“NO-LEGGED MOTHERFUCKER!!”
I’d left the lunch room at Malcolm X Junior College, in Chicago. I decided to eat my food at one of the tables that were located in the hallway, just outside the lunch room.
There was a card game at another table–four black folk. One of them had no legs–literally. It was his turn to throw down his cards, but he was taking a long time. Finally, one of the other card players hollered, “God DAMN, you little no-legged motherfucker!! Throw the damned cards!!!” He responded, “You must be feeling like you want your ASS kicked today!! Better shut the fuck UP, before I come over there and kick yo ASS!!”
It was all typical black-folks bantering that I grew-up with. Well, after I finished eating, I decided to go to the library and study. I studied a while, and then left. When I got to the elevator, the “no-legged motherfucker” was there, in his wheel chair, waiting for the elevator. I thought to myself, “I gotta ask this man…”
We get on the elevator, and it was just me and him. I said “Look here, man, I gotta ask you something. I heard you outside the lunchroom. Here’s what I want to know. How the HELL you having so much fun, and you ain’t even got no damned LEGS!!”
He goes, “WHAT!!!??? Man, look here. I lost my legs in Nam (Vietnam). And it was the best thing ever happened to me: I got disability benefits; I got veteran’s benefits; I get all KINDS of grants, for all kinds of shit!! I got grants for SCHOOL. I got grants for being CRIPPLE. I got grants for being BLACK!! Shiiiiiiiit, mufucka, what you talking about!!”
When the elevator door opened, he wheeled on away, laughing his ass off. This wasn’t Seinfeld. This was a real scene, with real people.
“SHACK-LIVING MOTHERFUCKER!!”
I’m 13 years old. We’re in a vacant lot, playing baseball, behind the YMCA on 50th and Indiana. Ivry Shaw just missed a catch that was hit to him, from home base, by Ralph.
Warren shouted, “Damn, Ivry, you shack-living motherfucker!!! You act like you can’t SEE!!” Ivry shot back, “And guess who was with me last night, in my shack!! YO MAMMA!!”
When black folks came from down south, during the Great Migration, there were a lot of shacks built that they lived in–no running water; no electricity; nothing. One of the last such shacks was behind my best friend’s mother’s apartment building that she owned and lived in. That’s where Ivry and his family lived–in a shack.
When Warren called Ivry a shack-living motherfucker, Ivry didn’t get angry; he didn’t throw up his dukes (his fists) to fight. The way Warren talked to him was normal. It was normal bantering. Same was the case with the “no-legged motherfucker.” He didn’t shoot back in anger. He didn’t CRY. He didn’t leave the card game. Most importantly, he didn’t feel offended.
In fact, had he purposely caused his eyes to water, and responded, “Why would you call me that,” he would have received the answer, “‘Cause that’s what you IS–a no-legged motherfucker!!” And to that he would have answered, “Well, I can’t argue with THAT!!”
Not these days.
So, here’s the answer to why I hate PC: It has caused people to no longer be HUMAN. And what’s fascinating is that PC was designed to do the very opposite: make people more human. IT FAILED!!! It made us more ugly, and less human. PC has been ruinous to the extreme.
It’s gone way, way, way too far, to the point where you’re walking on pins and needles [NOT ME!!], afraid to even JOKE. It’s crazy.
By the way, such playful bantering could be found amongst all the various white-ethnic groups in Chi-Town. It wasn’t just a black thing. Everybody knew how to have fun by, yes, insulting each other. But, it wasn’t really insulting, and everyone knew that. Everybody knew what the deal was.
So, if you don’t like it, then take yo HUMOR-CRIPPLED ASS somewhere ELSE!
In David Ranney book, Living and Dying on the Factory Floor, this type of self deprecating humor is extended by a bunch of black factory workers to Dave, the new white guy on the block, who from all appearances could be someday a very valuable ally but not before he is tested. …Mayberry lights up a joint and passes it to Charles. He takes a hit and tries to pass it on to to Dave. Dave shakes his head and passes it to James. “Dave?” What” Smirking, “Do you thing you’re a nigger?” Everyone is looking at Dave. “Come on man, I am serious. Do you think that you’re a niggger? “I dont know wh—” Emphisizing each word “Dave…don’t….know…if… he… is… a… nigger.” While Dave was short on words to verbally repeat after Charles, he understood and appreciated fully that anything less than a comrade, a brotha in solidarity, would not fly. But Charles suddenly begins his laugh routine and before he is through everyone in the room is laughing including Dave. Charles gets up and slaps Dave on the back and walks out of the locker room. If you ask me I would title this exchane as The Power of Communication, so much of which is lost in pretentions in recent times, acomplishing squat.
Exactly. What I should have mentioned in my article, incidentally, is that our shit instinctively, inherently, and sometimes consciously fostered inclusion. Today, inclusion translates to pretense and fear-based, crippling over-indulgence.
The no-legged motherfucker was treated as an equal; GENUINELY felt so; and WAS. Today, heโd stay as far away from snow-flake, โwokeโ PC folks as possible, in order to maintain his self-esteem.