For this blog installment, Mike Freedom has created this very thought-provoking America Divided photo with the broken window and some other shit. It reminded me of when I was growing up as an Italian American in Brooklyn, in the 70’s. Like the rest of us ‘Animal Americans’ in Brooklyn, my childhood was spent truly, in a house divided.
Here’s how it was: Your grandparents owned a house. They lived in the basement. They rented out the two floors above it to their offspring, who, along with their horrible offspring, stayed there forever. We all lived in the same house… 15-20 of us, separated by hardwood floors that, whenever someone walked anywhere above you, sounded like an epileptic drum solo. We lived among asbestos infested plaster walls covered in lead based paint, surrounded by toxic fucking plastic furniture covers, eating, sleeping, breathing directly on and next to each other, in a 900 square foot space, like animals living there, just shitting and eating and smelling… like dead pigs and cheese.
And it was LOUD.
For some reason, Brooklyn Italians say everything with the same volume and urgency as someone desperately trying to warn a fellow soldier in a foxhole that the enemy just tossed a grenade into it. The problem is, instead of hearing, “GET OUT!!!! GET OUT!!! THERE’S A GRENADE IN THERE!!!!! RUN!!! RUN JOHNNY, RUN!!!”
You’ll hear things like, “WHAT HAPPENED WITH THE BAGEL STORE!?!? ARE THEY CLOSED FOR CONSTRUCTION OR IS BOBBY ON VACATION!?!?”
Just fucking LOUD.
Everybody was always angry about nothing and everything and never for a good reason. Here’s what I mean… The bagel store inquiry…
A typical response might be….
“CLOSED FOR CONSTRUCTION?!? WHAT THE HELL IS HE CONSTRUCTING, THEY JUST FIXED THE WHOLE PLACE THREE YEARS AGO!!”
Which leads to…
“HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHAT THEY’RE DOING IN THERE!!! I’M ASKING YOU!”
Which of course, warrants…
“THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW ABOUT THE GOD DAMN BAGEL STORE!?!? WHAT AM I THE GUY’S FATHER?!?”
“YOU KNOW WHAT, I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOU, I DON’T CARE ABOUT BAGELS, AND I DON’T CARE ABOUT BOBBY!”
That’s when another un-evolved, barely erect, humanoid would walk in and say, “BOBBY?!? BOBBY BAGELS?!? “WHAT HAPPENED, IS HE ALRIGHT!?! I’LL GO THERE RIGHT NOW!!!”
“WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU GOING!?! BOBBY’S FINE! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND!?!
“I’M NOT OUT OF MY MIND, YOU’RE OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND!!!
And that’s when it would get good, sometimes ending in multiple stabbings or at least a nice free for all before dinner.
That’s a snippet of what life was like for years and years and years.
Mike Ricca and I are the products of this insanely unstable atmosphere, which is probably why we understand each other so well. We’re the same, just different. Nobody comes out of that stupidity unscathed. We’re so mentally destroyed from it that it’s manifested into two of the most twisted, yet funny minds you’ll ever run into. It’s why we can say, just, the most horrible, gut wrenching things to each other and five seconds later be chatting it up about football, like nothing ever happened.
I don’t know how long these blog scenarios are supposed to be but I’ll keep typing And let Bruno’s OCD look for the “mitstakes” (this one intentionally left unedited – approved BD) and run on sentences and improper grammar and let it fester in him when he realizes, that, he, has, to, leave, these, commas, in, because, they’re, part, of, the, joke.
Side note about Bruno. He’s an actual Italian, from Actual Italy. Evolved, astute, well mannered, intelligent, caring, kind, articulate… everything Animal Italians find to be repulsive. He’s human.
In closing, I’d like to say, that’s why I think calling America a “house divided” is overly dramatic, off base, and kind of full of shit. When I really think of it, all it is, is a bunch of rich white people that hate rich white people.
That’s my definition of a Liberal: “Rich white person who hates rich white People.”
Republican? See above.
Either way, the people who claim that Obama ruined America and the people who wear pussy hats and prance around screaming out the word Fascist, like it’s supposed to mean something… are the same mother fuckers in my mind.
Nobody from either group, ever as a child, for years on end, had to spend eight hours a day in my grandfather’s basement, inhaling cigarette and cigar smoke, while getting cracked in the skull with a kitchen utensil or punched in the temple for interrupting, or got held down on the kitchen table while your uncle pulled your baby tooth out with needle nose pliers or your grandfather sprayed the kids table with hot seltzer or your mother accidentally put her cigarette out on your hand because she missed the ashtray… all while clinging desperately to whatever semblance of normal auditory function still remained.
No, fuck you people. If you spent a day of our lives, in Brooklyn, as a child, you wouldn’t think anything in this country was wrong. You’d love it. You wouldn’t even dream of being surrounded by unintelligible, ignorant, over dramatic, self loathing morons by choice. Believe me, I grew up around people like that, you’d want to stay as far away from them as possible. You’d want to be left the fuck alone. Like me. So, fuck you.