Gangster Shit
Everybody’s mad about something. Recently, I got attacked online by some gay bloggers, and it hurt my feelings. I have no problem with gay people, but I fucking hate bloggers. I’m not saying it ’cause this person was gay. They was just acting like a bitch online. They was mischaracterizing my jokes, trying to make a point off of me, when it was really like— “Yo, I’m your ally, motherfucker. I’m not trying to stop gay people. I got better shit to do.” This motherfucker was saying things, trying to get gay people to beat me up. Seriously, he was like… [effeminate voice] “Dave Chappelle’s jokes—” I don’t know how he actually talks. I’m just making his voice up. “Dave Chappelle’s jokes were an affront to the manhood of all gay men.” What the fuck does that mean? I didn’t say anything that would allude to gay men not being men. I know you’re men. In fact, what could be manlier than fucking another guy in the ass? It’s the most gangster shit I’ve ever heard of in my life. I told you, I’m not cut out for that. I’m a pussy.

You know what I said? This is all I said. First of all, I’ll tell you right now what I said, and I’ll tell you this was not a joke. It’s a true story, and I just happened to tell it. What happened was, I went to a gallery party, all right? I don’t know who in here has ever been rich before, but these are very nice parties. You know, wine and cheese and baller conversation. And there was a few eccentric types, one of which was a very wealthy man that happened to be wearing a dress. I don’t know what you call him. A tranny, or a drag queen, perhaps. Whatever he was, he was definitely a man. And this man was definitely on drugs. I don’t know what kind of drugs he was on, but I knew he had too much. He didn’t look good. He was like this. [moans] He looked sick, and all his friends were standing around him, concerned, trying to revive him. I don’t know what, it looked like some kind of gay CPR. There was fanning and shit. They was like— I saw all this from a distance. Now, I should’ve minded my own business, but I got curious. I was like… And I went over there. All I said, “Excuse me, gentlemen. Is he okay?” Then they looked at me like I was evil. “She is fine.” I said, “Word? Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know this is what we were doing.” Here’s my thing. I support anybody’s right to be whoever they feel like they are inside. I’m your ally in that. However… my question is… to what degree do I have to participate in your self-image? Is it fair that I have to change my whole pronoun game up for this motherfucker? That doesn’t make sense. Seriously. If I put on an argyle sweater, and I’m like, “Hey, everybody, I feel like a white guy in this sweater, and I want some goddamn respect and a bank loan,” that’s not gonna work. You don’t give a fuck how I feel. Why should I give a fuck how you feel? “Nigger” is a pronoun. But there was no time for philosophical debate. This was an emergency situation. I said, “Fine. I’m sorry, guys. I was just worried because— because she looks terrible. And she just fell off the bench. It appears that her dick is popping out of her dress. You mind if I call an ambulance, champ? I’d rather not be at a party where a tranny OD’s. There’s too many questions to answer.” Okay, I’ve been through this before. I had a friend from high school. Now, in high school, this guy was a thug. He was a fucking dope boy. He did it all. He was a wild dude. People used to be very scared of him. And then after high school, word on the street was he had come out the closet. I personally didn’t believe it. I bring him up because last year, he calls me out of the blue, like, “Yo, what’s up, man? I got your number from so-and-so. I heard you’re gonna be in New York doing a show. Could I get some tickets?” I was like, “Fuck yeah, you can get some tickets. How you been?” He said, “We’ll catch up at the show, but I appreciate it. I’ll see you soon.” I said, “All right, man. Take care.” I was about to hang up, but I couldn’t resist. I was just like, “Hey, nigga, I heard you was gay. What’s going on with that?” And I wish I didn’t ask. ‘Cause he sounded like he was dying to talk about that shit, and he had a long story about it. It’s not that I didn’t care, but I was— I don’t like talking on the phone. I was watching TV at the same time. So, I just wasn’t really paying attention like I should. I was trying to sound supportive, but I didn’t really know what to say. So, I just mumbled and shit throughout this conversation. I was like, “Well, you know, nigga, you’re gay, man. You’re just gay. Come on, man.” This went on for a while. Then finally, I had to say something definitive to get him off the phone. And I was like, “Hey, you know what? Don’t let people get you down, all right? And the next time someone tries to make you feel bad about yourself, just remember: Everybody fucks funny to somebody.” He didn’t like that shit. He said, “What the fuck does that mean?” I said, “Huh?” He said, “You saying I fuck funny, motherfucker?” I said, “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying everybody’s different.” He said, “You didn’t say ‘different.’ You said ‘funny.’ What’s so fucking funny about the way I fuck?” And I said, “Hey, man, I fuck feet.” He said, “What?!” Oh, this is not a joke, ladies and gentlemen. I get women to squeeze their feet together like this, and I fuck them right in that little space in their feet. But you can’t build a community behind that shit. There’s no flag for us. That shit made him laugh. The next day, after the show, I saw him backstage. He was like, “What’s up, man? I’m like, “Oh, shit! What’s going on?” He had his buddy with him. He goes, “Dave, I want you to meet Manuel. Manuel’s my fiancé. We’re in New York getting married ’cause it’s legal here.” I said, “Oh. Well, congratulations, fellas.” And Manuel was like, “Gracias.” And he went to go get some drinks, and then my buddy looked at me. He was like, “So, Dave… what do you think?” And I started mumbling again. “Well, you’re gay, nigga. You know, you’re just gay.” He said, “I’m a little nervous about getting married, man. It’s a big step.” I said, “Yeah, it is. It’s a big step.” He said, “You’ve been married for a while. You got any advice for us?” “No, I’m married to a woman. Sorry about that.” And he corrected me. He said, “No. You married the person that you love, so it’s essentially the same.” I said, “You know, man, the problem with that statement is that it makes the assumption that I love her. But—