I’m on the train. I’m in the “quiet car.” There is an African American couple. The woman is talking on her phone. Has been for fifty minutes. She is not quiet, in other words. I can’t tell what’s she’s saying except she’s talking about her kids. Something something “those motherfuckers.” She says “sheeeit” like Clay Davis, loud as hell. And I think: black people should not be allowed in the quiet car. Goddamn blacks. Etc.
I beat a woman while fleeing from the cops a couple weeks ago. I still live mostly off unemployment and I spend that money on cheap liquor, not my bills. I probably have kids I don’t know about. If I did know I couldn’t pay for them. Every night I cook a huge fatty piece of pork, or fry some chicken, and then get hammered on hobo booze and try to fuck fat white women. I’m white, but I embody every stereotype about African Americans. Except for my smaller wang and less robust deltoids.
My parents voted for Jesse Jackson. My education was so liberal that Shit Reddit Says would have told my teachers to chill out. Throughout life my multiethnic friends and neighbors have proved to me, on a bone deep level, that human beings are all exactly the same. With exactly the same needs and dreams and capabilities, except for penis size.
Still. A woman yaps in the quiet car and my mind goes right to: fucking blacks.
I am an infinitely worse human being than this woman. And I am looking down on her. She is merely checking in on her family in normal language that everyone around her uses. I’m silently chiding her for profanity when I run a web site that has posts like “My Pet Horse Fucks My Ass.” They’re a couple, look to be in their forties. They are still together. Even on the train she is spending time asking after her children. I will never have a relationship that solid. I will probably never have kids. If I do I’ll ignore them if there’s a hot piece of ass on the train. But fuck her, I think. Fuck them.
We will never have peace. I am the Kwisatz Haderach of the multicultural experiment, and the first place my mind goes is: those people. Those people on the same train as me. Going to the same place, with the same feelings, using the same words. Those people who I’m mad at for interrupting me from nothing. From checking twitter on my phone so I can read stupid fat idiots complain about George Zimmerman. Humanity is fucked. It hurts my soul to think about it.
But still: shut the fuck up, Aquanetta. This is not a casting call for Madea Commutes to Work.