As I've stated before, my unwavering support for Barack Obama has forced me to reacquaint myself with a dark side of my personality that I've eagerly tried to suppress for the past 6 months - with the help of Tai Chi, breathing exercises, prescription medication, and triple penetration pornography. (Holding a lit candle) Hello, I'm HumanityCritic, and I'm a insufferable prick.(again) I was doing so well too, letting people cut in front of me during mid-day traffic, laughing off the occasional "Ice grill" from your garden variety wanna-be tough guy. I even resisted the urge to publicly cite the bitter irony of my neighbor, who has eight children mind you, waxing poetic about America's need to "responsibly pull out" of Iraq. But nothing makes a person who sincerely attempted to embrace gentlemanly etiquette regress more than reprehensible assassination fantasies and xenaphobia targeted at your candidate of choice. Because of that, I find myself back where I started - insulting strangers, threatening to assault the handicapped, telling clergy molestation jokes to men of the cloth. My girlfriend, who has led the efforts in rehabilitating me, sees absolutely nothing wrong in my recent backsliding. She actually has come to the conclusion that sudden relapse is cathartic for me, feeling that this too shall pass. My mother on the other hand sincerely feels that this is who I truly am, my life not being complete unless I'm severely pissing people off. Moms could be on to something.
Soundtrack to a Beatdown: My friends have a chalkboard filled with the likeliest scenarios in which they feel that I'll meet my untimely demise, equipped with odds and everything. Nothing tells you that you have anger management issues like your dearest friends wagering on how you'll spend your final moments. Some bet that I'll meet my maker talking shit to the wrong drunk person at some miscellaneous bar. Others feel that I'll be cancelled out in a hail of gunfire, probably by the weed carrier of an artist who I suggested go back to distributing street pharmaceuticals. But on the very top of that list, what many feel is the safest bet, is the belief that the grim reaper will pay me a visit after I once again involve myself in a truly avoidable traffic altercation. This sounds about right, quickly my mind flashes back to the time I pulled an elderly man out of his car for giving me the finger, or when I followed an inept driver 10 miles just so I could pull beside him and ask "What are you fucking retarded?" I am the human embodiment of road rage. That being said, I almost put money in a lot of peoples pockets last week when I found myself on the wrong side of a traffic altercation - I was outnumbered, the situation had loss written all over it. See, some asshole in a hummer almost hit my car, I really didn't say anything to the driver directly but the way in which I yelled the lords name in vain probably sounded threatening to all couldn't clearly make out what I was saying. So the man hopped out of his car. Always prepared to clothesline strangers, I got out of my car. Then three of his boys proceed to get out of his car. Shit. After the driver and I exchange some rather harsh words, the reality set in that I was about to get my ass kicked "something proper-like"(to quote my West Coast brethren), but I suddenly felt compelled to do something totally random. After I heard what was playing on the radio of the man about to have one of five sneaker prints on the side of my ass, I very politely excused myself, and proceeded to reach into the vehicle and turn off the radio. The driver, shocked, asked "What in the fuck do you think you're doing homeboy?" - in which I responded, "If I'm going to get my ass kicked, it's definitely not going to be to Lil Wayne! Fuck that!" Turns out those guys didn't want to fight, and I left a potentially hairy situation unscathed. Who knew being such an asshole can get you out of fights?
Dinner with Mom: When I was younger and would say something absolutely outlandish in the most public of places, my mother would give me one of those "will you shut the fuck up and stop embarrassing me" looks, hoping that I would keep my pubescent pie hole shut. More times than not I'd respond with the utterly regrettable "Why do you care what there white folks think anyways??!!", being that I was a faux revolutionary and all. Even though my mother is the recipient of ever kind bone in my body, I still find myself apologizing to her for all the stupid shit I've said over the years. Now that I'm older I fully understand where she was coming from, I feel the exact same way every time local news programs decides to pick the most ignorant person in the history of man to interview at a crime scene. I felt like crawling into a hole after seeing a young sister literally wear a pair of panties in the supermarket, or whenever I'm in the same vicinity as a brother whose colloquialisms were born out of a failed school system - making you want to channel your entrepreneurial spirit and invent a "Dipshit to English Dictionary". It isn't about white people, its about wanting your own people to do better that's all.
That being said, when I took my mother out to dinner at a local eatery, our peaceful meal was abruptly interrupted by a nasty lover's quarrel that broke out a few tables down. A young woman had walked into the establishment while her boyfriend was treating a woman to what I believe to be a pre-coital meal. They were extremely loud, the scorned lover smacking both the boyfriend and his side chick, food flying - and by the looks of the manager who had to be all of 20, with Kool-Aid pumping through his veins, this particular fracas looked like it had staying power. My mother, who would probably tell me "You should have kept your ass at home!" even if I happened to get struck with a stray bullet during Sunday service mind you, looked at me and uncharacteristically asked "Will you please do something??!!" On cue I got up, walked right in the middle of the melee and told all the parties involved, "Y'all have to go outside with this bullshit!". The dude was pretty respectful, but the ladies were having none of it, only momentarily listening to me to restart their battle royale equipped with sloppily thrown punches and random weave pulling. So right then and there I decided to pick up one of the ladies and physically transport her outside, the boyfriend picked the other one up and followed my lead. Back inside, as the young man went to pay his bill and I went to rejoin my mother, I guess he felt that we had just shared a special moment amongst strangers. He laughed and said, "You look like a pimp, you know how it is dog?", in which I immediately replied, "Actually I don't, I've never had two butt ugly girls fight over me!" See, that was just uncalled for.