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Blarney for St. Patrick’s Day: Didofoot parties with strangers

Posted by on March 18, 2003

“It’s like the war in Iraq, ‘protecting the people,’ blah blah I am a liberal,” said the pipsqueak with the confidence that comes from knowing for a fact that everyone around you shares your white upper middle class Bay Area upbringing. “I’m sorry,” he said as Dr. V and the Lad and I all mentally rolled our eyes at this blase college liberalism, “I didn’t even bother to ask – how do you folks feel about the war?”

(There is a certain kind of college freshman who uses the term “you folks” to refer to his peers. This pipsqueak was one such freshman.)

“Well,” I said, “I’m a Young Republican, so I’m really for it.”

“You’re a Rung Yepublican?” he actually said, which when combined with the nearly empty keg in the corner will give you some clue as to why he bought the rest of my tale. His interested expression became, if anything, MORE interested. Not only might this girl sleep with me, he was thinking, not having yet cottoned on to the Lad’s role, but perhaps I can change her mind on some key points while I am dazzling her with the knowledge I gleaned from my Poli Sci class first semester.

“So you’re a rung yepublican,” he said again, I swear to God, and began to fire questions at me rapidly, either in an attempt to keep me off balance or because he couldn�t remember where the conversation was from one sentence to the next. This isn’t the whole dialogue by any means, but it’s what I can remember at 1:30 in the morning with work looming on the horizon. “Tell me, what do you think about this war?”

“Well, I pretty much support the president,” I said.

“Really? And why is that?”

“I just think he’s been really misunderstood by this minority movement. And the majority of the population supports him, and I like to be in the majority.”

“What do you think about abortion?”

“Well…I think it’s understandable in the case of rape or incest. Although of course I don’t condone it. Basically I just think a lot of people use it as a form of birth control.”

“I see. Have you ever been pregnant?”

“ME? No way! I wouldn’t be pregnant unless I was married!”

“Uh huh. Okay. And what do you think about BLACK people?”

“Well, I don’t really know any. They don’t really live in my neighborhood.”

“And do you believe that just MIGHT be due to the LEGACY OF SLAVERY, or do you just think they’re somehow genetically inclined to poverty?”

“I guess I just don’t really see why I need to think about it.”

“Tell me, have you ever BEEN black?”

Dr. V and the Lad and Kati Vol were fully giggling like schoolgirls at this point, and periodically one of them applauded or encouraged me in some way, which was probably not a good idea. Finally, we wound our way back around to the war.

I said, “It’s just – look, Saddam used weapons of mass destruction – on his OWN PEOPLE! I mean, we’ve never done THAT.”

“Oh no? The Civil War, perhaps? The Gatling gun?”


“A machine gun!”

“Does that…is that a weapon of mass destruction?”

Lucky for Pipsqueak�s logic, it was right about then that Dr. V muttered, “I don’t care HOW this war goes, as long as we get to kill us some sand ni**ers. ” (You know the word, I know the word, I’m not typing it.) Naturally, this set Pipsqueak off into a tirade about wars in general, including WWII, which led the Lad to employ the term “nips.” At which point Pipsqueak had had just about enough. He got so far up in the Lad’s grill that his face was cross-hatched. (From the soot. On the Lad’s grill.) Taking a deep breath, this tiny white boy with glasses who had earlier been boasting about his ROWING CREW, asked the Lad “Oh yeah? And how would you feel if I called you a CRACKER-ASS BITCH?”

This pretty much ended the conversation, as all the surrounding people gently prevailed on Pipsqueak to leave off harrying this mildly amused man of twice his height. He shook all of our hands with an agreement to disagree and stalked off to bitch to his fellow party-goers about the fascists holding court outside.

I felt so bad I had to leave immediately. It’s like this, you see: when I lie on Carthage, I am lying to a group. I’m not trying to single any of you out for humiliation. Here, this was not the case. Here, I was the devil himself. I�m not proud of this, and this is my public penance.

At the same time�it felt so good. Lying is something that I was born into the wrong society to do. It�s like having a muscle that I�m not allowed to use. I have a streak of cruelty in me that I hardly ever let loose like this, and even this was nothing compared to what I could have done to this Pipsqueak. And maybe everyone has it and doesn�t use it, maybe it�s not just me. How do people do it, though? When it feels so healthy and good to reduce a man to a scrapping terrier? How can I resist?

24 Responses to Blarney for St. Patrick’s Day: Didofoot parties with strangers

  1. sean

    sorry i missed it. you know, if you set up a magnifying glass next to an anthill just right, you can really whip those ants into a frenzy.

    i got sick of telling people that my parents named me “peachy,” and that bil keane of “family circus” fame was my cousin, around age 20, i think. of course, since your cousin really was a nationally-syndicated cartoonist, your mileage may vary.

  2. tracy

    Ant stompn’ PLUM crazy!!!!

  3. gene

    Other highlights were :

    I jumped in and began arguing that blacks we’re genetically inclined to be less intelligent than other races.

    After seeing what kind of stuff he was biting at, I mentioned that we weren’t allowed to do anything, it was our right see John Locke. He responded questioning whether I was “throwing down Locke”. I responded by putting my drink on the ground, crossing my arms a la Flavor Flav and carefully but articulately responding “Word”

    Didofoot loosing her cool at one point and breaking down laughing in the middle of her excellent acting job after the pipsqueak said he was a communist. Didofoot responded through the laughs, “you’re not a communist, you’re on a rowing team. You’re going through that phase that every sensetive drama guy goes through in college thinking he’s a communist, just like ever girl thinks she’s a lesbian at some point in college.”

    The downside was that didofoot felt too bad after the guy stormed back in side and we had to leave. Hopefully we’ll meet again. After all, I didn’t get to say a thing about the Jews.

  4. michele

    in your experience guys goes thru a communist phase? wow. in mine they went thru a neitzschean phase.

    that could in no small part be due to the loebster though. well at least until he started having excessive sex and wearing color.

    note: loebster is a philosophy teacher at UPS. also semi-godlike.

  5. Jacob

    Do you think guys go through a Nietzschean phase because Doug and I were ga-ga over him in high school carried that into college? I think the overman ideas sorted of petered out during college, and I know that I, for one, was pretty much over it by the time I was done with The Loeb. Though I certainly did go through a ridiculous (overplayed an fake) McCarthyist Better Dead Than Red phase that still lasts me to this day.

    I really wish I could have met the diminutive pinko. We would have had words.

  6. sean

    Every girl thinks she’s a lesbian at some point in college, and every girl also goes through a vegetarian phase. For the most part, I think most LUGs go back to eating meat and give up eating pussy once they get a bachelor’s degree.

  7. jason

    I definitely remember the nietchxsze phase, though I could never get through any of his stuff so I couldn’t participate in it. I think the Communist phase is more common, but the McCarthyist phase (fake, yes, but not without spirit) is I think the most common. I’m with you Jacob–to this day I’d rather be dead than red.

    Remember, Jacob, the pinko pumpkin you carved freshman year? Though of course you only made it so that we could smash it at the Senate hearing.

  8. katy the wetback

    oh my god. if i had been there my face would’ve burst open, laughing.

    (right after i threw a swastika sign with my intertwined fingers)

    i miss this shit. who forgot to invite me? or was it a racist thing? “let’s celebrate Irish Pride, blah blah blah,” when what you mean is WHITE HERITAGE DAY.


  9. Jacob

    Do I ever remember that commie pumpkin. From the second I made it, I knew it would be trouble. Its gourd uprising was the darkest day in the economic history of UPS.

  10. michele

    i was pretty fond of it when it turned into black goo and made that huge stain on the deck. that was the day of the darkest shadow cast over the doorsill of the UPS honor’s house and the hearts of campus maintenance crews everywhere.

  11. Sean

    The Irish are the wetbacks of Europe. Dubliners are the wetbacks of Ireland. North Dubliners are the wetbacks of Dublin. So say it loud: I’m a wetback, and I’m proud.

  12. marc

    you like to lie. i like to change my appearance — like that one time i dressed up as a liberalized pipsqueek college freshman.

  13. holohan

    man, i KNOW i’m a lesbian. b.a. b. damned.

    secondly, i’m always in favor of using “cotton” as a verb. very good.

    finally, you and allen should go out lying together. our mop-headed troubador has been known to advocate creationism, female circumcision, and jew-hatin’ with varying degrees of success and disgust. the two of you together would be unstoppable. we’re talking synergy here.

    jem is outrageous.

  14. didofoot

    the pipsqueak was also going through a neitzschean phase, since before i entered the conversation, i heard him telling the lad that “neitzche wrote some fucked up shit.”

  15. holohan

    god damn that nietzsche, with his giant mustache and his unsupportable cosmological theories and his books that make 16-year-old girls want to lay the scruffy 17-year-old boys who carry them around. i mean, really.

  16. Jacob

    *blink blink*

    You know, I originally got Beyond Good and Evil as part of a Charles Atlas mail-order deal. But I became so fixated on Nietzsche himself, I must have missed the hordes of women that were throwing themselves at my scruffy teenaged feet. It’s like the Twilight Zone Episode, “Time Enough at Last,” except I’m Henry Bemis and Netzsche is my glasses. And 16-year-old girls are books. And up is down.

  17. gene

    Wait, in that analogy, what does the vault in the cellar of the bank represent where he goes, pre-apocolypse, to read?

  18. jason

    That’s a metaphor for American Expansionism.

  19. Jacob

    Ironically, in that analogy, American Expansionism is a metaphor for Rod Serling.

  20. dr v

    I remember Sean reading “Thus Sprach Zarathustra” in the dorms purely for amusement. The best part is when Nietszche says that a woman has the moral reasoning ability equivalent to a cow or other such lesser animal. Anyone agree?

  21. zarathustra

    Everything in woman is a riddle, and everything in woman hath one solution- it is called pregnancy.

    Man is for woman a means: the purpose is always the child. But what is woman for man?

    Two different things wanteth the true man: danger and diversion. Therefore wanteth he woman, as the most dangerous plaything.

    Man shall be trained for war, and woman for the recreation of the warrior: all else is folly.

    Too sweet fruits- these the warrior liketh not. Therefore liketh he woman;- bitter is even the sweetest woman.

    Better than man doth woman understand children, but man is more childish than woman.

    In the true man there is a child hidden: it wanteth to play. Up then, ye women, and discover the child in man!

    A plaything let woman be, pure and fine like the precious stone, illumined with the virtues of a world not yet come.

    Let the beam of a star shine in your love! Let your hope say: “May I bear the Superman!”

    In your love let there be valour! With your love shall ye assail him who inspireth you with fear!

    In your love be your honour! Little doth woman understand otherwise about honour. But let this be your honour: always to love more than ye are loved, and never be the second.

    Let man fear woman when she loveth: then maketh she every sacrifice, and everything else she regardeth as worthless.

    Let man fear woman when she hateth: for man in his innermost soul is merely evil; woman, however, is mean.

    Whom hateth woman most?- Thus spake the iron to the loadstone: “I hate thee most, because thou attractest, but art too weak to draw unto thee.”

    The happiness of man is, “I will.” The happiness of woman is, “He will.”

    “Lo! “Lo! now hath the world become perfect!”- thus thinketh every woman when she obeyeth with all her love.

    Obey, must the woman, and find a depth for her surface. Surface is woman’s soul, a mobile, stormy film on shallow water.

    Man’s soul, however, is deep, its current gusheth in subterranean caverns: woman surmiseth its force, but comprehendeth it not.

  22. zarathustra

    Far too long hath there been a slave and a tyrant concealed in woman. On that account woman is not yet capable of friendship: she knoweth only love.

    In woman’s love there is injustice and blindness to all she doth not love. And even in woman’s conscious love, there is still always surprise and lightning and night, along with the light.

    As yet woman is not capable of friendship: women are still cats and birds. Or at the best, cows.

  23. Jacob

    You know it’s just cause Salome had Nietzsche whipped.

  24. Jacob

    Goddamn “no image tags allowed”

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