One of the best men I ever met was a
police officer named Oscar Macias.
He saved my life in Los Angeles back in
2011 … or was that 2010?
One of those is probably right. Anyway,
he’s a patrolman for the LAPD.
He stayed frosty while a hurricane raged forth
and back around him, ranting and raving like
an absolute maniac on Anchorage
Street. I never got a chance to thank him or
tell him how much he reminded me of a
guy I went to school with named Tony Wallace.
He too was a policeman. He lost his life
in Alaska when some anti-government
psychopath decided to start shooting and
a few slugs of hot lead entered his body.
Tony left the great white north in a black bag.
And that? That is unfair. My friend played Jesus
in our school’s production of The Last Supper.
He was partially deaf. He was a wrestler.
Tony was the type of man I strive to be.
He was a hero to me and now he’s gone
all because some maniac had a gun and
decided to use it, like those two morons
in Nevada who killed that woman after
it was decided she was a poor driver
or the four hose-heads in California who
were caught plotting to shoot up their high school. Um…
One question, ladies and gentlemen: Can we
please bring back stoning and bludgeon these assholes
to death with hard rolling stones? Seriously.
I’ll collect the rocks. That’ll be my duty.
It’s time to show the swine we take no guff. We’ve
had enough of the honking horns and sirens
and the attention-seeking, “poor me” mindset.
We all have it rough. We all fall. Suck it up.
The kids in my high school were vicious. They poked
fun of my shoes and my hair and my style.
When I would sing, “Kruschev’s due at Idlewild,”
they’d sneer and punch me in the face. So? Fuck them.
“This is my life, damn it. I choose how I act.”
That’s called Free Will. It’s a basic human right
granted by God upon birth like the little
plastic footballs placed in the basinets of
newborn babies in Massillon. Cheerleaders
throw them to the fans right before halftime. They’re…