A weekend at the faire – Female OWNED

I’ve mentioned before that one of my favorite internet meme images on the internet is the white couple, with the black baby, and there’s a big OWNED in Impact font, pointing at the guy. Sure, that’s a funny image and all, and it’s not so much the racist undertones of it that I find funny as much as it simply is the concept of why the guy is OWNED. It’s irrelevant to whether or not the baby were adopted, or fathered in, or out of wedlock, by obviously a black man, but the fact that he is OWNED, because he is clearly stuck in a situation where he’s raising someone else’s kids. It’s funny in a sad, thank god it’s not me kind of way, and I am amused by it immensely.

This past weekend, I spent worked an emergency weekend shift at the Renaissance Faire. It was not my preference, but it was most certainly a personal solid done for a close friend, and it’s not like I did it for free. But it’s still burning an entire weekend, putting myself in the lowest of worst retail situations, peddling wares to a bunch of cheap rednecks who would rather spend their money on turkey legs, overpriced “ale and wynne,” and unfittingly, samurai swords. Regardless, with the help of Miss Sarah, we tried to make the best of a bad situation, by doing what any snarky retail dreg workers do – judging strangers, and fabricating stories about them. The following series of posts will be a recollection of my weekend at the faire, and the assumed true stories about the people we watched, that made the weekend just a little more bearable.

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It wasn’t even that nice

One of the more amusing aspects of the downward spiral I’ve headed down, having become a very merry social drinker, is the occasional revelation of forgotten, as a result of excessive alcoholic consumption photographs on the phone.  They’re sort of like fucked up Christmas gifts in a way, because there’s an element of mystery behind an unfamiliar thumbnail, followed by the inevitable equivalent of opening the wrapping by zooming in.

Looking at my discovery, I sort of remember the scenario, slurring fake dialogue from the horndog douchebag boyfriend in the picture, drinking himself into oblivion while thinking he’s being all slick, subtle, adventurous and exhibitionist all at the same time by repeatedly groping his girlfriend’s ass in public.  Granted, I passed out later in the evening, leading me to forget all about this, but upon discovery, it’s becoming clear again.  Gropey McGroperton’s hand all over his poor girl’s ass, her, probably too tipsy to bother to do anything about it, and me, the people I’m with, sniggering about it from afar.  And from what I can remember, and evidenced by a poor, albeit 8.0MP camera phone shot, it’s not even that nice of an ass to be proud to be groping in public.

Technicalities

Apparently, Deadspin is the only place left that it can really be seen, since YouTube has pretty much 86’d all the versions of it there.  Long story short, for some reason scrawny, little kid picks fight with much, much bigger kid.  Bigger kid absorbs a few blows before finally snapping, before grabbing the whelp, and slamming him to the ground violently.  Deadspin called it “a body slam,” but this commenter literally almost had me in tears:

BufordJustice Mon 14 Mar 2011 12:36 PM

Technically that was more of a Ron Simmons-style Dominator but I guess to the average layperson a “body slam” would suffice.

/goes back to reading PWI. (Edit comment)

hahahaha, he’s so right.

BHM query: Why the insistence on walking in the middle of the street?

Oh no, I haven’t forgotten about Black History Month.  I’ve just had several other things occupying my time and writing fulfillments recently, and to be honest, I haven’t been agitated recently to where I’d want to verbally retaliate.  Until yesterday.  It’s bad enough that yesterday was my last day at my previous assignment, that I had to turn down work because it was going to cockblock my chances to get in with a company I really want to get with, but on my way home from work, there were about three emergency vehicles that necessitated pulling off to the side of the road and yield to them.  Each time I courteously moved aside for an ambulance or fire truck, I would have to wait a little bit longer than necessary to get back on track, because each time, there were at least four vehicles, driven by you-know-whats, that were essentially tailgating emergency vehicles, thus preventing me from getting back onto the road without waiting for their aggressive, me-first driving behavior to pass first.

So, now that I’m all agitated and shit again, I have to ask:

Why do black people always have to walk in the middle of the street?

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BHM query: Why the aversion to using turn signals?

After the first few queries, a tiny part of me kind of felt guilty, a little remorseful that I was making posts like these.  Slightly reluctant to buy into the popular notion that I’m not so much of a critical individual not afraid to speak about the taboo topic of racial stereotypes, but just a straight up racist (which I vehemently deny, since that would mean I hate 100% of a particular demographic which is genuinely false).

But all that guilt was quickly washed away this morning, when my leisurely drive into work today was soured by an impatient, militant pitbull of a black woman who decided to lay down on the horn of her car because I couldn’t read minds.  Which brings me to the latest query in honor of Black History Month:

What in history led to the modern day aversion that black people have with utilizing turn signals?

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