I really hate parades / The Sho' Nuff Adventures of Abe Africa

It's probably your least favorite part of the year. It was just explained on a rerun of "Family Guy" to be the black man's revenge against Whitey for years of slavery and oppression. It reduces all of us to that most unenviable of American horrors--statistics.

Yes, the DMV. Specifically, the El Cerrito Department of Motor Vehicles on Manila, two blocks from where I once flunked my first driver's test by my baffled and probably very combative query of my driving instructor as to why there was a four-way intersection with nary a Stop or Yield sign in any direction, right on the corner of an elementary school. (The answer: "It's Richmond.")

A place where a middle-aged black woman tried to convince my mother that it was a good idea to whip me with a switch.

A place where, similarly, I've come to the conclusion, entirely on sight and experience alone, that only black mothers think slapping their young rowdy children is a good idea, and only white mothers leash their young 'uns to their waste like a parachuting cur.

All of these thoughts went out the window two days ago as I stood in line for a duplicate driver's license after losing every single form of photo identification during the still shameful night when I saw "Superman Returns" drunk off my ass, vomited on my roommate, then staggered home 3 miles to my apartment in the middle of the night.

Because, honestly, two days ago, at the DMV, was the most unstressful, professional experience I've had in months. No hours in line. No angry welfare workers. A complete amount of competence in their job and their forms. And this was during lunch hour. How is this even possible? It's vastly preferable to grocery store lines, which for some reason have bothered me to the point of screaming each and every time I am at any store other than Trader Joe's. Perhaps that's something I should look into.

More importantly, the DMV experience reminded me of the following exchange from CBS' darling sitcom--the best on network TV--had between the show's hero Ted (Josh Radnor) and a club coat check girl (Jayma Mays from "Red Eye") in the episode "Okay Awesome":

Coat Check Girl (CCG): Rough night?
Ted: Yeah...these clubs are supposed to be fun, right? WHy do I hate them so much?
CCG: Because all of the stuff you're supposed to like, usually sucks. Like these clubs. Or cruises.
Ted: Or New Year's Eve.
CCG: Or the Superbowl.
Ted: Or parades.
CCG: Or the Rockettes.
Ted: Or parades.
CCG: You said that already.
Ted: I really hate parades.
...
CCG: Yeah, see? if everybody tells you something's supposed to be fun, it's usually not.
Ted: Right, so by that logic, if you and I were to, you know, go out on a date...
CCG: Then we couldn't go anywhere that's supposed to be fun.
Ted: Okay. DMV it is.
CCG: Then we'll get our teeth cleaned.
Ted: Sounds awful. It's a date.
CCG: Okay.
Ted: But there's still one big question that needs to be answered. How many of these coats do you think I can put on all at once?

---

Really, I'm happy anytime I can quote from "HIMYM," a program whose brilliance I shall explain in a later entry. These thoughts might be a sign of boredom, but nothing could really match an hour after the DMV experience when I went down to Pennzoil to get an oil change. As I sat in my truck, looking at the place's computer list of current clients, and discovered the greatest name to ever grace the face of this Earth.

Abe Africa.

The first thing that sprung to mind was that nobody with a name as spectacular as Abe Africa should EVER be driving a 2000 Saturn Sedan. He should be driving some souped-up Pootie Tang Cadillac mobile smacking bitches, and his cell phone ring should be "I'm Your Pusher Man" from "Superfly."

Of course, that's just his persona by day. At night, he uses the power of his feathered hat and bling to assume his alter ego, also named of Abe Africa, who fights the dastardly criminals of the San Francisco Bay Area--Oakland included--using the martial art form known as Pimp Fu, an art that appears very similar to Kung Fu, with the notable exception that the last thing you see before you die is a large black palm and five fingers adorned with gold coming at ya.

And thusly begins the lost epic motion picture from 1974 "Pimp Fu: The Sho' Nuff Adventures of Abe Africa."