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I barely believe it myself.

Admit it, I was right!

Admit it, I was right!

I once worked for a chiropractor who had pock marked skin, a voice that can best be described as something Seth MacFarlane dreamed up and of course the God complex that so many of his kind are afflicted with. He was a class A asshole who was a witness to a car accident that I was in, that he treated me for, billed me (the insurance company) for and just to prove what a great guy he was he fired me because I attempted suicide. He still got his money but he will have to deal with that butt ugly,pock marked face and that ridiculous cartoon voice. We all know most doctors don’t have souls, more, oh so more on that later. Before my accident I worked with his sister at a part time kinda thing where we would sell flowers at the amphitheater during concerts. We sold roses for $5 a stem, all thorns taken off and placed into one of those little water tubes with a rubber stopper top. His sister, who we’ll call Cunt, would buy the roses from the flower market at about $1 a stem and I would come to her apartment help clean and place roses in the receptacle and I would make a $1.50 profit on each rose I sold. At this time in my life I had a sick body and long legs, I still have the long legs, the rest-ehhh..I’d wear a black,tight fitting dress with a slit up up to there and sandles. The money was good if it was an older, smoother crowd. I made a fortune during the Moody Blues. It was especially great if a drunk dude would come up and buy a rose for me, it was like “Thank you baby, I’ll look at it all night and think of you” and then I resold it. I know. More profits! Yeah!

One day Cunt, old pock faces sister, called me and said to meet her at this bar up the street from her apartment and we could have a few drinks before we went to her place to clean and dethorn the roses. Over a few beers and some chit chat we got on the subject of men. She was whining about her (many) failed relationships and I told her, point blank, “If there is a loser within a mile he will come to me like the Wiseman to Jesus”. She laughed, apparently being unaware of my powerful dirtbag pheromones.  She excused herself to go to the bathroom, she seemed to have a small bladder considering she was a cunt. When said cunt returned to our table, in less than five minutes, she was surprised to find a gentleman had availed himself of our table and was conversing, NOT conversating, with me.  When she sat down this gentleman, who was short a few teeth, informed her that he “would love to play a song for me on the jukebox but I would need to accompany him as he could not read”. I realize that illiteracy is not a joke but I do consider it a big plus in a relationship. I wished I’d have made a bet of some sort.  Admit it, I was right. In record time no less.

 

If I were African-American I would be in jail, or dead.

We are well in to the 21st century and racism is still alive and kicking. There would be no doubt that progress has been made but, pretty much on daily basis, you hear about racial profiling. Black men have an especially hard time hailing a cab, they get followed in stores and they get pulled over for DWB (“Driving while black”). I can’t take credit for the last statement, nor do I know who first said it but it really stuck with me. I have been followed in stores, numerous times, while shopping.I would be lying if I said this was a frequent occurrence but nonetheless it was most disconcerting. I was in a grocery store, a chain store not a mom & pop deal, buying for one night. I didn’t have a cart and I picked up some filet mignon. I’m walking around trying to figure out what else to cook as this was special, trust me, I don’t have a filet paycheck. I look up and the fucking meat guy, in a bloody apron, is following me around shuffling stuff around and probably spreading blood. I actually hope he did spread blood around so future customers would wonder if they are actually pulling a “Hostel” situation here. I bought my stuff but I was fucking LIVID! How fucking dare this grocery store butcher follow my ass around? Who the fuck did he think he was? Who did he think I was? I wanted to go back in grab a butcher knife create a larger opening in this assholes asshole and shove those filets straight up there. I was followed in a beach shop and in a rinky dink “antique” store. I just wanted to blow their shops up. What must that feel like on such a frequent basis that when you’re pulled you don’t really have to try to figure out what you did. You were born black. You fucked up and picked the wrong color. It’s so hard to imagine that happening so frequently that it is the norm. If I were black and this shit happened to me? Bodies everywhere. You talk “Black Attitude”? Try being treated, as you walk through the door, that you need to be watched because there is no way you could possibly afford THIS merchandise. Next time you grab your purse when you see a black man get on the elevator, be glad it’s not this white woman.