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xmag.com : October 2002: The Cum-Hungry Genius


Racism. What a splendid word. The way it rolls off the tongue and floats through the air like a super-shiny bubble. It's the cherry on my sundae, the gas in my tank, and the watermelon flavor in my forty-ounce of malt liquor.

Sleepy little Spics resting their soil-colored skin on pillows made of cactus. Smiling dancing blackies, their lips red with the juice of watermelons and
virgin blood.

If nothing else, I love it on a purely comic level.
There is nothing funnier to me than a good nigger joke (unless it's a rape joke), and goddamn it if that fun can't be compounded. I recently did a stand-up comedy routine at LA's infamous Chuckle Den in defense of my favorite
subject. Here are the transcripts, dear readers. If I left out your favorite minority group, feel free to e-mail me at suicidejean@hotmail.com so I can include them in the fun.


Hey, folks! I just flew in from New York, and boy are my arms tired! No, really, folks...So on the way here, they showed one of those in-flight films...it was a Sidney Poitier movie....the one where he overcomes people's perceptions of his skin color and cultural background. You know the one, right? Great actor, that guy! Come on--aren't there any nigger-lovers in the audience? Is this thing on?

Anyway, so I just read this book by Carl Sagan and Ann Druyan called Shadows of our Forgotten Ancestors, and in it there were some pretty interesting facts. In one chapter, they explained how chimps perform oral sex on each other. Wild. I mean black men don't even do that for their partners. Unless they're gay, of course.

But I don't want you guys to think I'm not tolerant of other people's beliefs. I even tried the whole lesbian thing once. I was with this Cuban girl and was trying to go down on her...you know...share problems...but I could not tell the difference between her vagina and her anus!


[A shout from the audience: "That's dark, man!"]


Hey! That's what I told her!

So I live in Albuquerque, New Mexico, now. In this city, Native Americans, or as I like to call them, "red-skinned carriers of disease," are as sacred to the white New Age victors as the itty-bitty baby Jesus is to kid-cock-sucking priests and heavy-handed nuns. Cafes with names like Corn Dance and Smallpox Blanket litter the streets like, well, drunken Indians. It's really so cute the way the redskins sit on sidewalks conning lard-sculptures-with-legs to buy strings of semiprecious stones. They're kind of like dogs who can talk. They can talk Mexican, anyway.

But before I lived here, I was in New York...nice city. By default, if you live there for more than three months, you become Jewish. The Jews are great, though; it's easy to like them because they never get in the way, you know. They're always inside of banks counting money 'til their sight fails and their hands turn red. The real good thing about that is you can sneak up on them easily and commit a hate crime 'cuz they can't see you coming. But the people there have a good sense of humor. I saw one woman wearing a T-shirt that said My Husband Died In 9/11 And All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt and yet another read, At least you got a T-shirt--all that bastard left me was a whitefish smear! Those crazy Jews!


At this point in the performance, we hear someone knock over a table, feminine screams, and a glass crash to the floor. The only words that are audible are "offensive" and "deserve." The author of this column is in the hospital until further notice. Donations can be sent via PayPal to the "Let a Racist Walk Again" fund at suicidejean@hotmail.com.







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