My heart has a love-hate relationship with police.
I drove down Washington Street in Brookline, a street named after an American forefather who enslaved African Americans. Martin Luther King, Jr. – the man who preached peace and equality – has roads not even a criminal would walk on without looking behind his back. But this George Washington has streets named after him all over the country that are as clean as my living room after Rosa comes in for a sweep.
Chris Rock tells us in one of his pieces that Martin Luther King Boulevard is a dangerous stretch of road, regardless of what American city you’re driving through. On my way from Brookline – a rich, White neighborhood – to a friend’s house in urban Boston, I had to pass through the notorious MLK Boulevard, noticing on the way that my heart beat was racing.
Maybe the government should do a name switch with these streets to give Black legends a fair shake. Name some of the streets in rich, White neighborhoods after historic Black people so we can repair the reputation of those street names. I want 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, where my Black President lives, to be renamed 187 Malcolm X Drive. This will prove street names have nothing do with violent crime.
Hitting a red light on Washington Street in Brookline, a cop pulled up next to me. I wasn’t doing anything illegal. I was just waiting for the light to turn green, but my heart still skipped a beat.
When a Jew drives by a cop in a White neighborhood, he immediately tenses up. In attempt to look like a law-abiding citizen, I began following every rule in the book. First I looked straight at the road, avoiding eye contact with the police officer. I put my hands at 10 and 2 of the steering wheel, but wondered if the rulebook said my hands should instead be placed at 9:30 and 2:30. I thought, Why didn’t I mark my steering wheel with tape so I could remember where my hands are supposed to go? If my hands are more than 20 degrees off-kilter, the officer could pull me over!
I decided to put my hands on 9:45 and 2:15 just to be safe.
The light went green. I turned right and the officer went straight. Phew, I thought, and drove peacefully away.
I took off my subscription sunglasses while driving and gave them a quick rub on my shirt. Listening to NPR Radio, I heard an interview with the 14th Dali Lama, who also has glasses – although, I doubt his are Oakley’s.
I can attest that the theory of masturbation deteriorating eyesight is true. I’ve had glasses since I discovered the act. But when someone like the Dali Lama wears glasses–a man who’s sworn to a life of abstinence–it begs the question: Does masturbation truly harm one’s eyesight?
Since November 17, 1950, Tenzin Gyatso has held the title of the 14th Dali Lama. That means he hasn’t masturbated since November 16, 1950. That’s more than 60 years ago! So why would this man ever need glasses? I can only conclude that his mind is so powerful that he doesn’t need to masturbate with his hands. He can finish himself off by staring at a wall and meditating. It’s his spirit which does the stroking. The Dali Lama has masturbated just as much as any of us. Don’t let his un-tented cloak fool you.
I changed the radio to a hip-hop station so my racing thoughts about the Dali Lama and masturbation would settle. Two minutes away from MLK Boulevard, I had to turn the volume down.
You never want to be the loudest car in the projects, especially when you’re a wimpish Jew blasting Black music. Jews believe that the quieter they are, the more easily they can drive through the projects unharmed.
We also duck our heads in cover, like we’re in a battle avoiding crossfire. And we remember to lock the doors before entering urban areas. If the doors happen to be unlocked and we’re already in the middle of a dangerous neighborhood, we’re too scared to lock them because a local could spot us in action and claim aloud that we’re racist. Then, with their pitchforks and brooms, they’d start a riot and chase us down a dead-end street.
There’s a Jew over there!
Hitting a red light on MLK Boulevard is a scary scenario for a Jew. I don’t think it’s the same feeling a Black guy has in a room full of White assholes. Black guys don’t have an innate, physical fear of White people. They may be shy in that situation, but not in fear of their manhood. But as a Jew, I’m physically inferior to all ethnicities, other than five-foot Asians and the Meerkats. So naturally I’m going to have a level of fear when I enter the Black world. I have no chance to protect myself physically, even if there’s only a 0.01% chance that they’ll mug me in broad daylight.
In the projects and at this red light, I realized my heart rate was at a maddening pace, as if I just finished a 200-meter sprint. I kept my eyes forward, avoided eye contact with everyone, and placed my hands at 9:45 and 2:15 on the wheel; although, my sweaty palms were making them slip to 9 and 3.
The red light took forever. I began to think some local criminals hijacked the street light, as they were trying to trap me into staying in this spot for an elongated time so they could strip my hubcaps, just like they did to Chevy Chase in National Lampoon’s American Vacation.
Once again, a police car pulled up next to me. Again, I wasn’t doing anything illegal. I was just a law-abiding citizen sitting at a red light. But at the sight of the police officer this time, my heart rate did NOT race. I was calmer. Seeing the police officer next to me in these projects was a welcoming sight. It was like I had a personal escort through this war zone.
I drove through without a scratch on my car. It’s time to relax and prepare for my next ride. I’ll be passing Moishe Horowitz Avenue, where my intellectual property is always at risk.