Walk a Block in My Shoes

We've had some wonderful weather in Arkansas the past couple of weeks. With highs in the 70's, one forgets that it's autumn and thanks God and His Republican party for global warming. Unfortunately, our indian summer is coming to a close as tomorrow the temperature drops from 71 degrees to 22 degrees. By the weekend, we should have four inches of snow on the ground. Feeling upset about all of this, I decided to take a walk around the neighborhood last night and enjoy the last night of warmth for the next few months.

I grabbed my fat black cat, Geeko, and threw a leash on him. I figured he would enjoy taking a stroll with me. He did not. Still, I know what's best for him, so I dragged him along with me anyway. Literally dragged, as he would collapse when I tried to get him to walk. Oh well, the asphalt stripped away all that excess fur he's been shedding everywhere. Bonus! I made my way to the end of my street and made a left onto Sycamore Street. There is a Methodist church there and a couple of parishioners were standing in the parking lot. It seemed by their tone that they were having an argument. One of them was an older man with really white hair and Sansabelt slacks pulled up to his chin. The other was a younger woman wearing a shirt that alluded to her fondness for fisting. As I drew closer, I could hear bits of their heated conversation.

Sansabelt was yelling, "As Methodists, we do not believe in putting fists, or other things for that matter, in our farginas! We only put our baby making wands in that most vile of place!" "Oh, Norman. I only like fisting in my ass, not my 'fargina,'" Fisty McGhee replied sardonically. At that, Sansabelt turned a crazed shade of red. He was really pissed off at what I assumed to be his granddaughter. Then, a little girl came running up to them from where the playground was. She yelled, "Come on, Mommy & Daddy. You promised me a Pious Meal at McNoHomosexuals!" "Okay, little one, we'll go," Fisty told her. Then to Sansabelt, "Let's go hubby, we'll continue this conversation later in the Gimp Room." Sansabelt made a fist and gave the Why I oughta fist shake ala Ralph Cramden to her and they both burst out laughing and I think Sansabelt pooped a little. Smelled like it anyway. They saw me passing by and asked if I would be interested in joining the church's Wednesday service or a session in the Gimp Room. I told them that from that little exchange, I thought Methodists were just about the most batshit crazy people on earth, so no thanks. I just wanted to drag my pussy down the road and get the fuck away from them. They yelled at me that I was worse than the homosexuals, blacks, Mexicans, and French combined.

I journeyed away from the Methodists and passed several run down homes. Typical white trash decor with parts of things strewn about the yard. On one of the porches, there was a skinny old lady sitting on a milk crate. She was talking to herself and looked to have maybe three whole teeth. I said, "Hey, Tweeky. Who ya talking to?" She replied, "I'm justa talkin' to Jesus." "Oh, tell him he needs to get to that Methodist church over there. They really need some guidance," I told her. "He knows about them," she cackled, "they won't talk to Him because they say he looks like a terrorist." "Tell the J-man I said 'hey,'" I said as I drug my half conscious cat away. "Pssst, hey dude," Tweeky whispered, "you got any glass?" I replied, "Sorry, all out. Ask Jesus Bin Laden over there. See ya, Old Lady Tweekerooni." "Old lady!" She screamed. "I'm only 19, you motherfucker!" "Well, you look like someone shit an old lady on your face, so you can't blame me for the mistake," I said dickily and dragged my fat furball further into Crazytown.

I crossed the railroad tracks, which the city planners put in to keep the minorities and white trash areas separated. I was immediately transformed from Meth in a Small Town to Bangin' in Little Rock. I looked around and saw some black dudes playing dominos and leaving pregnant girls. I also saw some Mexicans napping while doing yardwork, a few Asians scribbling Trig functions on the sidewalk in front of their dry cleaning store, a really drunk Irish dude trying to fight a lost British guy looking for a dentist, a Muslim guy burning the flag and shrieking, some gays doing hair, and a Jew counting money. I thought to myself, How odd to see so many stereotypes on one block.

I went over to a group of rural/urban youths. They were making fun of another youth because his pants were pulled up all the way to his mid thigh. "Lookit the old cracker," they taunted the fashionably challenged rural/urban youth. (Urban means black right?) Anyway, he came over to me with a tear in his eye and introduced himself. His name was Junebug. Really, I promise. Junebug popped open a 40oz and gave me the standard white man's 22oz. We sat on the stoop drinking and talking about life. As Junebug stroked my half shaved black pussy, I remembered something I had on my sexual to-do list that I reopened when I divorced. Wonder if Myesha is divorced yet? I digress, Junebug & I were talking about normal urban youth topics, such as particle physics, string theory, the Baroque period, and ho's. I asked to see his switchblade, but he looked confused. Dammit, that's the same for every black person I have ever met. Growing up, my family told me that black people cut off white children's ears, but I'll be damned if I've ever seen a knife or a necklace made of small white ears anywhere in my travels. I think my parents were lying and perhaps, maybe a bit racist. I'll never know, they were all murdered by Indians. (Red dot, not whoo-woo) All I know is that I'm too horny to be a racist. I don't like retards, but I don't think that counts as a race. Also, people with nubs freak me out.

I said goodbye to Junebug and continued on my politically incorrect journey. I decided that my smoker's lungs couldn't take any further walking, so I headed home. On the way, I saw Jesus (he did look like a terrorist, by the way) walking the same direction. He seemed agitated. "Whatup, JC," I yelled, "What's with the long face."

"Oh, it's your damn planet," the son of God replied. "I swear to me that you guys are the most screwed up bunch of people in the entire universe. I can tell you that Earth is the only planet in the cosmos that points weapons at itself. How retarded is that? That's why 'aliens' won't make contact with you guys. Well, except the one's pledging a frat. They get bonus points for anal probing a rube earthling. And you're adversity to diversity is the most disheartening to my family. We gave you deserts, rainforests, tundras, and tropical beaches to spice up your pathetic lives. We also gave you different colors of people and cultures so you wouldn't get bored. But nooooo, you only want to fuck people who look like you do. What a waste. We gave you weed and shrooms to take the edge off, but what do you do? Yeah, you make 'em illegal. What a bunch of douchebags! And then, you justify all your retardedness by saying that I said that's the way it should be. Oh my Dad, you guys are sooooo dumb, I wanna puke rainbows. The only thing we added to the Bible was 'Love thy neighbor' (that's back when saying thy's and thee's was like putting izzles into words today). However, you idiots don't focus on that, you find mysterious passages to say that I hate gays. What? Who do you think cuts my hair or decorates my pad - Mormons? Whatever. The Bible is just a plagiarized version of the Greek myths with some name changes and fewer rapes by swans."

"Wow, Jesus, don't hold back. I noticed that you like to say things are 'retarded.' What's the deal? Aren't you supposed to be all loving or something?" I asked after zoning out for most of His speech.

"Dude, we put retards on every planet for the populace's amusement. You guys feel bad when you laugh at them and even try to teach them how to read. What a waste of natural comedy. Really, it's just sad."

"So J-man, I know that religions are the cause of most (if not all) of our problems. But you were here on Earth, what'd you choose?"

"That question is asked to me more than any other, that's why I tell you the answer everytime you sneeze."

"Sneeze? What? .... Ahhhh, I get it. You're so clever, Jesus. One more question; I noticed that when my life was really hard, there were only one set of footprints. What's up with that?"

"Oh, my son. You only saw one set of footprints when times were so tough for you because you were a whining, self-centered douchebag and I couldn't bear to hear another second of your crybaby bitching, so I went to smoke a blunt with Junebug over there. By the way, I think your cat's dead. What? Don't look at me! Who walks a fucking cat, for My sake!"