear all of you poli-sci fuckers now, "There is way more then two parties, you can vote for the pot heads in the green party if you want..." yeah well until the mainstream media ACTUALLY gives equal time to all parties and covers more events then the republicrats and the democans big assed galas where all the lunatic fringe takes a week off and wears stupid hats and works themselves up in a political frenzy that Hitler would have wished he could do...fuck them and the elephanonkey they fucking road in on.

I also haven't read any good books lately, I just don't have the energy. so that medium is out the window, I watch TV but only the FX channel, and that new hole in the wall game show. I watch the Hole, because nothing makes me laugh then a stack of stupid getting pushed into a tank of water by a giant moving wall. I just wish that the tank of water was filled with sharped bamboo spikes covered in human feces....NOW that would be entertainment!

So with my culturally weak mind and complacency toward the election process, as well as my prayers going unanswered for that "planet killer" of a meteor to hit so we can start over...I ain't got much to say.

In a nutsack...
work sucks
elections suck
not reading sucks
tv sucks
traffic sucks
Bouby sucks (BUT in a GOOD WAY! Raaawwwaarr)


Ok that last one is just to see if she is paying attention!

There's a big conference of beer producers in Amsterdam, the Netherlands.

At the end of the day, all of the presidents of all beer companies decide to have a drink in a bar. The president of 'Budweiser' orders a Bud, the president of 'Miller' orders a Miller Lite, Adolph Coors orders a Coors, and the list goes on.

Then the waitress asks Arthur Guinness what he wants to drink, and much to everybody's amazement, Mr. Guinness orders a Coke!

"Why don't you order a Guinness?" his colleagues ask.

"Naah. If you guys won't drink beer, then neither will I."