It was the eve of Christmas ‘013, and the family was in Georgia for the holidays. The neighbourhood was cloyed with the savory scent of sugar-coated edibles, and all the other things I loathe about the season; the caroling, the heartfelt cheer, the decorating, the baking, Santa, the maxed out credit cards, the belated gifts, and of course, Santa.
We were having a party at our place, and everybody was invited. By everybody, I mean anybody that didn’t manage to piss any member of the family off on any of the 358 days that’d gone by so far. But it was all good. We had some close friends over too, y’know, hospitality, we’re all about that. They ate, drank, joked, laughed, drank a little too much, got drunk, started attacking themselves, lost teeth, lost blood, lost all self-respect, tables were split, lives were ruined, people got fu*ked up. Sh*t happened.
I was indifferent to most of it. It was entertaining, don’t get me wrong, but I was pre-occupied. Pre-occupied with the glorious task of -> shoveling snow shovel snow P. It had to be Rihanna. I got closer. Yup, it was Rihanna (P).
No wait, chill. Oh, sorry, my bad… it was somebody else, but she had Rihanna’s profile. It was dark. Silhouettes can be deceptive, forgive me.
Well, for the fact that I liked her perfume and she wasn’t the real Rihanna, which probably meant that I wouldn’t have to throw bottles or other life-threatening objects at Chris Brown or Drake anytime I went to the club or for publicity reasons, I walked up to her, and tried to start a conversation. The outcome… she spat on me and growled. She growled. Now, between the both of us, if not for the fact that black people in America get arrested on a daily basis for reasons like, “existing”, “respiring”, “exhaling” etc, I would’ve murdered her in COLD BLOOD, #word. It took everything in me not to destroy her with a gas cylinder and leave her for dead, but I was a man of morals, y’know, standards, so I opted for the more civil alternative. I cussed her out in Igbo, flipped her off, then I got caught up in the moment and started to dougie. But I noticed that I was beginning to lose self-respect. So I stopped. She thought I was medicated. I thought she was anorexic. We both held our individual opinions, and left it at that. I hate happy endings anyway.
I wasn’t really getting any action outside, and inside wasn’t safe. So I considered getting back at the racist dude. As much as I wanted to blow up his car, raze his property, and ruin his life, I couldn’t. Arsen, it would attract too much attention, the news would go viral. It would be considered a hate crime, and I would be considered a terrorist. An eastern terrorist. More logically, Al-qaeda. Asalamaleikun. Naaw, that was too much for me. I’d probably end up in Guantanamo bay, and who knows what they’d do to me there. I’ve heard stories. Bad ones. CIA. Broomsticks and buttholes. F#ck that. I guess the racist dude would just have to settle for a couple of broken windows, missing headlights, and lingering lifetime trauma. Lucky him.
40 minutes later, racist dude’s car was unrecognizable; most gratifying experience of my life. I fled the scene. Racist dude called the cops, but none of ’em knew who did it. And by the time they started interrogating the other neighbours, I was already in bed with half a glass of eggnog and a magazine, lamping. I think the cops just arrested a random black dude for breathing or something. It was 1:00 a.m.. My parents were fast asleep, my uncles were drunk, and my cousins were just getting drunk. I looked outside my window, it was snowing, how beautiful. Then I looked again, and I saw somebody on the roof……. Okay pause, either Santa had just arrived, or we were being robbed…. or maybe it was just one of my uncles, drunk, and completely oblivious as to who, what or where he was (maybe he thought he was spoderman, his spoder-senses were probably tingling or something), I don’t know. I contemplated whether or not I cared, but eventually concluded that I didn’t.
The cops’d probably see the dude or whoever he was and arrest him if he was breaking any laws, or if he looked like a Saudi Arabian or something, nothing to burst a blood vessel over, namsayin. I wasn’t that curious, even if it affected my immediate safety, I wasn’t ready to move. I was tired, and lazy, but mostly tired, yet still very lazy, but also very tired, but I’m sure it was fatigue, I think (this is still open to debate). I had to get some shut-eye. I had a big day ahead of me. I had to be in Church by 6 a.m. stat. Even though I’d probably be asleep for the better part of the mass, but at least, my presence was all that mattered. It was a fun while it lasted. Really fun. Yeah. So um, there you have it, how I spent my Christmas Eve. The story just came to an end people, in case you didn’t know. So for what it’s worth, Merry Christmas, and uh, Feliz Navidad to those of you who wish you knew more Spanish.
N.B.- If any part of the above post, or possibly all of it, struck you as totally pointless, or tampered with a delicate part of your molecular structure, or maybe did anything to significantly raise your ire, I have no apologies whatsoever. You saw the title, you read the disclaimer, you knew who the author was. There was handwriting on the wall fam, if you couldn’t read it, then you have issues. You’re either blind, retarded, or avoiding therapy. Any charges you file against me will never hold up in any court of law. Have a nice day.
P.S.- The black dude that got arrested was apparently my uncle. He’s still in jail. The bail was set at $500,000, nobody was ready to work for the money, and it was the holidays, so we just left him there.
This wasn’t an actual memoir.
Say no to racism.
Watch out for the next post.