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I find myself in a somber and angry mood tonight. I’m not quite sure why, but the result is that I’m going to take a different tack with this piece.

Much has been said lately about the remarks of Jeremiah Wright, Barrack Obama’s minister. The man is certainly inflammatory, but despite all the vitriol directed his way, I honestly don’t think his assessment is too far off. At a time when mankind has reached the highest peaks of technological and scientific knowledge he has ever known, it amazes me that racism is so alive and well. Was Wright so far off in calling this the “US of KKK-A”?

Certainly, the position of black-skinned Americans is better than it probably has been at any time in the history of this country. Much of the present sorrow still visited upon that community is self-inflicted, but only an idiot would say that the majority of blame falls on blacks themselves. The civil rights movement of the 1960s laid bare the festering boil that was race relations in the United States, and through much black hardship gave white society a chance to be honest with itself. It gave whites who wanted justice to prevail an opportunity to speak out, and to help alleviate the suffering of their fellow man. This admission of guilt in itself, however, does not lift millions of people out of the burden of hundreds of years of poor education, paltry infrastructure, and genetic steamrolling. Laws were passed to better protect the physical bodies of minorities in the States, but racism persisted, and communities were ignored.

It troubles me that the worth of a man is still measured in so many ways by the color of his skin. Racism at its core is no different than superstition. It says that some magical quality is imbued within one’s skin, and that quality will always transcend whatever other abilities we have. Racism, like religion, is a virus. It infiltrates the mind through exposure to other infected individuals, and seeks to spread its ugly progeny through every inch of flesh so that each word, each dealing with someone of a different skin color is poisoned by it. It seeks every opportunity to spread, and chooses those who are most easily influenced: the young, the old, and the uneducated. Jesus knew very well what he spoke of when he said to suffer the little children unto him. A young mind is unable to withstand the attack of mental viruses, and is open to every putrid idea that its rotting parent cares to spit its way. Subject a child to 18 years of bigotry, and its mind will be so overrun by racist or religious disease that it may very well be a life long handicap.

I wonder if we’ll ever have the technology to manipulate the skin color of a child in the womb. Obviously, we can already do that to a certain extent through selective insemination. But, if we can show that skin color is nothing more than an “On-Off” switch that we can change in the OB-GYN’s office, will there still be room for racial division?

Recently, southern Congressman Geoff Davis called Barrack Obama “boy” in a discussion on Obama’s readiness to act as Commander-in-Chief. Davis is only three years older than Obama, and in effect, was calling Obama a nigger. He also said that Obama would probably be in jail if he were not miraculously lifted into the Senate. (A complete mp3 is here.) What a sad day for mankind. In the twenty-first goddamned century, a representative to the most important congress in world history can still see fit to call a black senator “boy.”

Let me offer one final thought, and I’ll be off. I rather hate the idea of “community” and fictional relationships to prominent people within one’s own race. I remember a scene in a sit-com I saw many years ago, where a black-skinned, elderly musician was talking to the two black sisters that were the main characters. The general point of his conversation was that white people stole black music and usurped it. I understand that this character was trying to tell the girls that they need not feel ashamed of themselves; that people who look just like them have achieved greatness. Even so, this bothers me.

The color of one’s skin does not imbue you with some right to take ownership of great people before you to the exclusion of others. If there was a talented black musician who’s music was stolen (I’m looking at you, Elvis Presley), that individual is no more related to the average black person than he is the average Mexican. His talent does not somehow persist through the ages to be magically inherited by every person who has a similar skin color. Similarly, I, as an half-Anglo, half-Hispanic male did not crawl into the room of a sleeping black musician 70 years ago and spirit away the essence of his musical talent in some kind of racial robbery.

The gifts that each of us have are gifts to the entire species, and our failings are burdens cast upon everyone. There is no more “black music” than there is “white space flight.” Each of us can take pride in the great men and women who came before us, we should all be ashamed at the evil that has transpired, and we all have a responsibility to those of us who come after. I am every man or woman who has struggled before me to survive, to eke out an existence on this planet. I am a single mother who does her damndest to put food on the table. I am every slave who has ever taken a whipping for daring to hold his head high, to say “I am a man.” I am every person who has ever screamed at the empty, silent heavens and said “not me, I am not going to take this without a fight.” We are all liberty, we are all evil, we are all justice. The sooner we dispense with this nonsense that we are the product of our skin, that we are members of fictitious “communities”, the sooner we can cast off one more shackle placed upon us by the darkness of ages past. Our worth is not determined by the color of our skin. Our path need not be guided by superstition.

There’s an article out of Maine discussing a proposed new law that basically makes it illegal to look at a child in public locations in such a way as to cause sexual arousal in the viewer. The article mistakenly suggests that it will now be illegal under the new law to look at clothed children for sexual arousal, but that’s irrelevant. What’s more important is how amazingly scary it is that the government is getting into the business of thought crime.

The article cites an anectode from a police officer about a situation in which “a man … appeared to be observing children entering … community bathrooms” at a public beach. The police couldn’t charge him with anything, and were only able to tell him to move along. This new bill would address this so-called “visual sexual aggression” against children, making it a felony.

What’s particularly interesting about this episode is that the guy only “appeared to be observing” children, nothing more. He wasn’t talking to them, he wasn’t masturbating, he wasn’t taking pictures, he wasn’t doing anything except looking, and even then they’re not sure. Basically, the police thought that the guy was “creepy” and didn’t want him there. I can understand this, as I wouldn’t want some creepy guy staring at my kids either, assuming I had kids. Nevertheless, it scares the hell out of me that the police wanted to charge the guy with anything at all despite him complying with their request to leave the area. Since when are the police entitled to patrol the thoughts of American citizens? Even IF the guy was staring at the kids so that he could pleasure himself later, I find it absurd that some random cop on some random beach can make that determination without any evidence and throw some guy in jail on a felony charge. Utter nonsense.

By the way, it’s for similar reasons that hate crime legislation pisses me off. It shouldn’t matter why someone committed a crime, only that they did it. If white-skinned man A stabs white-skinned man B, does it hurt B any less than if A stabs a black-skinned guy because of racism? I tell you, if I’m ever stabbed, I hope a white-skinned guy does me in. If a black-skinned guy did it because he hates whites, that knife is probably going to hurt way worse. This, of course, is just plain stupid.

If the guy watching kids is creepy, move him along and keep an eye on him. If he continues to do it and people are feeling threatened, charge him with something like physical intimidation. The threat of rape is a real crime, and a grown man who persists in leering at small children after warnings from police could be legitimately conveying this threat. But, to make up some bullsh*t felony of “visual sexual aggression” and to actually create a pre-crime over someone’s sexual thoughts is just plain frightening. Since when did Joseph Stalin start running Maine’s government?

I will give the author(s) of the bill some credit: the bill doesn’t make it a crime to stare at someone over 12 or 14 (depending on the circumstance) in this way. I say this not because I’m happy that creepy men can intimidate 15-year-old girls, but because this apparently recognizes the distinction between pedophilia and just “regular” sexual attention paid towards a minor. In semi-scientific terms, if a human being has secondary sex characteristics (e.g. developed breasts or hips in girls), it’s not pedophilia to be attracted to them. We still don’t want grown adults taking advantage of minors who may be sexually—though not mentally—developed, but attraction towards secondary sexual characteristics is normal. Sexual attraction towards children with no discernible secondary sex characteristics is not considered normal, and falls into the category of paraphilia. I have no problem with crimes that penalize adults for taking advantage of unwitting minors, but to say that an adult can’t be sexually aroused by a 16-year-old who is just as developed as an 18-year-old is just dumb. This bill doesn’t do that, thankfully, but I wonder if it’s on the horizon.

Who knows what could be next? Maybe we can bring back debtor’s prison and throw away people who merely consider skipping a credit card payment. Rather than help the potential pedophile or the potential bankruptcy candidate before they do an offending act, we can just preemptively ruin their lives. Everybody wins. Hooray!

To close, let me quote George Orwell’s 1984:

It was terribly dangerous to let your thoughts wander when you were in any public place or within range of a telescreen. The smallest thing could give you away. A nervous tic, an unconscious look of anxiety, a habit of muttering to yourself — anything that carried with it the suggestion of abnormality, of having something to hide. In any case, to wear an improper expression on your face (to look incredulous when a victory was announced, for example) was itself a punishable offence. There was even a word for it in Newspeak: facecrime, it was called.

Despite my wild imagination, everyone in the world does not read my blog, apparently. I blame me for not being funny, but mostly I blame you. I think we both know why.

For those of you not from California, there’s a place called Bakersfield, and then there’s a place called “everywhere else.” If you’re in Bakersfield, it doesn’t take you very long to get there. You could get in your car to drive to Bakersfield, but then you could get out again because you’re already there. So that’s cool. But, if you’re “everywhere else”, Bakersfield is in the middle of f’ing nowhere. You could be all like “hey, I’m going to Bakersfield and maybe I’ll get a burger when I’m there because I’m hungry” and then go get in your car and start driving. Unfortunately, you’ll starve to death before you get even half way because Bakersfield is in another dimension that takes a thousand years to get to and is inhabited by demons. Seriously, if you’ve never been to Bakersfield, don’t go. Tell your friends to go though, it’ll be funny. Especially if they don’t like demons.

Anyways, I drove to Bakersfield yesterday to go to a surprise birthday party for one of my closest friends. His birthday’s not until May, but we had it on April 12th anyways. Did I mention that besides being inhabited by demons and residing in another dimension, Bakersfield is also apparently in the middle of the sun? At first, I was “everywhere else” and I was comfortable and then my tires started melting and I realized that I was getting close.

What the heck was I talking about? Oh yeah, I know: you people didn’t listen when I told you that I was going to throw you to the lions when I was elected VP of the world in a few years. Because Bakersfield is in Thailand, I had a long time to observe the driving habits of my fellow man on the way out there. 80% of you drive kind of slow, 20% of you drive too damned slow, and the rest of you are dicks. I don’t understand why people have such a hard time realizing that cars and trucks are dangerous weapons.

Let’s say that you and I are hungry for a tasty fruit and yogurt parfait from McDonald’s, so we go to one near our house. Because my house is in the middle of the rain forest, I had to blaze a trail to the restaurant. While we’re eating I decide to show you what I looked like clearing a path to the Garden Grove McDonald’s. I take out my trusty machete and start pretending that I’m cutting down bushes and fighting off jaguars. No one else is in the joint besides you, me, a hot 17-year-old behind the counter who is trying to lure me to jail, and a family with some obese kids. I start playing the air-machete, and within 2 minutes a cop breaks through the door and shoots me in the face. Why did he do this? Probably because I was swinging a dangerous weapon around and the obese kids might have eaten it…or…something like that.

If, instead of fighting off jaguars I took the freeway to McDonald’s, I could drive my multi-thousand pound truck like an absolute madman, and no cops are going to shoot me in the face. The worst I could have done with my machete was kill or injure a small handful of people, but in my truck I have the power to wipe out whole families by making one wrong lane change. I pulled a kid out of an upside down car once after he hit 4 other cars, rolling one other besides his own. Fortunately, no one was killed, but he caused over $100,000 in damage to property and injured several other people, and all he got was a trial date, a $500 fine, and probation. Listen to me, you brain dead ass hole: your car is a deadly weapon. Slow the F down, make some decent lane changes, and turn down your Eminem. If I had it my way, I would shoot you in the face and save cops the trouble. Alas, my contract as a superhero with the government prevents me from killing civilians, so you’re off the hook…for now. At the moment I can only kill people who don’t speak God’s language (English), but that contract is up in 4 years. I swear by almighty Allah that I’m going to own a coliseum by then and I’m not going to feed my lions and tigers and bears until my contract is up. Oh my, are they going to be hungry.

(Yes, I did pull a muscle typing that last bit; thank you for asking.)

I don’t know if you know this, but I should be allowed to kill people. Well, not all people in all circumstances, but I think it’s only fair that I have the power of life and death when it comes to dangerous drivers or drivers who are just generally douches. My eighth-grade teacher Mrs. Earnest told me that I was wise beyond my years, and I’m pretty sure she didn’t tell you this, so that pretty much means that I get to have the power of life and death and you don’t.

So……. I’m constantly amazed at how dangerously people in SoCal drive. Just because you have a lowered, $12,000 Honda with fake exhaust doesn’t give you the right to swerve across multiple lanes on the way to your manga convention. If you do it AND you have illegal window tint on your car, I swear to god I should have the right to put you down. Who are you, the President of f’ing Paraguay? Why the hell do you need illegal dark tint on the front windows? I don’t care if you’re Oskar goddamned “I-saved-like-a-million-Jews” Schindler driving away from the ghost of Hitler, if you have illegal window tint on your POS car and you dare cut me off from 4 lanes over and you’re not the President of Paraguay, you’d better hide for all your worth once I’m elected Vice President in 2016.

On my way home today, some guy on a freaking ’70s era moped is burning up the bike lane, hogging the white line so everyone has to avoid him. Because traffic was moving so slowly, he stayed with me for several miles. The stupid moped was bright green, and he had a bright orange motorcycle helmet on, as if that somehow hid the fact that he still lives with his mom who tucks him in at night and calls him pookie and kisses him on the forehead. And, to make matters worse, he didn’t have any bloody brakes!!!! He’d be tearing down the street, blocking the right lane and then the light would turn red, and he would put his stupid feet down and drag them at 40 mph to stop himself! I wish I had my camera so that I could take take his picture and steal his soul and then step on it. I will say one thing though: Keds have some amazing stopping power.

(Speaking of Keds, since when is Mischa Barton a model for Keds?!?!?!?! Click the link above to see her one stop away from working for Burger King.)

Anyways, I finally pull through the gate at my complex and notice a car I don’t recognize in the space next to me. It’s not a bad car, but it’s got a Club on it. A CLUB! I looked around to make sure it wasn’t 1996 and that I wasn’t at K-Mart. Thankfully, I was still in the present, although I’m not sure when I moved to West Virginia. Bloody hell people! Can you not try just a little harder to impress me? I really am going to remember all of this someday. If—by then—you haven’t changed into at least a marginally attractive female or a gay guy who can help me dress better, you’d pretty much better plan on fighting lions and bears in my new coliseum.

I was reading through my copy of Vice Dos and Don’ts: 10 Years of VICE Magazine’s Street Fashion Critiques the other day. If you’re into photography or fashion, or just into being mean to people who dress like retards and you don’t own this book already, you’re a bad citizen of your country and are actually helping the terrorists win. You should be put in jail for treason, you bastard.

One of the authors notes that liking a professional sports team is pretty dumb when you really think about it. Each year there are new players, new management, new guys who clean the field, and so on. What does it mean to like the Dodgers, for example? It’s not like the Dodgers team of today is the same as it was last year. What you’re really saying is that you like the consistent branding message, and that you’re a fan of that team’s marketing department. Basically, you’re admitting that you’re a consumer whore for a company.

I’ve seen people get in fights at college and professional sporting events because of arguments over which team is better. This really doesn’t make a lick of sense. I’m going to hit you because “your” sporting conglomerate has a less talented roster of overpaid athletes than “my” sporting conglomerate. Would it make any sense if we substituted “San Franciso 49ers” and “Oakland Raiders” with “Tide brand laundry detergent” and “Ultra brand laundry detergent”? I can see it now: “Hey, dumbass! My current formulation of laundry detergent gets my whites waaaaaay the f*ck whiter than your pansy-assed laundry detergent. Just wait until the new ‘Summer Breeze’ formula comes out next month. I’m going to smell like a late afternoon romantic walk in the park with my wife, and you’re just going to smell like a slightly less romantic walk along the beach in the mid-day sun. Bitch!”

I can understand if you like a team because it has a consistent approach to its sport, or because it has a consistent character. For example, maybe UCLA basketball tends to run a certain offense that you find exciting. I get the Raiders fans, since that team’s management has long fostered a rebellious, I’m-out-on-probation-and-want-to-knife-someone-mentality. If that’s your bag, I can dig it. But, to just like a team because it’s your team or city is dumb. Why “support” your team or city if they’re the worst team in their sport? Who gives a damn? The third base guy gets a 7.5 million dollar salary each year, and after he loses his 90th game for the season he still gets to go home and bang three smoking hot women he doesn’t even know. If anything, his sorry ass should support you. When you get AIDS from too much unprotected sex with heroin addicted guys in the local park’s bathroom, it’s he that should be at your bedside stroking your sweaty, bruised-up AIDS face. After all, you bought five $64 jerseys and a couple of hats, plus some $8 beer last time you were at the ball park. You practically paid for one of his hookers!

In short, I guess what I’m trying to say is that you’re a corporate whore and baseball players should fellate you. If that’s not the most rational ending to one my blogs yet, I don’t know what is.