Sunday, September 5, 2010

Denny's One Night - an old Thumby

I've maintained a lot of blogs over the past few years. I started with a Yahoo360 blog, then MySpace, Facebook, and now here at Blogger. Throughout all those blogs I have kept one tradition going strong - the Thumby. Some of you are probably old readers. However, some of you might not know what the Thumby is all about. Basically, the Thumby is an award I give to someone or something that goes out of its way to annoy the living crap out of me. Picture someone giving the most sarcastic thumbs up you can possibly imagine in the form of an energetic rant...that's the Thumby. The following isn't my first Thumby, but it is my first good Thumby, and it happens to serve as a great introduction to the kind of person I am. Without further ado, I give you "Denny's Last Night - a Thumby" from May 20th, 2006.


I'm different. There's no getting around that. I look different. I sound different. I'm short. I'm skinny. I stick out in a crowd like a sore (dare I say?) thumb. Going through cancer is funny like that (and by funny I mean cruel). Anyway, I've dealt with people staring at me my whole life. It's nothing new really. The only thing is, when people are staring at me, or whispering about me when they think I can't hear, it's usually little kids. That's why the stares and comments don't bother me. Kids have to figure out what they don't understand, and they usually do this by being mean or poking fun. If I were a kid it would be no different. Ordinarily there is a parent there to tell them not to point and stare and explain to them that some people are different than others. Truthfully, I enjoy it when kids stare at me. It gives me an opportunity to freak them out by squawking like a bird, barking, or dancing like a maniac. The points and the stares have never really bothered me...not until recently.

Recently I have noticed it's not just kids anymore. Yes, now adults are getting into the game, and this is what bothers me. A few months ago (and you can read a more detailed account in the blog I referenced earlier), I was at Denny's minding my own business, and a family from what had to be Kentucky was sitting a few tables away. The two kids were pointing, staring, and laughing like kids do, and I didn't think much of it until the lady's meth-dealing boyfriend got in on the action. What appalled me about this scenario was that there was no correction from a parental unit. These kids were allowed to maintain the thought that it's okay to laugh at people who are different. I wrote my blog. I vented. I thought it was a closed issue. Turns out I was wrong.

Last night, I was once again at Denny's. I went up there after work to chill with my friend Brittany and my friend Rachel. It was about 1:00 a.m., so about the time for the bar rush to come in. Rachel retreated to a corner of a booth across from us to maintain some quiet contemplation, listening to an iPod, writing in her notebook, and Brittany and I began to talk. During the course of our discussion I notice some more drunk Kentuckians a few tables away, and I overhear them talking about me and laughing. These are all adults, folks:

Kentucky McFucky - a skinny goatee having bastard who I can only assume is trying to get a used tire business of the ground.

Fatty McChinwobble - McFucky's fat hotdog buying girlfriend.

Dumbass McFucksguysinatruckstopbathroom II - blonde hair, trying to bring back the mullet, failing at all aspects of life.

Vaguey McDoesn'tdesrveaname - who really just kept to herself the whole time.

So, I start to pay attention to them, and I hear Kentucky McFucky say something to the extent, "Maybe we shouldn't. I mean he can't help the way," and then the tone got quiet and I couldn't hear anymore. Then Kentucky McFucky notices me looking and says, "Oh, don't pay no attention to them, man!" They all continue their laughter.

Brittany says, "What are you looking at?"

"These people over here are saying stuff about me," I reply.

Brittany turns to look at them, and about this time Rachel looks at us and asks what's going on. "These people are saying stuff about Ross."

Rachel takes off her earphones and says, "Let's stare at them then," and we all proceed to stare at them for about five minutes, intense staring, long uncomfortable staring. Then Rachel gets up and tells us, "I've gotta go to the bathroom."

When she gets up and walks away she says something to them in passing. I didn't hear what it was, but it made Kentucky McFucky yell "Fuck you! You can kiss my ass!" about 30 seconds later (My friend Brittany was flipping these people off as well). Seriously it was almost like watching a little kid do math, or in their case, a kind of Kentucky algebra. It wasn't until she got back that I found out what Rachel said. When she walked by she casually said to them, "Seriously you guys, loved you in Deliverance" (durr + hick = wait a second that's bad. Fuck you!). Yes, those ladies had my back, and for that I am very thankful. After Rachel's commentary of the social class these people live in, the comments ceased, but the stares didn't. Kentucky McFucky continued to stare at me.

What is it with people? I don't want to sound like a broken record, but how do people have so little tact? I mean, I picture these people sitting around their living room complaining how blacks and women have too many rights, and there is something to be said about Hitler's "Final Solution." This thought must've gone through their minds - "Hey, let's go out and pick on people who are different from us because it'll help is cope with the fact that we're inbred and like to fuck our livestock...durr...hick." Perhaps I'm being too hard on them. Maybe in Kentucky this a sound argument. Perhaps these people are philosophers in Kentucky, in league with the giants of Kentucky Philosophy like Rene Durr-cartes who stated - "I durr therefore I hick...or the Latin Durrigto ergo hick." Perhaps I expect too much of people, or perhaps Mark Twain was right when he said that when the Rapture comes he wants to be in Kentucky because everything there happens twenty years later.

Yes, Kentucky are the target of my and your fat sweaty cow of a woman and your cockgobbling friends. I am three times the human being you are. A composite of you and your drooling minion couldn't equal me. I hope when I'm well-known you're still around (because we all know you're going to attempt to market tire smoothies and will end up killing yourself in the process). I hope you see what I am going to become, and I hope when I get there, I find you in the street so I can hire someone to cotterize your anus. Okay, maybe that last rant is a little too Spanish Inquisition, but then again we all no that "Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition" (that's for all the Python fans out there). Actually McFucky, I take it all back. Continue with your life - you and your pork-porking mendicants. Continue with your drinking...your fun-making at the expense of others. In fact, drink four times as much as you normally do, and make fun of everyone who is different than you. That way if someone doesn't murder you for your comments your bleeding liver will. Mmmm...either scenario quells my hunger. Your agony is like bubble gum to me. And for now, basque in your glory. Today is your day. Accept thisThumby from my right hand and this bird from my left. I hope you go to Hell...or back to Kentucky...because there really is no difference.

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