Currency of FUEL

I should have saved my emotionally biased pick for the Bears to step it up for Monday Night. I am dissapointed in myself and I have let down my finest fan base. Forgive me, I love the Bears and rooted every second for that gunslinger from the mountains to take down that Cheese Pumping Ex Packer. Oh, a great victory and even better the Bears were able to add a bit of drama and confusion in the NFC playoff picture. The TV gurus are salivating on thrones of cash, the ratings will be up and the additional last minute fantasy factors are making more people than ever interested in obscure games. I look forward to another four day weekend adventure.

For tonights topic, I wanted to veer away from the norm, ho ho, and travel into a discussion about reversed racial tendencies. There are racial tendencies across both lines, and the human ability to discriminate may be in some ways embedded in our neurons from the outset. Animals travel in packs, fish in schools, and early man waged miniature bloodbaths in tribal wars. Packs can benefit the individual and allow for greater population sizes. Look around you, goddamnit (expletive was not towards my loyal reader, rather towards the soul shattered ignoramus who continues to breed hate and intolerance and who will never read this article).

I remember it from an earlier time in the journey buying beer and tobacco in the suburbs of Chicago. Already a year behind most of my friends in age, I tried to keep pace by providing supplies for enhanced memory making with my earliest compadres. My cousin and myself smoked our first Cuban cigars in Eighth Grade, blacked out and puked all over a house and lawn in the same night. It was my undertaking and intention from the get go. ANYWAYS, when purchasing illicit goods, it would always behoove the purchaser to scope out who was selling the item so they had a gig to whirl up. Or, on better nights and in the good old days, a college kid would work behind the counter and the deal was done from the get go.

When things weren’t so simple, as they often weren’t, there was one rule: avoid women of any other color, race, nationality, anything amigo. They hated the white man, the suburban kid whose mom didn’t take a raft across an ocean and who didn’t have to cook and clean for years to put a son through college. I can understand the resentment at large, but even out of white people as a whole I seem to be a bigger target for foreign women who display stubborn adherence to petty rules and constantly voice mindless complaints about my demeanor or manner.

I tried to cash a check at a currency exchange, and the lady almost called the cops on me because I crossed out a phone number I was writing down for her to verify that I worked where I said I did. I felt like I was getting a fucking CIA background check, and I feel that a lot of it was unnecessary. You used to be able to toss checks around like nothing, and the fact that mine was good as gold made it even more irritating to me when she made me let another customer go in front of me so she could take care of me after, then she still didn’t cash it. Fifteen more minutes of my life wasted on a mindless numb-skull who thinks the fact they are “doing their job” makes them a defender of the planet. I shocked myself when I walked out without inducing a racial comment or remark about how my left nut could out think her in an IQ test. She wasn’t worth it, and my protest would be silent. Fuck you, your job and your rules, I don’t need ’em. I still got that money and invested it in the streets bitches, and they ain’t named Wall and we don’t wear suits.


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