I often wonder about the things I do and feel, and then I get mad at myself for questioning my own emotions. I’m an ethical person, my anger against people innocent or otherwise is always pure. My hate knows no discrimination, and I will happily get pissed at anyone of any race, nationality or religion. Most of the time people just giggle or shake there heads and let me exhaust my wrath on whatever I have chosen to be irritated with a rock a lama or the guy who tries to sell me life insurance on the TV. But when my anger turns on someone in a wheel chair, a really strange thing happens. People find this offensive. Somehow I think that the fact my hate, a hate that has no care for what type of person place or thing you are, is the purist form of non discriminatory action. If I chose to not be mad at people just because of a disability that would imply that they were some how less than anything else, and in need of being judged differently. That’s complete shit. I think it has something to do with fear, or at least the fear of something different, much like how Hobo's are treated, there ignored for the most part, people just past them by like they do trash on the street. Unless it’s green and can buy them a coffee they try to just ignore it the best they can.
I walked out of my house the other day to a sea of small children waiting for the buss. They all giggled and whispered as I made my way to the car. Much like the antics of the hookah bar patrons whispers of things like
"He got bitten by a dog."
"I heard he got hit by a car."
"He was shot nine times like fifty."
Or the best one of the morning
"He got bitten by a shark."
Strangely there parents had different reactions.
"Oh he’s different, don’t look at him."
HOW THE HELL ARE YOU GOING TO TELL A KID THAT!!
The TV you sit them in front of while you go off to check your MySpace is full of colorful cartoon characters who are different and the message of "those differences are what makes them special, so be different." is so regurgitated even crab hobo's would not eat it SKITTER SKITTER!! You sit them in front of something to keep them occupied, you MAKE THEM LOOK AT DIFFRENT THINGS!!!! All the while you are sizing thumbnail pictures of glossy people’s faces trying to imagine what your life would have been like if you and one of your top 4 had hooked up.
"He’s broken."
Broken, your fucking kidding me, I’m broken, ok Miss black eye, I feel down the stairs, he hits me because work is stressful, no its ok it only hurts when I don’t make his dinner on time. You want to see broken, go look in the mirror you still have your high school cheerleading picture taped to, the one your boyfriend threw the clock radio at when you woke him up at noon and interrupted his hangover sleep.
"That niga did not get shot nine times, it was more like 4."
This was said by one of the more hood looking guys out there with his daughter. She was well groomed, her clothes were clean, she was happy and The guy with her even if he was not her father he was acting like he was, so that was enough for me to respect him, but he even gave me a head nod as I made my way past him, this guy I respect, he gave her an answer, even if it was not a correct one, and he said it loud enough that myself and the other parents could here him, meaning he wanted me to here it, and made me smirk.
One of the kids piped up with a question "Why you walk dat' way."
While the question makes me even more aware of the lack of a decent public educational system at least this little creature was bold enough to ask, and not just speculate and ponder. A six year old with some motivation to wonder why and not be afraid to ask.
So I stopped, and I swear you could here a pen drop, the kid looked at me, two or three of the parents met my glance with a fake smile as they pulled there kids towards them. Mr. Hood was talking to his daughter about horses.
I looked at the little kid while fishing my keys out of my pocket and said "I was born this way."
She blinked and then nodded, as if she had thought it over and it was an acceptable answer then she said "I was born with a spot on my leg." and pointed to a birth mark under her knee.
I nodded and got into my car.
This brings me to the antics of some of the retarded gutter spawn that lurk around the hookah bar and somehow spill over into my every day life. While they do little more than fuel my hate for black t-shirts and frat boys the thing they do that pisses me off the most is the fact that they cant get there stories to work together.
These are grown ass people, some with kids of there own, but it never fails that I am in a restaurant or at the bank or at the movie stop and I get questions like
"So you got kicked in the knee at boot camp?" This was asked to me by a big girl in a little shirt while she ordered her 3 tacos and diet soda at the Moes.
"You were sky diving and your pack did not open, man that must have been scary." Ok whoever started this one, your a fucking idiot, I hate to fly, so why the hell would I jump out of a plane for fun, I have base jumped more than a few times, but that’s because the things I have jumped off of are attached to the ground.
"You’re the guy who fell off the AgroCrag." See this is why I hate people; they take something they overheard about a guy getting beat on, and make it into something else.
“You got shot nine times?” I will leave this one for Cory to take, he does the "you got shot" thing better than I do.
The point is in the whole of my life, less than 50 people have ever been upfront with me and just flat out asked me what was going on with the way I move. Also, it seems that all of the people I would conceder my closets friends were among those 50, interesting how that works.
I guess what it boils down to is that people need to really open there eyes ask questions, and be prepared for the answers. If you’re going to judge someone then judge everyone. I do, I think everyone is the same, your all bastards. I sleep soundly at peace with my principles
