Beer doesn’t make you hate Joos
I haven’t written about Mel Gibson’s little bout of anti-Semitism because, frankly, I don’t give a shit. I realized long ago there were weirdos and hateful sorts who just hated other people for random reasons. If we were all the same race/religion, someone would hate you because of your size. If we were all the same size, they’d hate you because of your eye-color. And on and on. There’s just stupid, hateful fuckers out there. Deal with it.
My issue with Mel is that he’s blaming one of my favorite things: booze. I like to drink. I like to drink a lot. And I drink it all, except vodka, wine and frou-frou drinks. I drink beer, whiskey, beer, rum, beer, bourbon, beer, and scotch. And, for a skinny white boy, I can drink a lot at a time. But none of that has ever made me hate Joos. Or black folks. Or homos. Or anyone. In fact, it has often made me love lots of folks, both in that you’re an OK dude and that You’ll regret this tomorrow kind of way. Yeah, before my wife went and domesticated me, I was a bit of a, err, partier, we’ll say.
Drinking has made me do lots of things, like walk down my friend’s street naked singing Stand By Your Man at 2 a.m. accompanied by three other equally drunk, heterosexual men. It’s caused me to wake up next to people who I had to promptly introduce myself to then ask if they wanted breakfast. It’s made me utter the phrase and at this point, we need to throw exactly 17 bananas. It’s made me think that it was a good idea to jump off the blue bridge in Dandridge, Tennessee. It made me and a friend think that it’d be cool to stuff some gun powder in a cinder block and light it (well, OK, that actually was cool . . but not smart). It’s made me think that on karaoke night I could actually pull off No Rain by Blind Melon (hint: if you have testicles, you can’t pull that song off). It made me decide that dressing in a corset, fishnets and Sebagos was a good idea. It made me and some friends realize on the fourth of July, you could light bottle rockets 144 at a time if you used a blowtorch. It made me think it was cool to drive with the top down . . . in January (I did have the heat on). It made me and some friends think it was perfectly reasonable to wrap PVC in foam and beat the shit out of each other with it. It made me decide it was a good idea to tell a 6 foot 8 inch, 300 pound angry-looking dude he can’t park there. It made me respond at my 10-year high school reunion when asked what I did for a living that I was a ninja (kick ass dental!) or a fire truck (here’s a picture of me at work) or a fluffer (Peter North is such a gentle man but he’s not into chicks) or a member of the super-villain group The Legion of Doom (And then, he threw a chimney at us). [ed note: for plausible deniability, one of these is made up. I'll never tell]
Well, the point is that it made me do a lot, but hating people and spouting off conspiracy theories isn’t one of those things. So, Mel, stop blaming the spirits. It just makes you an anti-Semite who also happens to be a dick. A dick with a publicist trying to save your career but still a dick. Leave my beer alone.