Power Glove Love

Tonight a couple friends and I went to dinner at Buca Di Beppo in downtown Santa Monica. I love that place, but Jesus, I feel like an AMERICA FUCK YEAH kind of guy there. Think about it. A big restaurant corporation commercializes an entire culture (in this case, Italian, for those of you who are slow) into a couple of typical Italian dishes and serves it in ultra-fatty sized portions. That’s pretty AMERICA FUCK YEAH. It’s like…. Whoa, man. Deep shit.

Since the portions are designed for 300 pound women who wear purple nylon shorts and a Big Dog t-shirt, and I am only a normal fatty, I only finished most of my food. I had the rest put in a doggy bag and walked back. During our long trek back to the cars, I realized, “I don’t want to microwave a meatball the size of my head.” So I decided to give it to a homeless guy.

This is where things get edgy. There was a black man sitting on a bench with a bunch of suitcases and shit. He looked kind of disheveled. I didn’t want to walk up and give the leftovers to him myself because…I don’t know, I hate homeless people. Get a damn job, or something. Since I was going LIKE, EW, GUH-ROSS, I gave my food to my buddy and got him to give the food to the homeless guy instead.

I stood around the corner, secretly hoping something horrible, Something terrible. Something hilarious. I was hoping that the black dude was actually just some random black dude sitting on the bench with his luggage, and that my friend, the fucking bigot that he is, just thought the guy was homeless because of his skin color. Oh how the tables turned when he got back. Oh how they did indeed.

I explained my elaborate hope to him, to which he replied, “the fuck are you talking about?” and pointed to the white dude standing next to the black guy with the big box that says “I AM HOMELESS. PLEASE HELP.” I was completely oblivious to the white homeless dude standing next to the black dude. Whooooooooooooops! Sorry black people, I guess I’m a racist!