for most of my life, there have been commercials – or really cries for help with a phone number at the bottom – about saving starving children. unicef generally has the market cornered on this. they’ve been seeking help for these horribly malnourished children for over twenty years. and it seems that they are making no headway. zero. in fact, they’ve cycled through a host of celebrities hoping to find the one who might have just that right amount of charm, appeal, and sincerity to finally get people to get their wallets out and make a difference. and it doesn’t seem to be working. guy with white beard – no luck. tiny yothers – no luck. now they’re on to alyssa milano, their biggest star yet. her delivery – heartfelt, sincere, emotional. the results? to be determined, but i’d be willing to bet there will be a new celebrity involved in the next batch of commercials. twenty years of these commercials, and they’re still creating more starving children? what is going on over there? why are there still children being created in this manner? is it all rape? it can’t be. at some point, wouldn’t it stop? “look guys, we’re marching some of our finest actors out here to try and help you. they tear up. no joking. they actually tear up! and behind them we show videos of you and your children. you know with the flies buzzing around and everything, empty wooden bowls, the whole bit. and listen, i think they’re starting to wonder why after twenty years of this that you guys are still producing more children. perhaps if we can show a video where some progress has been made, maybe that would show that this money is facilitating something worthwhile. like if you were playing kickball or something ‘hi, i’m matomdi, you may remember me from this video. get a load of all those flies on me. yikes. anyway, because of generous donations from people just like you, i now speak english, go to school, and can kick the crap out of a kickball’ right? and then you blast one into the sky. we freeze on the ball. then alyssa walks out, does some flexing, maybe crushes a beer can on her head? i don’t know. i’m just spit-balling. anyway, think about it.”

if you make a habit out of saying “they’ve done studies” in order to sound more intelligent and back up whatever point you’re trying to convey, more often than not – the people you are talking to just think you’re an idiot. which you probably are. which studies? make up a name if you have to “oh yeah, the hammerstein mcgregor sandwich study. you’ve never heard of it? well, that’s why i keep a padlock on my lunchbox. yep, they did a study. people love to steal sandwiches. surprised you didn’t know that. pretty sure it was back in the 60′s.” and those dolts who have the patience to converse with an imbecile such as yourself will be sufficiently fooled. “oh …right, right, right. macgregor hammersmith you mean? it think that’s what it was called. yeah, i’ve heard of that. that’s a good idea with that padlock” the strange thing is that they do perform studies. all the time. and chances are, there may just be one close enough to support whatever ridiculous claim you’re trying to make. “mice love wearing backpacks. they’ve done studies!” they should really do a study on how people are more inclined to believe you if you mention a study has been done – or better yet – multiple studies. they weren’t satisfied with just that one study with beetles and cologne. now they have done several and wouldn’t you know it, beetles wearing cologne get tons of ass. i think a writer would end this sort of stupid diatribe with ‘trust me, they’ve done studies’ …then a kickass wink.

being nice can backfire sometimes …and it’s not the coolest feeling. leave a parking space, see the guy next to me having car trouble, pull back into spot and mouth “need some help?”, his car fires up, reverses, and quickly blocks me from backing out. at a stop sign, older, hefty lady slowly crossing street. me: “go ahead” her: (shrieking) “i can’t walk!” then scowling the crap out of me. to her credit, she did have a foot that was all clubby-looking. to my credit, she was walking when she screamed that she couldn’t. how cool of me if i see a woman walking slowly toward me and think “she probably can’t walk” and then speed off? should have. the worst attempt at being nice occurred on a plane. i had a seat on the aisle next to a chunky, world travely-type fellow – who smelled the way canned urine probably does. tart. so, i leaned away from him for a couple hours and breathed through my mouth. when the plane landed, i watched the seat belt sign as if it was the starting gun at a track meet then darted as far up as i could go. when the doors opened, i walked past a man (who was still sitting and had made no attempt to get up until now) and his wife said, “oh, so that’s how it goes? people from the back can just get off in front of you?” i looked over at her and smiled thinking she was kidding. nope. daggers. “that’s not how it goes” who is this lady? i’ve seen that happen on every flight i’ve ever been on. still smiling, i said, “you’ll live” and exited the plane. now i’m standing in the jetway waiting in line for my bag. out comes the husband. walks past me, pauses, gives me a disgusted once over. out comes the wife – even worse, and she’s muttering, “it’s just bad manners …i mean who would …can you imagine…” over someone leaving the plane two seconds before her! so finally, i asked myself “why was i in such a hurry? that’s not like me.” the smelly guy! i had escaped hell, and these jerks were judging me? not this time. i walked over to them and apologized and told of the smelly guy. they immediately changed their tone and said, “everyone gets stressed traveling” then we parted. it still felt incomplete. and in the end i realized, i had apologized to jerks who over-react to stupid things. i should have just asked smelly to hug them.

“hey grandma, is there actually a word for the n word?” “i don’t know sweetie” “grandpa said there is. he said that it stands for nigga” “you’ll have to ask him” “that’s right, youngster. it does. many, many years ago – back when people still had pinkie toes and thumbs, it was a word they called each other.” “yeah, right” “no, it was. they would say ‘hey, nigga’ …’how are you doing today, nigga?’ – things like that.” “bobby told me it was a bad word” “well, it was. you couldn’t say it to a dark person.” “dark person?” “well, before everyone was one pleasant beige color, people used to be different colors. some were darker than others.” “grandma, is grandpa lying?” “you know how he can be, sweetie.” “no …now damnit …no. i’m not lying. look into my lenses. i am telling you the truth. there were black people and yellow people and red people and brown people and white people…” “wow! that sounds fun!” “no. no, it wasn’t. they slaughtered each other regularly because of it.” “and called each other nigga?” “now, if you said that back then, and i were dark – i’d get very angry.” “what if i said ‘i love you, nigga’?” “uhhh” “can i call you nigga, grandpa?” “…well …i guess” “i love you, nigga” “i love you too, sweetheart.”