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6:48 a.m. - 2004-05-18


That's right, I said it.

I love me some black folks.

Here's how to tell if I automatically love you:

1) Take a second to look at the skin on the back of your hand.

2) If it's black, I love you.

3) Unless you were charred to a crisp in a house fire last night. In that case ... ewwwww. Get to the hospital stat, Crispy Crunch!!!

Why this proclamation of love for the African American, you ask??

Welllllll ... there's a bit of a back story.

First off, the most important thing you must remember is that I love music.

And any type of music that was either made by a black person or inspired by a black person is awesome music.

That includes just about everything.

Elvis and the Beatles were inspired by black musicians.

Everyone else claims to be inspired by them.

Except Weird Al Yankovic who was inspired by a cockroach that crawled into his ear while he slept at summer camp in 1973 and ate part of his brain.

The "creative" part of the brain.

Anyway ... that's reason enough to love me some black folks.

But here's my latest reason.

Saturday night I was in my club and it was dead to start off with.

About five black guys in their 60s were sitting at the bar and that was it.

I figured I'd play some Motown and Atlantic soul from the 60s to keep them entertained.

They bobbed their heads slightly.

Then I put in a disc and cued it up to play Marvin Gaye.

Except it accidentally played BB King.

And the men turned around to look at my white ass.

I just smiled nervously at them, hoping they weren't going to start yelling at me.

They bobbed their heads a bit harder in unison.

It's as if the Temptations had become raging alcoholics and spent their time silently doing the head motions associated with their impressive dance moves on bar stools.

So I followed BB up with Muddy Waters.

And Lightning Hopkins.

And Buddy Guy.

And for the next hour, I played some blues music which is something I've never really had much patience for, but watching these guys bob their heads in unison to each song was cracking me up.

And then something started to happen.

I started to like what I was playing.

As I said, I always thought the Blues was an art form that ignorant old men with no social skills played on sweaty front porches in the deepest of the deep south.

But seeing these guys enjoying it made me start to feel the blues.

And after an hour of this, I was an honorary brother!!


Get down, get funky, get fresh!!

...Uhhhh ... yeah.

So anyway, MORE black people started coming in to the club.

And before I knew it, I was playing to a full house of older black people.

And besides one of the bartenders, I was the only white guy in the place.

I started playing some 70's funk music for the hell of it.

And they ate. It. Up.

Brick's "Dazz".

Rufus' "Tell Me Something Good".

And, of course, Parliament's "Flashlight".

Soon, I had a dance floor of older black people, all pointing at me and yelling "You're the man!" every time a new song started.

I was the God of Funky White Boys.

I learned something very important that night. Older white folks go out to bars to sit and drink.

Older black folks come out to drink and have a good time and to feel young again.

I will go on record as saying this past Saturday night will go down as one of my most favorite nights as a DJ ever.

Thank you my African brothers for letting me entertain you and learn how to have a great time at my job.

But ... as we all know by now ... where there's sunshine in my life, there's always a dark cloud looming nearby.

That said ...














Note that I said "Some" gay people.

Most gay people I love, love, love.

They crack me up because gay people have great senses of humor about themselves.

Except for bull dykes. My God. Lighten up, bull dykes. Don't be so damned hateful.

Anyway ... I did a wedding reception Saturday afternoon.

And everything's going smoothly ... I'm playing the typical garbage that people want to hear at wedding receptions ... "Celebration", "We Are Family" and that goddamned "Chicken Dance".

A slender good looking man sauntered up to me and entered my makeshift booth which rubs me the wrong way normally, but at a wedding reception where you're getting paid $400 to smile and play music ... you let shit like that slide.

"Do you have a songlist I can peruse," he said in this weird European accent.

"Yeah," I said, handing him my book of songs. "Here you go."

He started leafing through the pages and in ten seconds, he squealed.

"You must play ZEES!!" he exclaimed, hopping up and down and pointing at a song in the book.

It was Crystal Method's "Can You Trip Like I Do".

For those of you unfamiliar with the tune ... it's kind of a dreamy techno song at first and then it gets into some obnoxious screaming over a hammering rock melody.

Personally I love the song.

BUT ... it's not what you'd consider appropriate wedding reception material.

"I don't know," I said cautiously. "I don't think it'd go over good with the elderly people here."

"Ohhhhh fuck them," this drunk guy slurred as he wrapped his left arm around my waist and KEPT IT THERE.

Now then.

I'm not gay.

To the best of my knowledge, I've never really had the urge to suck a chubby.

And as much as I say I like gay people, I must clarify something: I like gay people ... as long as they don't get drunk and put their arms around my waist and KEEP THEM THERE WHILE I'M TRYING TO WORK.

Now, this guy thinks that if he uses his homosexual charm on me, I'll eventually break down and play the song for him.

Wrong-o, Liberace.

I finally convince him as he's latched on to me that his request will NOT be played while there were old folks in the room.

So he takes his arm off my waist and goes back to the book to find another song.

Within ten seconds, he's squealing again.

This time, he wants to hear 50 Cent's "In Da Club".

You know the tune ... "Go Shorty, it's your birthday ... and you know we don't give a fuck that it's your birthday."

The song makes numerous references to "motherfuckers" and "ho's".

Just the type of song a grandmother wants to hear as she's celebrating the union of her lovely granddaughter to a fine young man.

Once again, I was forced to tell El Prissy no.

I explained to him that the reason I had that song was that I was primarily a club DJ and that song works fine in the clubs but NOT at a wedding reception.

This time he slipped his left arm back around my waist and moved his right hand to my chest as he tried to talk me into playing it.

The bride happened to catch a glimpse of this and I shot her a look like "Get this fucker off of me NOW!!"

She came over and said "Is Barney bothering you?"


Motherfucking BARNEY?!?!

People were still naming their kids "Barney" 24 years ago?

I tried to be diplomatic about it.

"It's not that he's bothering me," I smiled nervously as he caressed my chest in front of 200 people. "It's just that he wants to hear music that's very inappropriate for your reception."

"I just want him to play your favorite songs, darling," he protested to the bride. "Don't you want to hear 'In Da Club'?"

"Not today, Barney," she said, pulling at his arm. "Leave the DJ alone now and let him work."

Barney pouted.

"Bye Mr. DJ," he said while pouting as she led him away by his wrist.

Thank God.

The next song that played was "The Hokey Pokey".

I had about 80 people in a huge circle doing the Hokey Pokey.

And I caught a glimpse of Barney standing off to the side, still pouting and staring at me while he clasped his hands over his ears in protest.

Ya know what, Barney??

Fuck you and your inappropriate requests and sexual advances.


My God ... if you didn't catch it last night ... make sure you watch "Superstar USA" on the WB Network tonight at 9 EST/8 CST.

This is going to be the funniest show ever.

Trust me.

And finally ... tomorrow May 19th is another one of those "Don't buy any gas on this day" days.

These have been done in the past and send a strong message to somebody when a large number of people boycott their gas stations for one day.

If you need gas, buy it today.

But don't buy it tomorrow.

If everyone did this for one day, you can bet your ass you'd see gas prices plummet in the next week.

So do your part.

Damn you.


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