Thursday, July 29, 2010

to resolve any misconstruction...

arizona is not a nice place... seriously not nice.

forget the implications of what nazi magical-kingdom would have birthed had brewer been at the helm during duh-buh-yuh's presidential bender... the worst of the arizonian populace exists regardless of the state's executive office.

as evidence, i present to you the story of my close friend and personal sensei. we'll call him carlos.

carlos is not of hispanic, latino, spanish, or mexican descent. he is an american of filipino descent... and this particular filipino sensei doesn't take shit.

...it would be from behind a bar in tempe where carlos the filipino bartending sensei would make his stand...

lore has it that he could hit a fly from 20 yards with a coors lite bottle - and in a bar most noted for being the watering hole of sonny barger's band of hooligans, he would have to. but it wasn't sonny's boys he'd have to watch out for.

carlos was doing his thing one late afternoon when two large caucasion boys wandered into the establishment - one ordering a shot of tequila, the other: two budweisers and two shots of jose cuervo. as usual, the drinks came fast, accurate, and on target. carlos's game is a tough one to beat.

but on this hot arizona day, the most unusual of circumstances transpired: a dissatisfied patron stood face-to-face with our protagonist claiming that his order had not been properly fulfilled. in fact, the boy insisted, he had ordered three miller lites and no tequila.

...who's right and who's wrong doesn't matter much in the desert...

and so carlos was obliged to correct the order, offering the tequilla to the boy on-the-house as a gesture of goodwill. the boy accepted as he removed his t-shirt and sat on a barstool. as he turned to drink his prize, a large tattoo of a swastika with the gothic-lettered words "WHITE POWER" was in full display for the bartender to contemplate as he corrected his initially accurate service. the bartender delivered the miller lites with a smile but, once again, the patron was dissatisfied.

"it was two BUDWEISERS... AND WHERE ARE MY TEQUILA SHOTS, CARLOS???"

now, at this point it might be necessary to point out that our filipino bartending sensei's name is not really carlos (i added that for ironic literary purpose)... and yet, here, in the desert, this son of arizona has decided to bestow this mexican moniker upon our friend.

loudly slamming his keys down in front of the bartender, revealing his swastika key chain, the boy announced, "...and i don't like the way you've been eying me, CARLOS!"

carlos, the consummate bartender and excellent employee, now knew what was in store for both himself and his younger adversary. unflappable, he walked to the door and out of the establishment.

it seems unnecessary to tell you about how our filipino bartending sensei friend went on to deliver several close-range punches to the head of his much larger opponent before ramming his knee into the boy's head, leaving the hulking rascist unconscious in front of his own ford truck. it's equally unnecessary to explain how it all happened in just a blink of an eye... so quickly that the boy's friend didn't even find out what happened before carlos, knowing that he'd lost this job (mexicans aren't expected to stand up for themselves in the southwest), was off in his own ford truck to have a drink at another watering hole while considering new employment.

the point of all this is that brewer and her horrible policies do not make arizona what it is. moreover, having seemingly avoided the worst part's of brewer's bill is just a temporary fix to the larger problem:

the people of arizona have apparently never seen filipino people... and their terrible manners lead them to get their bigoted asses kicked in the parking lot.

that is all.

2 comments:

Shaw Kenawe said...

I'm in a pissy mood today, and that story got me out of it! Bravo Carlos! or whatever his real name is.

Bustednuckles said...

It's always nice to step over some fuck head like that when he is bleeding, on the way to the next bar.
Kudos to yer pal, whatever his name is.