Train Diary: Those People

2 Aug

Metrolink train.

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.

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7 Responses to “Train Diary: Those People”

  1. dressyarson August 2, 2013 at 2:29 pm #

    Actually all the credible studies I’ve read that did not rely on self-measurement indicated that black and white guys are the same size on average. Asians, not so much.

    • aneroidocean August 2, 2013 at 3:04 pm #

      Hilarious that you don’t cite or link to said “credible studies.”

      delicioustacos – A close relationship with your kids doesn’t mean that she’s a better person than you. If she’s got a close relationship with her kids, teaches them to be shitty people and rude like she is, that doesn’t make her a “good” person either.

  2. BB753 August 3, 2013 at 2:57 pm #

    Let’s just put it this way: you’re sliding down the social scale. Joblessness, drugs and booze don’t help. That doesn’t make you black. People in your condition used to be called white trash.
    And yes, we’re all the same under the skin …except for the brain.
    Blacks are the underachievers of the human species. Everybody knows it but we all pretend not to notice.

  3. Bigoldbag August 3, 2013 at 9:41 pm #

    What liberal, white guilt claptrap. The difference between you and the black woman is that she looked at you and said “fucking white boy”, but she’s not so riddled with race guilt that she went home and wrote a fucking essay about it.

    REPLY

  4. pffffffftttsssssssiimmbllllllddddddnnnnnnnnn August 11, 2013 at 9:05 pm #

    People are alright on and individual level, it’s when they’re in groups that the more primitive tribalistic instincts, which are the root cause of racism, start reassert themselves.

    For example, the neighborhood I grew up in was pretty racist. Still is, actually. Even today a minority would have a hard time buying a house on the block I grew up on. There is an agreement amongst the “natives” there that if you do decide to sell and move over to South Jersey or whatever, there’s certain people you don’t sell to.

    Here’s the thing, I grew up in a racist neighborhood, but my family wasn’t racist at all. Matter of fact, I remember when I was a little kid, maybe 5 or 6 years old, I used to walk around the house speaking my own gibberish language: Spekata gorschlaga teoformali blaghahhdkkdkpffftttsimbbldddnnnn – just making shit up off the top of my head. Maybe I was a weird kid. What I think it was was my grandparents, who basically lived with me at the time, spoke a mixture of English and Italian around the house. They’d switch over to Italian if they were arguing or talking shit on some other family member or whatever. I guess I was just imitating them. Well, one day my grandmother was giving me a bath while I was babbling in my gibberish language, and I unknowingly blurted out the word NIGGER. No sooner did it come out of my mouth than my grandmother smacked me across it – hard. “Don’t you ever say that word again,” she says to me. I didn’t know what the fuck I said, I had never even heard the word before. I just thought my grandmother was mean. But that was the first lesson I ever got on racial tolerance.

    Ahh, shit, I gotta go to bed. I’ll finish the story tomorrow.

  5. pffffffftttsssssssiimmbllllllddddddnnnnnnnnn August 17, 2013 at 12:23 am #

    See, case in point. This is why I’m a lazy writer. Compare that first paragraph to this:

    “Show me a man or a woman alone and I’ll show you a saint. Give me two and they’ll fall in love. Give me three and they’ll invent the charming thing we call ‘society’. Give me four and they’ll build a pyramid. Give me five and they’ll make one an outcast. Give me six and they’ll reinvent prejudice. Give me seven and in seven years they’ll reinvent warfare. Man may have been made in the image of God, but human society was made in the image of His opposite number, and is always trying to get back home.”

    -Stephen King

    Fuck it. I’m tired. I’ll finish the story tomorrow.

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