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#5: Nightly Sketch

“Do you find black girls attractive?” Jason said after I ordered a Honey Brown Lager.
“Not really.”

“Same here,” Jason said, “but your beer says differently.”

“No I take that back.” I said after thinking, “Well, I was with one once.”

“No you weren’t.” Jason said.

“Yeah I was.”

“What was her name?”

“I don’t know.” I said. I walked back to my table, my girlfriend and her ex-boyfriend were there and another girl I didn’t know was with her ex-boyfriend. They were talking and he was talking to someone else about Home Alone and they were quoting Marv, screaming like he did in the movies. I drank my beer and looked at my watch.

I thought about watching people falling off horses earlier that day, trampled. Those ‘When Daredevils Fail’ shows that they broadcast to people my age except with tattoos and fitness. I thought about that and I wanted to say something about how it was sad but they were talking about pornography.

“I hate pornography, or I’m anti-porn.” My girlfriend’s friend said. She was a small blonde and had probably watched those shows about Daredevils and cried. Thought, ‘why is this entertaining.’

“I worked in a porn store a year ago.” I said. “What do you hate about porn?”

“It’s so degrading, sets woman back like a thousand years.”

“There are some indie porns that are more like documentaries, like there’s this one about these two old people and how they met and stuff, it’s beautiful.”

“I like that.” She says.

“Yeah I think that’s really romantic.” My girlfriend says and she looks at me and smiles.

“Flava Flav set black people back twenty years.”

“What? No that’s just racist.”

“No it’s the same thing, it’s degrading.” I said.

“I think you’re wrong, it’s not the same because of Brett Michaels and stuff.”

“No he totally gets a pass.” I take a drink of my Honey Brown. “Brett Michaels is a rich, white rock star and no one bats a lash when his show hits the four season and he hasn’t married anyone or anything and its like Brett Michaels ****ing around with twenty-five more woman. Flava Flav everyone just lowered their heads in shame for most of it. White guilt, everyone felt it. I can guarantee there wasn’t a single black producer on that show. Who would want to film a beaten old black guy being ridiculous 85% of the time and just lonely and sad the other 15%?” I said and everyone got quiet. I took another drink.

“It’s not racist either, it’s an observation. Why am I only allowed to be embarrased for my race? When I watch 16 and Pregnant on MTV or Jersey Shore I’m allowed to be upset because they’re white.”

“Are Guido’s white?”

“Technically.” My girlfriend says.

“But yeah, like can’t I be embarrased for the whole of humanity? Flava Flav makes me look bad, Brett Michaels makes me look bad, The Situation makes me look bad. We glorify these people for our entertainment but we’re totally ****ing up I think. I don’t know, maybe it won’t matter. It’s sad though.”

“It’s whatever.” She says.

“Feel bad for everyone, not just woman. We’re all ****ed kiddo, not just the ones with tits” I said and I’d finished my fifth beer and I was on an empty stomach and she was sober and not saying much. I was loud I think or slurring, maybe spitting my words out like wet seeds.

I thought back to thinking about Todd Bridges on that Daredevil show saying boom when a jetski hit another jetski and the guy riding flips over and probably shattered his pelvis and that’s funny I guess. Todd Bridges, wutchu talkin’ about. Dresses up, puts on a neck brace and says something not that funny because he’s not a comedian but funny enough for whoever watches this.

My girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend got on stage, guitar and he was playing songs he wrote. He was homeless but he didn’t look like it and he didn’t act like it. He asked for a beer and they brought him a shot of Old Crow. He took it and handed me the glass and I put it on the barstool on stage next to the mic and everyone laughed. We watched him play his music, banter with the small crowd and sing the things he wrote when he was not homeless. They were poignant now as everyone laughed and had fun, and I felt this sad ****ing feeling, like watching someone die in a carwreck or flip their jetski. Something bittersweet for entertainment and I wanted to pull him off stage, cover him in a blanket and take him away. Cut to Tonya Harding laughing at him because he’s homeless, sleeps in his car with a cat. Cut to Flava Flav laughing at him because he wears glasses and white and can play Eminem acoustically.

Us, jeering, egging it on. For something, who knows. Like a red cut on our faces its there, and it hurts when we touch it or its cold out or we wash our faces but othertimes it isn’t, and we don’t think about it because if we do we’re self-conscious and we pick at it.

Dr. Pepper has 23 flavors, Jersey Shore is on it’s second season, Charlie Sheen is making money on his legitimate illness and someone gets cum on their face, black woman aren’t attractive to me and Dr. Pepper has 23 flavors. 23 flavors in a single can and sometimes I can taste cherries or plums. Honey or brown sugar and like a wave it washes over me and all of a sudden it burns and I don’t know what I taste, it just hurts my throat.
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