One Giant Asshole Of a Nation

Death, that forever on-our-shelves topic, the dark visitor who has chosen to make a weekend home of the queer community when others see him less frequently than they do leap years, has paid a visit to the world of show biz and staked yet another claim.

Now, I've experienced a variety of deaths: friends, tricks, one parent, co-workers, neighbors, enemies, friendly acquaintances, people I've had crushes on, role models, ex-lovers, idols and more. We all have, and we have all had to learn to deal with death in a number of different ways. That's why I've got to say how wonderful it is to hear of a death that elicits an immediate reaction of pure joy. Yes, believe it or not, death can be good news, worthy of laughter, a rebel yell and even a high five, and the sudden death of comedian Sam Kinison is a fine example of this. Talk about one dead asshole who deserved to die!

JUSTICE SERVED
When I first heard the news, I pulled my clenched fist down from the air as if I were Magic Johnson shooting for two and roared, 'YES!" Then I asked if he choked on his own vomit, hoping for the most shameful of possible circumstances. Nothing doing, he was just popped like a zit out in a desert somewhere in a head-on collision with another car. Ha, ha, ha is all I have to say, fucker. Sam Kinison with his AIDS jokes, his misogyny, his loathsome material about lesbians and gays and, lest we forget, his humble beginnings as a Baptist preacher. was a sorry excuse for a human being-an ugly, vicious, pathetic sack of shit.

Kinison's comedy wasn't just cheap, offensive shots taken at subjects that already elicit enough public fear and misunderstanding as it is. it was a looking glass into the twisted, pathological sewer of a mind that would enjoy the possibility of influencing men to beat their wives, rape lesbians and laugh at people with AIDS. The constant bile he spewed forth and sold vigorously as comedy was indicative of a soul as wretched and vile as the first four feet under John Wayne Gacy's Chicago home, no offense to confused teen boy hustlers or clown-painting serial killers. The news about Kinison not only provided the aforementioned rare feeling of satisfaction that seldom accompanies death, it made me think that even more people who really deserve it should die. Out on that desert highway. I'm convinced that justice was indeed served.

JUSTICE SCREWED
Speaking of justice... its suddenly clear that there is none in this grand nation, especially if you're a Black man. I had just barely started to review L7's new LP, BricksAreHeavy, when the not guilty verdict came down for the white cops who beat with demented zeal the Black man/suspect Rodney King while some blessed citizen captured the beating on video. The whole world probably saw that video more times than they saw Michael Jackson's Thriller," so this of course means that the whole world knows that our justice system just plain doesn't work, and the United States is one giant asshole of a nation.

Now the whole world is seeing that bricks are heavy, and they are smashing things up. This whole riotous reaction is one of the heaviest political events to hit so far in my lifetime. This situation is a motherfucker now, but the police have been doing this since way before everyone had video cameras. That's why L.A.'s on fire and this particular chapter in the history of police brutality is far from over. It won't just go away. Bricks will fly for some time now, and nobody is waving any tearful goodbyes to the Huxtables, that fictional Black family of The Cosby Show, which came to an end coincidentally on the second night of rioting, after eight years of icky sweaters and seasonal ratings sweeps. Eight years old was the same age that I stopped thinking Bill Cosby was funny. Being at work while there's rioting going on across town is a very unsettling feeling. I was loving the radio reporter's descriptions of gutted shoe stores and Nikes all over Ellis Street and major Union Square shops being looted. I particularly enjoyed some of the artsy live footage on TV, of mannequin parts with backdrops of broken glass and flames and giggling plunderers with coveted armloads scattering calmly. What I really liked more than anything was the unified anger: a wrong had been dealt to us by authority, and the people refused to accept it. It was a big feeling, so big it made me nervous, so nervous I was joking constantly in my best deranged hippie voice, "It's just like Charley said, man. It's Helter Skelter! It's coming down, man. Charlie's always been right. He said it, man." When Jordan announced the state of emergency and the curfew, I was pissed. The only thing I thought would do any good at all was for me to go to a nightclub and just dance. I heard the immortal words of Doris Fish from the film Vegas in Space telling her junior officers,' 'Remember girls, no matter what, just keep dancing. This is how you can best save the universe."

POLICE "PROTECTION"
All the nightclubs were closed, so I just went home and watched more news. I saw aerial footage of looters beating an innocent man over and over. It was very similar to watching those maniacal cops in their ritualistic everyone-hit-him-so-no-one-can-tell brotherhood of guilt. I believe cops do this everywhere, like beating cruisers in Dolores Park without bothering to make out a report, and showing no record of a call they were responding to~ or beating war demonstrators and then testifying in a court of law that they retaliated violently enough to inflict debilitating injuries to an officer; or even forcing a lone female traffic violator on a country road to have sex or go to jail.

Cops are like everyone else, some good and others just like the looter who threw the toilet right onto the back of the truck driver who lay bleeding in the street. The repeated showing of this attack on an innocent driver pulled out of the vehicle and brutally beaten by several rioters was the harrowing and insensitive image the news media bombarded the nation with. It was ghastly and cruel, considering the victim's family probably had to see it. and see it with every channel change. Footage of Rodney King being beaten was ghastly too, mostly because the beating came from authority figures, ones planting calculated and specific blows that wouldn't provide evidence of police misconduct, while knowing that no one would believe the Black man's claims anyway if he were to charge them with brutality.

Hence, the justice system isn't working for anyone but the policemen. Basically, they can fuck you up for anything they want and get away with it, be it getting off on the power of clubbing someone senseless or getting a blowjob from a teen at their mercy. I'm sure this shit happens all the time. The not guilty verdict and subsequent media manipulation stands to point out which force is more evil. The populace will believe it based on how many heinous depictions of rioters they see on TV per hour, per day. They'll believe anything if they believe the police are here to protect, and they do.

But lots of people, including myself, believe that a policeman would tell a lie that could send you to prison and think about it less than a minority citizen faced with an easy loot from a favorite store window. How can I best save the universe when the police ordered the dance clubs closed by curfew? Oh yeah, L7 record is a perfect soundtrack for these times, and when the dance bars opened again on Friday, the music as usual simply wasn't hard enough to match the mood. I would've given my eyeteeth to be spinning on that day.