Top Twelve Racist Jokes

White people...worst people ever?

When I tried to move my hands I couldn’t. When I tried to lift my head I couldn’t. I wasn’t tied down. Figuratively, I guess you could say I was. When I got to the room, it was bare and empty as usual. I enjoyed these little rooms. There was room all over the walls for my clippings. There was a lot of wood on the floor. The floor was made of wood, so obviously, there was a good amount of wood within my eyesight. I worked off of the floor with different index cards. I had things written on the index cards. Directions, recipes, live concert set lists, different meals I’d eaten on the road, ex-girlfriends, cars I’d owned. My whole life, a series of index cards. I moved from city to city, and rented these cheap rooms and would stay up for three or four days sorting them out on the wood floor. Days of coffee and cookies, cigarettes and bourbon. Long nights of alphabetizing, putting in chronological order. There were all different patterns I could follow. “Let’s put 1992 in order tonight” “Do I put my Ford Tempo before Jennifer Daynes from Cleveland?” I got into a rigorous schedule with the cards after a month. Nobody knew where I was. “Just sorting my life out” I would tell them. Literally, with index cards. My obsessions had ballooned to this. Becoming some sort of freak trying to find himself in a foreign town somewhere. This particular night I could not hold on though. I lost it and the sounds of Charlie Mingus filled the room on repeat for a whole evening. I was done. My life could not get sorted out in Memphis. Here I sat, the ceiling looked wonderful as I rolled over finally and looked at the alarm clock. It was time to move along.




Frank was the one who wanted to do it, not me. He used scissors to do it, and we were now the proud owners of not only a wedding band but the lightly freckled finger of a dead woman.



“really, who is he?”
“Just some guy”
“just some guy huh?”
“yup, just some guy. Are you going to listen this time?”
“I doubt it”



I can’t even waste time talking about ghosts and goblins in lower places than I have been to I come out and try to listen for a few minutes maybe finally finally they will have something good to say the cocksuckers though I mean these motherfucking cocksuckers they call for gifts and messages I bet you don’t know which I speak of the people you know come on the people who even bring you down the motherfuckers you know these motherfuckers I fucking know you do the whores of the streets that shake their asses in your face these fucking motherfuckers need to be destroyed these motherfuckers I swear I swear that if I see one of these motherfuckers on the street and I have the flame thrower on I will burn you and the motherfuckers to the fucking ground I really really really have no time for this

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So we were in some fucking strange ass town on the ocean somewhere, a whole bunch of friends, I have no clue who they were. Faceless friends, hmmm, that’s kind of funny now that I think back to it. We walked through covered bridges, and up dirt roads lined with colorless cottages and oak trees as old as Bob Hope (is he dead yet?). At one point, one of my cohorts attacked a visibly stunned James Garner. They ended up knocking James Garner over in this covered bridge, and he was down for the count. I eventually ended up in one of the cottages somehow, with a midget. The midget was short, and had long hair and glasses. He was trying to tickle me for some reason. I kicked him, and then realized I was kicking in my sleep, so it did no good. The air at 6AM this morning was amazing, it looked like it would be a good day for a long drive, and a head full of flattery.



We had an aunt that made this meatloaf that had chocolate chips in it. Now, when I was a little kid. Now, when I think back to this. I make myself try to make sense of all of it. When I was a little kid. We had an aunt that lived upstairs, she made this meatloaf with chocolate chips and garlic. We had this awful aunt that made us watch PBS and eat meatloaf with garlic and chocolate chips. We had this goddamn fucking aunt.



You can't really count on any of them. They ignore and push and ask too many questions and then never answer yours. Long letters sent over thousands of miles and a few feet down the highway sitting there collecting dust, at least that's how I see them. Like the sound of a phone ringing infinitely. Other ones though, they receive adoration and whatever else you will never know about, yeah they see that all day every day.

Legacy of Duality

Scenarios that creep me out Pts 1 & 2:

Little tiny hammers breaking teeth. Not only my teeth, watching teeth get cracked with these little hammers.

Holes, like weird looking ones. I can’t explain this.



So being in this area of Massachusetts. I love it, and I spent a good amount of time here as a kid and as a teenager, in my 20’s and now right at 40 years old...or “40 years young”. Imagine if I was one of those people “OH I AM FORTY YEARS YOUNG...LOLZ” As a child my mom would drop me off at my grandmother’s house for a weekend and I would spend time swimming in the pool, walking downtown to the store to buy comic books and music magazines and whatever else. As a teenager I would bring subsequent friends and girlfriends for swims at the house. The house now, faded paint, messy lawn and pool that no longer works. The room I spend time in, someone died there a month ago, and the park I take walks in down the road is where my grandfather hanged himself when I was a teenager. I was absent for the most part during those events. In California being kind of useless during this most recent one. I remember being stoned and 16 years old or so when my mom called me at my friends house to tell me about my grandfather. I feel like you are pretty much helpless with death and dying people. I never know what to say and am pretty much the worst person to talk to about the subject.

There was always some sort of melancholy feel about this area in general though, even without these events. I spent time driving the winding roads through all of these quaint little towns that seemed like they probably held more dark secrets than they led on. I think because drives would often take place after something shitty I relate it to that. Lately though, the last few years...and now after living in the mostly “can’t take a nice drive within five minutes” feel of Los Angeles I appreciate it more and am trying to give it a more positive identity.



My brothers and sisters...So I have been spending time at this place where white people congregate and drink coffee and sit on laptops basically looking at Facebook for three or four hours (not me, I sit there and write about how so and so wronged me, etc). In this particular store there are a number of people who are studying God or something like that. Bibles and that kind of thing all over the place. So today in there, I sit within three feet of a young lady who is literally reading a bible. I sneezed at one point. Not a “God bless you” from her or anyone in the relatively crowded place. A little while later this woman sneezes and I look her directly in the eyes and say “Bless you” She basically looks right through me and completely ignores me. WTF Jesus people, this is how you are? No wonder people like me don’t like the lot of you, you’re all so self absorbed in your world that you can’t even open your mind a little to other...wait, do I really care about these people this much? Oh yeah, no. What a bunch of stiff cunts though, really.



I am kind of missing California now. Well, certain things there and people and things I did and feelings I had. Yeah I miss those or something like that. Hrm.

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Someone tried to get me involved. Well, not really...I read things and feel like there is a fishing line and I am supposed to take this bait. I mean people saying things to cause some sort of reaction, I know that all too well. When it is glaringly obvious though, how annoying is it. Take for instance people talking about music. As much as I love music and it’s a big part of my life blah blah blah, there are only about six people in the world that I ever want to talk to about music. So I read things on the internet from people I know and them doing the tired old thing about music they don’t understand or know, just dismissing whole genres and types because it’s popular or what not, it makes me just realize how shallow people really are with their tastes...or how stubborn. Like The Stooges and Johnny Cash are the only artists that matter. Or the “their old stuff was better set”....”Oh I didn’t know they were still making records”. Those kinds of people. Really, leave me alone with that shit and don’t try to associate me with it. As much of a music snob I kind of am, I am not at all. I have no “guilty pleasures”, and if someone wants to listen to something horrible like Vampire Weekend of Lady Gaga or whatever else the tastemakers are buzzing into your dome then so be it, but really, at the end of the day, I couldn't care less. Really though, what the hell are your ears thinking some of you?

Day 6: September 11th

I feel like my hands are filthy even though I’ve washed them numerous times today. My whole being feels dirty and gross. I may have to shave or at least “clean up” a little tonight or tomorrow morning. I could have kept driving today I think. I am in Albany and drove a little over 400 miles today to Albany, NY which as you (should) know is about three hours away (I did it in two and a half once) from Boston. I didn’t feel like getting there at night and driving in the dark at this point, especially after driving all day in the sun, is a chore. I may be old though as well. Yesterday I did over 500 miles, so I am ready to be done with this trip. Ending with a brief drive tomorrow is a better idea as unloading all this stuff I have will be easier.

I don’t think I took any pictures today and yesterday only took about five or six. This part of the country is boring, I feel like I wrote that exact thing about “this part of the country” but maybe not. This is going to be a strange adjustment (I think). I never really settled out there so it’s almost like I was on a long vacation. That place (L.A.) doesn’t really have a culture I can put my finger on. It’s too big and is like a giant strip mall, or series of strip malls. There is nothing pleasant to the eye around the Valley/Hollywood, LA, etc aside from the mountains you are surrounded by. After a while though, those grow tired. The irony is that the film industry is big there, which is for the most part based on fiction. I feel like people out there are based on fiction. There is always some two part story to everyone and and everything. It grows tired after a few months. If the only thing keeping me out there was weather, that would be pretty horrible!

In the next couple of days I’ll probably do a more serious “recap” of this trip. I am frankly pretty exhausted at about 20 miles under 3,000 so far. Tomorrow will be the seventh day of driving. People went out and lived and worked and did their thing while I did this. Weird. Fun. Needed, etc. I feel relieved, revived, different, better, worse and healthier all at once.

One Million Shitty Husbands and the Women Who Love Them

A million miles to go now, geographically and otherwise. Every other day a new situation comes up just in time to join us for breakfast. I feel like a zombie, no more or less than I have here almost the whole time I’ve been here. Regardless though I will destroy all of it as much as I can and as hard as I can otherwise I will go off somewhere else. I feel like a liar sitting around telling stories all day. I never want to explain anything to anyone so any of these randoms I see, they don’t need to know how anything is going. The rest, I don’t take serious, or believe anything that comes out of their mouths and never fully can or will. Kind of sucks to be this now. At least I'm not xxxx xxxx xxxx xxxxxx and never will be, fuck that noise.

Remember when people would do some shit? I have like six days left here. This new shitty event is making this less of a reality, but we'll see. If I have to delay this any longer I will definitely be in a bad area of life. Anyway, for those six days it should be time to do some shit. Wait, I am just realizing this right now. I should probably go worry about that somewhere else. I really need to not do this typing anymore, or looking at shit I don't need to be looking at. I do make things easier on myself though.

Oh tonight we went to this thing in a theater and fuck do I hate when people talk or whisper in the theater. It does that thing where it you know, bugs you. This gentleman in front of me shushed the shithead next to me who was with what I assume was his woman, and just acting like a total nerd, and then blatantly checking out this really gross fake tits woman that kept walking by. Anyway, this shit would not shut up and thanks to this other guy who also CAN'T FUCKING TAKE YOUR SHIT did something about it. This event was Seth Family Guy dude and some others from the show, hosted by Bill Maher. It was pretty funny and interesting, and I'll miss doing this kind of thing when I go back to Boston, but anyway, good times.

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(2004)

Eddie W. Peachtickets would come to my house in the summer months and bring homemade lemonade; we would sit on the porch and talk about different women we dated, how the Braves were doing, and the railroad. Eddie W. Peachtickets was the kind of guy you could count on. I don’t think he had any enemies, that Eddie W. Peachtickets. I bet Eddie W. Peachtickets is somewhere right now helping someone out with something. A very unselfish man, Eddie W. Peachtickets. The first time I met Eddie W. Peachtickets was in the shop with Darren Hedgehogger, Phyllis Dementia, and Natalie Nightwings. Darren Hedgehogger, Phyllis Dementia, and Natalie Nightwings and I were discussing a recent fight out in front of the firehouse involving Chet Chickarini and Ned Slapadino. Evidently Ned Slapadino called Chet Chickarini’s wife a two-timing piece of trash to Larry Lasagna. Chet Chickarini caught wind of this from a friend and went down to confront Ned Slapadino. Anyway, Darren Hedgehogger, Phyllis Dementia, and Natalie Nightwings and I were discussing this fight in the body shop when Eddie W. Peachtickets walked in and asked if we could help him move a chair into his van that had fallen out when he stepped on the accelerator at a red light on the corner; we happily obliged, and then invited Eddie W. Peachtickets to join us for a cup of coffee and some conversation. Darren Hedgehogger, Phyllis Dementia, and Natalie Nightwings ended up leaving around midnight, and Eddie W. Peachtickets and I sat around talking about boats and Bob Hope movies for a few more hours. Thus began a long friendship with Eddie W. Peachtickets that continues to this day. Albeit it’s via phone, as I’ve since left town, I still consider Eddie W. Peachtickets to be one of best friends in the world.