Tuesday, July 12, 2005

A Sober Man in Paris

A Sober Man in Paris

Missa- A tried and true ninja warrior of the night.

Doco- A drunk ex-water polo player who had to quit the game because of an ear infection.

Yemi- A Nigerian track star that runs for the love of running.

Schiznat- Femine male stewardess. Who wears a sash and smokes Virginia Slims.

Missa: This is a lit mag of much honor and respect. The ancient elders would be very pleased. It is about appreciating the rich culture of my Asian heritage.

Doco: This gosh darn doodly dangling mag got too many poems about human emotions ain’t got nothing about me buddy JD! WHOO-HOO

Yemi: There is not enough love being shown in this mag. My people in Nigeria always show love.

Doco: You chronic nad-faddlin dingle dangin dan nag banger doodle dopper! There’s two things that matter in this here world. Thers’s J and then there’s D! I don’t give a gosh darn about some Chinamen talkin’ about diversity! Yee-Haa! (Spits a wad of his personal Skoal.)

Missa: EUI! (Missa smashes a brick over Doco’s face.) You have no respect for my culture or the Elders. This brick is you in two very separate but very distinct places. YOU ARE HERE YOU ARE HERE!

Doco: Well, your gosh dang Elders don’t know a damn thing. If you want to talk about elderly folk. Read thre gosh dang, “The Lonely Old Drunken Fool” That there poems about a good old boy. (Stutters) It aint about Eloride, that there poem’s about me!!! Dagnabit!

Yemi: Why don’t you show love? “For Pele’s Love” is about the consuming nature of love!

Missa: Love! You know not love. Love is supreme honor between me and Josephine. If you provoke me once more. I’ll have to kill you.

Yemi: There’s not enough love being shown in this lit mag. That is a major problem the Chutiemumba has with modernized writing. It comes off quite condescending and insincere. Modern writers featured in literary magazines like this fail to pay homage to the finer things in life – like papaya trees and fresh running water.

Doco: What?

Missa: (To Chutiemumba) Your words are worthless and weak. You failed in honor; You don’t understand “How I became a black man.”

Doco: Oh yeah. That reminds me of my mentor. Reading that story while incommunerino to the crapper, I learned a mighty interesting things – I think I’m black and Chinese. Cause there’s that there one line. “I wish I was a chinamen living free” and it reminded me – what? – GAWDAMNIT I AM FREE!!

Missa: You Fool! When I broke brick over face it had nothing to do with your emotional welfare. When I broke brick it was to document how your physical self has been relocated it had nothing to do with separate identity crisis. The purpose of the story is to understand your specific cultural role as an American. The author is a man of much pride. He knows the whole time that he is not black, but uses the black race as a catalyst to better understand his own culture.

Yemi: All culture and people are beautiful. Some people come to American from my native land and change their name to Matthew or Elizabeth – but I’m still Chutiemumba. I don’t need a catalyst.

Doco: (teary eyed) Aw hell. Reading this lidratoor makes me want to cry. Boo-hoo. I aint got no identity. Wait a minute. Gawdammit- I hate this hippy crappola I do have culture. Takes a swig of his mentor. Der’s M’ buddy… Yup.

Yemi: Jah! You seem to embody the old drunken fool. (Doco punches Chutiemumba in the face) AHHH!! No love? Bear with me. This poem picks apart mans problem with the bottle.

Doco: (Foaming at the mouth) You noodler doodler dodecahedrical nad faddler nipper dipper skipper. Give me thirty-nine good reasons why I shouldn’t split your melon right open.

Missa: Fuck. Our flight to France is leaving in twenty minutes.

(They arrive at the airport and board. Doco, still reeling from ridicule and his personal mentor keeps to himself; they give him a window seat because he is about to get motion sickness. Meanwhile, Missa and Yemi strike up a conversation.)

Missa: Supreme honor!!!!! “Tears on the verge, my mind wont merge, feelings want to hide, stomach getting wide, women with life long dreams.” Eui, just like Josephine and me participating in the bountiful pleasures of the flesh without protection.

Yemi: Bah! Missa you have to be careful or anne-soo will make little Missas.

Stewardess Schiznat: Uh. Ajizzaytabang. Dat poem was tight yo. It’s about the hizzo’s and booty, and all that crazyassmotherfuckingshit. You want some pizzi nuts or cold bizzeverage?

(Plane explodes everyone dies.)


CJ AK JM 1999