SYSTEM OF A SMACKDOWN

ORIGINALLY POSTED ON MYSPACE, AUGUST 2007:


There's a sign on the hostess stand of one of my favorite breakfast restaurants in Denver, where they do an extremely popular "Petticoat Bruncheon" on weekends, (wherein all the waiters are dressed in drag- yes, it's hysterical, especially when you're hungover or just plain tired and in need of some strong coffee and belly laughs) that reads, in happy, hand-lettered Crayola prose, "Don't Seat Yourself or You Might Get Bitch-Slapped by Some Drag Queen."

After a few months of careful thought, teeth gnashing, stewing and brewing, I've decided I need a similar sign. This blog post right here will be that sign. Now, I'm no drag queen (que lastima), but I can deliver a bitch-slap to the legions of the over-entitled who routinely tromp over posted boundaries, like nobody's bidness. If that makes me a self-righteous bitch, so be it. Sue me. Whatevah, at this ripe old age of 37, I seriously don't give a shit what anyone thinks of me personally. Plus, and this is the crucial point, I do feel entitled to my righteous anger because as one of my heroines Margaret Cho put it, I've been through it, whereas the person who pissed me off royally most recently HAS NOT. At least, not that I'm aware of- but I think if he had, he wouldn't be writing the sexist bullshit that he is.

And what is that, you may well arsk? OY VEY. At the risk of generating more buzz or god forbid, "fame" for this clown, I'll tell you quickly. It's this guy I went to high school with, in the class one year ahead of me, given name: Nate Warren. However, his nome de blog is (gag) Colonel Hector Bravado, and he spews every so often for this rather amusing website based here in Denver called Elitist Hipster Snob. (Oh yes, they drip with irony. Most of the time they are mildly entertaining without being outright offensive, but apparently they are self-edited or rather their editing policy is somewhere along the lines of "oh, you wanna write for us? Can you spell? Cool.") In high school he wrote roughly the same quality of crapola, but he had shades of brilliance occasionally, if he would just give up on the "angry white male" thing which we all fully expected he would grow out of in due time….. but, alas. The blog in question is a 17-years too-late "album review" of sorts for a gangsta rap group that I had never heard of, but it matters little, cuz our friend the over-privileged white boy was basically celebrating the "message" of their music which was is in a nutshell, smack down the bitches, kill the bitches, your gun is an extension of your penis, your gang is only family you need, etc. etc. woohoo! Drink some brews and you better(direct quote here) "hide your little sisters from me after I listen to this album, or they'll wake up with a lil' Colonel in they bellies, and the rest of me dried up on they faces."

As Dave Barry would say, I am not making this up.

Now, you may say I'm overreacting and by doing so, giving him too much power. But the only woman I know who would put up with dried cum on her face is either dead, or a totally whacked out crack whore. AND, may I remind everyone that the writer of this tripe is white, male, and grew up in the suburbs. Yes, he was raised by a single mom, but I KNEW his mom, and she was a little nutty, but a total feminist. Plus, most mens I know who was raised by the single mommies (including my husband) are MORE sensitive to woman's plight in this world, not LESS. I was actually looking for his mom when I found him- she was a noted columnist for the Denver Post for many years, Jill Jacobs Scott. You'd think she'd raise her kids up not to spew this hateful shite, que no? And aside from that, I don't think his dad was a deadbeat so… at any rate, didn't we all agree like 15 years ago that there's no excuse for this shit, not even among the so-called gangsta rappers who have supposedly "had it hard?" None! Nope, sorry, 'hijito, take your punk-ass little baby whining somewhere else. No, in fact, shut up altogether. No one needs to hear that shit, except the other crazy-ass voices in your head where an internal censor or critic should be. Don't even try off-loading your toxic waste that passes for writing in this day and age on some sorry-ass 3rd World Country- I can't think of a country sorry enough to accept it- not even illiterate rice farmers in Bangladesh. ESPECIALLY not them.

Now, if I were one of our mutual teachers from 20 years ago, who would no doubt be as profoundly disappointed in him as I am, I might just sigh, shake my head, and pinch the bridge of my nose while muttering, "Nate, nate, nate… we had such high hopes for you. Didn't you go to Colorado College? Didn't I write you a goddamned letter of recommendation????" Whereas, my immediate response to this drivel was admittedly knee-jerk. I ripped him a new asshole on his blog page, and bluntly asked him why he thinks that spewing sexist, misogynist bullshit is any better than the racist bullshit that was routinely spewed, oh a generation ago, by the likes of the KKK and most members of all-white country clubs.

E.g. Biff: "Hey Thad, I was thinking of organizing a little nigger hunt this weekend. You in?"

Thad: "Capital idea! I'll get the shotguns and the Vaseline!"

Sadly, our homeboy doesn't see the comparison as relevant at all- oh no, he thinks an ocean of impenetrable "cool" lies between him and the ugly, racist ravings of insecure white men half a century ago (or, now).

So, I've put off writing, reacting, or responding to this particular issue for almost 3 months now for several reasons (chief among them, I have a life/better shit to do) Now, instead of just a teething toddler gnawing on my breasts all night, I've got this damned subject gnawing at me. It won't go away by focusing on the positive. It doesn't go away even when I go to my happy place (fyi, it's Joann's Rancho Casados in Espanola, NM). It comes with. It orders the enchiladas and leers at me from across the room. Yes, in that most sacred of spaces, JOANN'S it dares to trespass!!

So here's my sign: IF YOU SPEW RACIST, SEXIST BULLSHIT ANYWHERE, ANYTIME, IN ANY FORM NEAR ME, YOU WILL GET THE SMACKDOWN.

IF YOU WILLFULLY AND ROUTINELY DENY YOUR PRIVILEGE AND ENTITLEMENTS WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY DRAPING YOURSELF IN THE "COOL" CACHET OF THE ARTFORMS OR LIFESTYLES OF THE UNDERPRIVILEGED, YOU WILL GET THE SMACKDOWN.



Other reasons for getting the smackdown will be posted here as I see fit.



What's the smackdown? Let's just say I'm skilled in the arts of verbal emasculation. And the other kind too. I grew up with older brothers, and lived to tell about it. Nuff said?



Think of it as a forced Come to Jesus. Jesus whips out the Smackdown. Jesus wins.



* oh, and in case you think I should be duly punished for "flaming" someone on the internets, I already have. My creepy, psychotic old prom date who was a good friend of Nate's in high school sent me a message because he saw my message on Nate's blog. Friggin great. This is the guy, speaking of rape, who very nearly forced me to have sex with him after the prom because, as he so charmingly put it, "It's expected." Niiiccce…….