Even my mind abuses me

Me: I'm hungry.
Inner Me: How about some fried chicken?
Me: We don't have fried chicken.
Inner Me: The store does.
Me: Are we really going to go to the store just for fried chicken?
Inner Me: We can buy a few other things if it makes you feel bad.
Me: I think we're going with cereal.
Inner Me: I'm going to fill your mind with cocks if you don't go.
Me: Do you mean chickens or...
Inner Me: You won't know until it's too late.

Shame

There are very few things in life I'm ashamed of doing. My friends can tell you that. Blaming others for my faults and problems. No problem. Constantly whining. Well, I was born whining. Buying enough cotton candy to kill an entire busload of diabetic kids? Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Asking out that transgender woman. I'm a free-loving, adventurous guy. Purchasing anal warts cream. Hey, it could happen to anyone. But the hardest thing I've done, by far, is buying fried chicken.

Normally, I have friends buy it for me and I hide in some corner as they pay the cashier (also, I mooch off friends but I repay them with my friendship so it's all fair). But I don't have that luxury here in Utah. I've resisted buying fried chicken for almost 3 months now but the deli at my local store finally drew me in. Here's how it went.

Deli Worker: Hi, what would you like?
Me: I'm still deciding.
Inner Me: Still deciding? Whatever. Get the chicken!
Deli Worker: Ok, just let me know when you're ready to order.
Inner Me: C'mon, we both know you want the cock.
Me: That doesn't mean what you think.
Deli Worker: Sorry?
Me: What would you recommend?
Inner Me: She would recommend the chicken!
Deli Worker: The chicken is really good.
Inner Me: See? Get the chicken!!
Deli Worker: The bean burritos are a delicious option for vegetarians.
Inner Me: Vegetarian? She's insulting you. Get the chicken! Bawk bawk!
Me: I'll get the chicken.
Inner Me: Wohoo! Chicken, chicken, chicken! Can't wait to get those cocks in my mouth.
Me: Why you do this to me? :'(

Is there anything you readers are ashamed of buying? 

Running into a Cop Part Deux

Every day, at 2:30 in the morning, I walk to work. That might sound scary to you but remember, people are scared of me. So I always feel safe, except for that one time I saw a cop car making patrols. I tried to walk as nonchalant as possible, which only caused me to walk so awkwardly I could've been an a worker in The Ministry of Silly Walks.

After following me for a minute, the car drove about 100 meters ahead of me and parked on the side of the road. I had to keep walking at the same pace. If I ran or turned around, the police would know I was up to something. Luckily, after I passed the patrol car, the officer took off to watch the other 2 Black people in Utah. Thank goodness he did, I wasn't sure what would happen if the police stopped me.

Officer: Where we headed this late at night, son?
Me: Just going to work, officer.
Officer: Haha, a Black guy working. Selling drugs isn't a job. Get in the car!
Me: Can I at least call my boss?
Officer: That joke isn't as funny the second time, boy.

The worst part is that I wouldn't be able to contact an attorney until morning, so I'd be stuck sharing a cell with Akbar.

Akbar: What are you in for?
Me: Walking around at night while Black.
Akbar: That's harsh, man. They caught me having sex with my patio. I'm a sex addict.
Me (slowly scooting away): Good for you, dude.
Akbar: Bend over and grit your teeth.

And now I need a dental appointment too. 

Internet Troubles Redux

I finally got the balls to go out. Out of my room and ask one of my mates about the internet constantly dying, not go outside. That would take a miracle or a woman being interested in me (I am running low on water so maybe it's time I ask someone out again.). The problem stems from too many people trying to use the internet at one time. And too many constitutes any number greater than two. Word? We live in a house with 5 men. Who in their right mind would think "Yeah, they won't use the internet much."? So the internet dies for several minutes before coming back online. This makes playing or doing anything that requires a stable online connection impossible. Good bye League of Legends and every other game I enjoyed to play online.

My roommate says they talked to the landlord about it already and he's not going to change providers because he "gets a deal on the internet". Imagine if I went to a restaurant and ordered a steak and potatoes dinner for 4.99. Great deal, right? Except when the plate shows up, it's just a hamburger patty and a half-baked potato with a block of unmelted cheese on top. Not such a great deal anymore, huh?

The landlord, ever the genius he is, did offer a solution: Don't use the internet very much. I'm not sure if this is supposed to fix the problem or just get us to leave him alone (I'm putting my money on that last one). I just pray this guy isn't a doctor because I can totally imagine this scene happening:

Patient: Doctor, I can't stop shitting in my pants.
Landlord: That's a simple solution, just stop wearing pants. That'll be $200.
Patient: The problem isn't where I'm shitting, it's when. As in, all the time. Can't you give me a prescription?
Landlord: Listen, I became a doctor to make money, not help people. Any solution that causes me to do actual work is out of the question.

To make matters worse, you still have to pay him the $200. That's business as usual in Utah for you.

That's not even the worst part. Sometimes the internet dies because...well, fuck it. Just this Sunday, Father's Day, the internet died with everyone but one person left in the house. This type of problem is rarer but far more serious than the one I described before because it doesn't restart on its own. Unplugging the router does nothing as well. It just stays offline until we call someone down to fix it, which can take anywhere from several hours to several days depending on how busy they are. And you better pray it doesn't break on a weekend (like it always seems to do with us). The company hours are only during Mon-Fri. They do throw two tricks at you by saying they are open on Saturday but they're only there from 9-12, so they might as well not bother. Who the fuck is up that early on Saturday? But, they say, we have after-hours tech support. Well, they say they do, but I have yet to talk to any of them. I always request to talk to them, I get put on hold for 5 minutes before a machine tells me that there is no support. Sometimes I wonder if this is deliberate because there's no way an internet service in America can be this shitty. There has to be someone on the other side doing it for shits and giggles. I've lived on an island in the middle of nowhere for a decade and even there internet was far better than this.

Last time, the internet company had to come out and fix things. Fix things they did but not on the day that the internet broke. I guess they just assumed that everyone in our house went on vacation or were brutally murdered (thanks for caring, assholes). The last time they came out they moved the router into the one room that no one is allowed inside because Mr. Retard throws a shit fit when anyone comes close (Like we haven't already gone inside to repair the router). Worse yet, the wireless capabilities is quite poor, giving me 3 bars most of the time, sometimes 4 if I do my sexy naked dance to the router. Needless to say, I'm getting far weaker internet, less often. So I explained the situation to the guy and kindly asked for him to put the router back in the living room where it once was. He said that was fine but we'd need a 50ft cable coming across our living room from where the access point is. I'm totally fine with that because I hardly ever leave my room. But, like an idiot, I forgot that this is Utah. Nothing is free. He had a cable we could use out in his van, it would just cost money. You heard right, the company is charging us to fix the mistakes they make.  This would even be funny on April Fools. Imagine if you contracted a cleaning crew to visit your house and they did their job and, in the process, took a giant dump right in the middle of your family room. And then, when you confront them to clean up the crap they just made, they charge you extra for it because you only purchase the "shit service" not the "shit removing service" and the company certainly can't be blamed for any mistakes they make while on the job. In a capitalist system, this would be the scene where you grab the router and shove it up his ass and bid him good day but, unfortunately, I can't do that because the landlord is in charge of our internet not me. Though he's not as dumb as he seems, he purchased decent internet service for his house.

The problem this time was something a bit more simple. There was a way to reset the router by pressing a button on the back. I would've done this but my retarded roommate through a shit fit when I tried to go into his room to fix it. He locked himself in, insisting that he already tried everything and that I would just have to call the internet company again. That's right, not only did he not let me fix shit, he insisted on forcing me to call the internet company myself to only be told that the solution was what I originally said. What could've been fixed in a minute by me instead needed to wait nearly 24 hours because one person can't handle anyone in his room and is too much of an imbecile to fix it himself. I was tempted to beg the repair man to take me with him when he left.

If you had to create a custom hellhole for me, I would be hard pressed to come up with a worse place than the one I'm living in right now. You know, I hate traveling but I want to travel to all 50 states just so I can say that Utah was the worst state ever I had ever been to and actively lobby for us to remove it from the union, by any measure possible. That's how much I despise this state. Fuck Utah.

Running into a Cop

I ran into a cop at the store. Well, not actually ran to. We crossed paths, he was on his way in and me my way out. I panicked a bit when we encountered each other.

Me (thinking): Don't say you have weed. Don't say you have weed. Don't say you have weed. Don't say you have weed. Don't say you have weed. Don't say you have weed.
Officer: Afternoon.
Me: Afternoon, officer.

The worst part is that I actually don't have weed. Can you imagine what would've happened if I blurted that out. At best, I would've gotten a strip search, at worst it could've been a national catastrophe.

Officer: He said he had weed, chief. So it was natural I strip-searched him.
Chief: He must be the only Black guy in the country without any. Maybe he just wanted to be touched. Lets leak this to the press and call it a day.

*Later that evening on Fox News*

Anchorman: A black guy admitted to having weed in front of a cop. If you think that's bad, imagine how much worse he looked when it was determined he didn't actually have any. Police say he's just a sexually frustrated homosexual looking for kicks.
Blond Bimbo Anchorwoman: His parents must be so ashamed, Gene.
Anchorman: Even after the altercation, he insists he isn't gay.
Anchorwoman: Yeah, and I'm not a whore.
Anchorman: Haha, of course you aren't. Onto more important news, Kim and Kanye's new baby North West.
Anchorwoman: Why does that sound familiar?
Anchorman: It's a direction, Melissa.
Anchorwoman: No, that's One Direction.
Anchorman: If you weren't a leggy blond with a nice set of tits, your life would be meaningless.
Anchorwoman: My father says the same thing.

And they would both have a hearty laugh while dying a little inside.

Dreaming

Just being in Utah has messed with my mind in ways that I never imagined. For one thing, I'm actually starting to have dreams now, so I'm guessing there's something in the Utah water. You might think it's odd that Black people don't dream but remember what happened the last time one of us had a dream. We got shot for it. It's just a natural evolutionary response mechanism.  When we do have dreams, they fall into one of two categories:

The first category are sexual dreams. I won't go into too much detail and you'll see why in a moment. Most of these involve me with women. Either she'll reject me right out and the dream ends there, or we get naked and she changes her mind. Sometimes she even makes us some bullshit excuse.

   "Oh, I just remembered. I have to move to another country."

and she'll disappear, literally. Just, poof, thin air. I even had a dream about my wedding. My fiancé went to go by a cake. She had been gone for four hours. Everyone was mad at me, accusing me of making everything up just to get free wedding presents (I could use a toaster, but I didn't get one). That's some cold shit right there. Even in my dreams, I can't get with anyone. Worse yet, I gave my fiancé 5k to spend on the wedding and I had nothing to show for it. For 5k I could've bought the best escort on the planet. Now I'm 5k more broke than I was and I don't have sex or anything to show for it (the guests took their gifts back).

The second category are violent dreams. Just last night I had a dream, infiltrating some bad dude's hideout. My partner (he's white, wearing a suit. I'm in shirt and pants) and I work our way in. We find our informant dead, he was hung. We busted out of that place, with gangsters on our tail. We duck into a warehouse, sat in the corner and hoped they didn't find us. Unfortunately, the first warehouse they checked was the one we were in. They'd see us for sure as soon as they made it to our corner. Whoopi Goldberg and Joy Behar pull into the warehouse in a car, shooting randomly. Brent Spiner (Data from Star Trek) pulls up in his own Oldsmobile as well. A few more people in suits follow them on foot. This has to be the weirdest crime organization I have ever seen.    

"Shit, this is the end. The black guy always dies!" I cried.            

  "Pull yourself together! Call in some backup." my partner ordered.            

   "Help!" I yelled into the walkie-talkie. "Help, motherfuckers! They're coming to kill us."            

  "Calm down, agent. Where are you?"            

   "In some warehouse. Oh, I just shit myself. I can't stop crying."            

   "Our show's over in 5. We'll be there to back you up after." they replied.            

   "Guess we'll just have to shoot our way out." My partner concluded pulling out a gun.            

"I don't have any firearms. They never gave me one."            

"Black guy with no guns? Wow. Well, just point and pretend to shoot. Maybe that'll scare them."

You know how ridiculous I looked, pointing at people going "pew pew pew"? But I was desperate and I figured it wasn't the weirdest thing I did. I was just hoping I didn't die because I know exactly how my funeral is gonna go.

        "Fel got shot." My friend would start the eulogy. "We all knew it was going to happen eventually, but at least he died in the line of duty. His last words were, and I quote, 'pew pew pew'. This nigga thought he could get away with pretending to shoot people.  He was the only Black person in America who wasn't packing heat. Unconfirmed but they say he was crying and he shat himself. So, don't get too close to the body."

It'll be the first funeral that will double as a stand-up comedy act. 

My partner poked out from the corner and started capping people's asses without the need to reload. After clearing a wave, he ran to the other corner to shoot people from there. I did the sensible thing and kept my ass hidden as fuck. But that didn't help me much because Brent Spiner managed to sneak up on me. I tried to pew pew pew him with my finger gun and he repaid the favor by shooting me in the shoulder with his real gun. Of course I get shot in my own dream. I had nowhere to run and death seemed inevitable but then his wrist watch started beeping.            

     "Smoke break." he said. Pulled out a packet and started smoking right there.My partner slid back into our corner and shot Brent's ass.             

     "Why did he stop shooting you to smoke?" My partner asked.            

    "Well nigga, sometimes you gotta smoke. I don't know." was my reply.

And that was the end of the dream. At least that one had a happy ending, right?

Internet Troubles

As you may have noticed, my internet was out the entire weekend (I'm hoping you noticed. What if I got raped and killed? I need someone to notify the police.) To make matters worse, the Ex-Con offered me a "Mexican Lolipop". For those of you who don't know what that is: http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=mexican+lolipop Ah hell no! To make matters worse, he starts bragging about his night. He had a few drinks and then had sex. Seriously? Nigger, you're 40, just got done living with your parents, unemployed, no money who would even consider doing such a thing with you? I must be in Hell. I'm in Utah, surrounded by sexy racist white women and there's no internet. "But Fel," I can hear you say "The women aren't racist in Utah, you just need to ask them out." And I'm more than willing to respond to that, just give me a moment to stop laughing at your ignorant ass.

Ahahahahahahaha.

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Ok, I'm good. I'll have you know I actually asked out 4 women to the movies and left my number with a waitress. No call from the waitress and none of the women wanted to go to the movies with me. No one wanted me to pay for them to watch a movie and the only thing they needed to do was sit next to me. Even women who hate me take up that offer, granted the last time I went to the movies with a chick here in Utah she put two seats between me and her (true story but she was Asian, not White. Asians can never pass up a good deal.). And yet this guy got pussy for free? And you have the balls to claim Utah women aren't racist? Not even Obama has that much audacity. Moving on to another roommate. One retard moved out before the internet died (how suspicious) so now our house is down to just one retard, which is below average for a Utah household. But our retard is picking up the slack. I was eating lunch on Sunday and he came up to me and informed me that the internet was out. I told him I knew. It had been down all weekend. I tried calling the company but there's no one there on the weekend. He nodded and headed off, only to return a few minutes later to tell me the internet was out. I think he's broken. Though this time he did ask me a question. "Is your place hiring?" I didn't know, it's not like we post wanted posters in the office. So I told him to check the website. "I can't do that." Why not? "The internet is down." Mother******. I wish the story ended here but it doesn't. Later that night, I just got up from sleeping and he told me the internet was back up. Now I'm excited, like a crack addict who just got a hit of the stuff. I run back to my room only to discover that the internet is still down. I run back up to ask him about it. He says the internet works just fine on his phone...that has 3G. I think we need to put him down like Yeller. And I would've but the Ex-Con was there, laying down on the couch, shirtless. -_- Well, the weekend of over, my ass is unraped and the internet is back. I'm not gonna lie, it was scary for a few moments there.

Dating

On occasion, women in Utah will agree to go out with me despite the fact that I have a genetic disease (took me a while to realize that being Black was a disease in Utah.). Dating Mormons is quite a unique experience, let me tell you that. I think everyone should experience it a few times. I try to come off less threatening. I don't ask for her address (she might think I'm a stalker). We just agree on a date and a place. And, to make things familiar to her, I make sure the restaurant is NOT KFC or Popeye's. I make sure to show up to the restaurant a little early, just in case she does. I'd hate for her to have to wait for me.

            "Can I take your order now, sir?" the waitress will ask me eventually.

            "Nah, I'm waiting for my date. I'll just continue nursing this water." I reply, taking a sip.

            "What time was she supposed to meet you here?"

            "7:00. She's probably running a little late."

            "Sir, it's 9:30."

            "So she should be along any minute then, right?"

            "I don't think she's going to show. I'm sorry."

            "Damn!" I say, lowering my head.

            "Is there anything I can do for you?" she asks, putting her hand on mine.

            "Yeah, can I get this water to go? The water at my house is shit."

Considering how often this tends to happen here, I should start bottling the water and reselling it. I could make a fortune. I could even write a book on how to get rich. 

           Step 1: Get moderately wealthy. 

           Step 2: Get suckers to buy your Get Rich book. 

And I'm not even sure Step 1 is a pre-requisite. I doubt anyone's going to double check. 

Jogging and Ordering

Someone gave me some requests and I'm desperate for any love and attention.

Jogging in Utah while Black

I'm not sure why I got this request. Black people don't jog. We run, most of the time away from the police. And I'm a Black gamer, so I can't run more than 10 feet without feeling like my lungs are going to burst. In fact, just imagining myself running away from the police causes me to sweat.

Ordering Fast Food in Utah while Black

There I was, waiting in line, completely indecisive. Luckily, there were 3 others in front of me. Plenty of time to order. Ok, I'm not completely indecisive, but I'm the only Black person here and I think people would look at me weird if I got some chicken. Maybe I should just act thirsty and get a drink? The buffer of 3 people became 2. Ok, no chicken. Why does it seem like everything on the menu is chicken? Damn Black eyes, concentrate! That was quick, only 1 person left. Think, Fel, THINK!

            "Can I take your order, sir?"

****!

            "Yeah, I'll have a salad." I ordered.

            "No chicken?" the cashier asked me.

            "What makes you think I would want chicken?"

            "I think we all knew that you were going to order some chicken the second you walked through that door."

            "So you think that just because I'm Black, I'll want chicken.

            "No. I think you want chicken because you walked into a KFC."

The people behind me, I can hear their heads shaking. One even whispered "He must be high as shit right now."

            "Yeah, I'll have some chicken."

            "Breast or thigh?"

            "I'm Black, my women come with both."

            "I'm talking about the chicken."

You see why I hardly ever go outside?

Getting a pizza delivered in Utah while Black

Thankfully, I was blessed with a White voice. So the pizza guys don't know I'm Black until I open the door. Only then does the confusion set in.

            "Oh, sorry for bothering you, sir. I must have the wrong address."

            "No, you have the right place."

            "No, this isn't a BBQ Chicken pizza, this is sausage."

            "That's what I ordered. I love putting big pieces of meaty sausage in my mouth." I say and wink at him. Which causes him to drop the pizza and run away. Free pizza with no coupon required. At least, that's what I thought would happen. The guy winked back and invited himself in. Luckily, he left after I paid him. Can you imagine if I had no money?

            "So, I don't have any money to pay for this pizza."

            "Oh, I can think of a different way for you to pay for it."

My friends would never let me live that down. Even at my funeral, one person's eulogy would include that nugget.

            "I think we all remember that time when Fel turned gay to pay for a pizza. We knew he was Black but who would've ever guessed he was such a hardcore Jew as well."

And everyone would laugh and laugh. Thankfully, I'll be dead because the shame would've been too much  for me.

A slight embellish on how it feels to be Black in Utah

I start my day with a 64oz big gulp filled with depression. "Oh right," I'll say to myself. "I'm living in Utah." I get up, shower only for some dickwad roommate to start washing his clothes right as I step in. So, no hot water. I get dressed and step outside. The sun instantly vanishes. Just because I have dark skin doesn't mean I want everything to be dark. The officer that's been assigned to do 24 hour surveillance on me lets out a cheerful greeting. "Mornin' Nigger!" I reply with a "Morning officer". I head off to wherever it is I decide to venture to today. The officer follows me in his squad car. I asked for a ride before but he's been forbidden to give me rides. They're cops, not taxi drivers. 

I head to the store, I need to do some grocery shopping. I always shop at the same place because I feel guilty. This first store I visited when I moved in, forcing the manager to hire an extra employee just for me. Sometimes he regales me with trivia. "You know, we're the only grocery store that has a security guard in Utah?" I ask him why that is and he was quite frank with the answer. "Some Black guy moved recently." And then he'd point me to where the fried chicken was. He must be psychic because that's exactly what I wanted. The chicken here is super cheap. $1.79 a pound. Unfortunately, Utah has a "Black Tax" on all purchases so that 1.70 is actually $12.44. Occasionally, I ask the officer following me to buy the chicken and we split the chicken. I get 3/5s for every 1 he gets. 

I head straight home. I don't want to cause any trouble. Occasionally, someone will approach my officer with a request. "Officer, thank goodness you're here. My house is being robbed!" a senior citizen lady reported. And he leaps into action, with me handcuffed to his belt so I don't run off. The officer busts into the house and whips out his gun, flashing it in all directions. Once he sees the robber, he lowers it immediately. "Ma'am, you're not being robbed." he informed her, as the robber walks past him, out the front door with an HDTV. "Yes I am!" she insisted as the robber brushed past her back into the house. "Look at that guy. He's white." "So?" "So, he's not robbing. He's just borrowing without asking. I can't arrest him for that." he said, just as the robber punched an old man trying to stop him from taking the last VCR in the country. "And what's that called?" "Just playing around. Boys play rough." "He hit my husband!" she shouted in disbelief. "Listen lady, if I arrested every white person in Utah who borrowed or played rough, our prisons would be too overcrowded. That's space that needs to be saved for spics and niggers." "Speaking of which," the old man said, nursing his cheek. "I want that one arrested for trespassing." "Sure thing, sir." the officer replied. "Wait a minute! I was forced to come here, I'm attached to you!" I defended myself. "There you go making excuses again."

Then I'll sit in jail for a few hours, till the DA comes in with a plea bargain. "If you confess to murder, the state has agreed to let you go without repercussion. The governor's relative just killed her boyfriend again and we need to blame it on someone." I've lost count how many times I've confessed. Once it went over 20 I just lost interest in keeping track. I walk home to my house on the other side of town (remember, they're not a taxi service). Get home, smoke some weed, go to sleep before getting up again tomorrow and doing it all over again.

St George

So, I've been here in St George for 3 weeks. I'd like to sum up my feelings about the town with one picture of the mayor.

Look at that dude. Even he doesn't look happy to be here (he looks high, in fact) and he runs the place. I can just imagine him saying "Damn, why can't I manage St George from a hip-happenin' place, like Vegas?" And don't think I purposely chose an unflattering photo of him. That was the picture posted on the city's website. THAT was the best picture of him. If the mayor isn't pleased about living here, how am I supposed to be?

Enough about St George, lets talk about housemates. There's 4 others in this place. 

Andrew - The first person I met, because he hardly ever leaves the house. He doesn't talk much and is kind of slow when responding. It's like having to wait for someone to respond by mail. I don't know much about him, other than he says he makes money off his website. He won't tell me what his site does. So, I make sure to stay far away from his room.

Jonathan - He's the dude that got me and a white guy mixed up (remember that status?). Maybe he's color-blind in the true sense of the word. I see him the least, since he's in college and works at K-Mart. When I moved in, they mentioned someone was 35 years old and I assume it's him, since he's the only one with gray hairs. He mumbles a lot when he talks and, like Andrew, doesn't seem too bright (Is there something in the water?) Every once in a while, he'll stand there and stare at me for a few moments. As if to say "Tonight, YOU!" And that's why I lock m yroom before going to sleep.

Brian - A really nice dude, even if he's missing a few teeth. He's from Oahu as well and definitely the most normal out of all of us. He's just in St George to be near his kid. I assume he does some type of work because he's out of the house during the day (some part-time job just to pay the bills) and watching TV when he's home at night. I imagine this is how my dad would be if he did meth. 

New Dude - I don't know this guy's name. He just moved in a few days ago. He seems friendly enough, he offered me a free smoke (if I die, don't bury me in this town). He got kicked out of his parents' place. "They got tired of my $#@!" he says. Though, don't feel too bad for the guy, he's in his 40s. Also, he's unemployed. This house just attracts winners.