Woke Like Me

January 1, 2020 (Wednesday)

My real name is really Quentin, but people have called me Charlie since as long as I can remember. I think my ma started calling me Charlie. I was thinking about changing to Benjamin or Benny or Benji but that sounded a little retarded. I know I’m not supposed to say retarded in this day and age of snowflakes so I’ll compromise. It made me sound like an R-tard. How’s that, better? I thought so. I’m sticking with Charlie. There was this tuna commercial with Charlie Tuna. I am Charlie Tuna. You may not know what that means or maybe you do. Also, there was this movie about a black guy and a white guy chained together way back in the day and one of them called the other Charlie Potatoes. I like that. Potato as in freedom fries. I love me my fries. I’m sticking with Charlie.

Oh yeah, my last name is Trump if you can believe it. 

So in this the first day of a new year and a new decade, I am making this resolution. Here she blows!

 2020 Vision. Get it?  

I, Charlie Trump, resolve to live this next decade fully woke. Fully and totally woke.

Just in case you aren’t up on the lingo, let me explain. Every generation takes words and changes their meaning. If they don’t do that, they create new words. When I was growing up, we said bogart, for example. “Don’t bogart that joint.” If you’re my age, you know if someone said that to you, you were hogging the joint. I guess bogart is a word we made up. I mean I never heard of it before we started using it, except maybe Humprey Bogart, the singer guy.

Hip. Hip is a word we changed. As kids we used to sing about how the shin bone is connected to the hip bone. Hip was a body part. When we were in school, hip took on new meaning. It meant you were cool. If you were a hip dude, you were cool. You might say, “That cool dude is really with it.” If you are of my age you know what I’m saying. You probably had long hair in your youth and wore bell bottom jeans or maybe hiphuggers. You certainly never bogarted a joint. See what I did there?

Get it?  

So this year the latest word is woke. The very hip to use woke among the snowflake crowd. Everyone is saying it. So this year my resolution is to be woke. Being woke means living wide awake. It means having a sense of social awareness. Who knows where it came from. Probably some rapper like Kanye West invented it. Black people these days, as sensitive as they are to having their feelings hurt, have invented all sorts of words like we used to do to show how hip they are. Or should I say, hip hop they are. Hip hop is the language of the snowflakes from the ghetto. 

White snowflakes like to use hip hop ghetto speech to show how woke they are. See what I did there?

January 2,  (Thursday)

You don’t know me even though you recognize my last name.  Unfortunately for me, no relation to the president. It would be nice to call up cousin Donald and ask for a job or a loan, “Hey cuz, can you let me have a couple of mill until my Uncle Quizimodo straightens up?” Yeah, it isn’t going to work that way for me.  

We’re from different parts of the country.  I’m from the mid west. I guess they call it the rust belt now.  I rooted for B1G teams in the bowl games. Minnesota pulled one off against Baylor yesterday.  That was huge. Wisconsin got screwed over by a bad call just like Ohio State did on Saturday. All that’s to be expected.  The mid west has been everyone’s punching bag since forever. Not just in football neither. 

At any rate, the president, Trump is from New York or something.  The only thing we have in common is that we didn’t get nothing from nobody.  Everything we got, and I barely got a pot to piss in, we got on my own, no handouts, no government programs.  But I earned it on my own. There are those snowflakes that say nobody ever earns nothing on their own. Obama once said that we all stand on others shoulders. If that’s true, I want him to get the hell off mine.  I am tired of carrying other people’s weight.  

Trump is like folks in the mid west. The folks I know like Trump because he makes people listen.  For the first time that I can remember, we have a politician that says what we have all been thinking. And we like to hear him.  Even if I wouldn’t say what he says, he speaks for me. I end up agreeing with him.

Since I am going about this decade trying to be a cool woke dude, I ain’t saying that he is right or wrong.  I’m just saying that folks like me have been wanting someone to listen to us and take us seriously. Here’s what I mean.  The Washington insiders have been on a rampage about toilets and how much water they waste. I ain’t never thought about it really, and it really doesn’t mean much to me, but President Trump about a week ago comes out on his tweeter or something and says how you can’t hardly flush a toilet these days without giving it two or three jiggles.

I don’t really know of anyone who would have been concerned enough about toilets to say anything, but that comment shows that Trump is looking out for us.  He is just like us. We look at him and we see ourselves. We might not need to flush two or three times, but we might. 

Yesterday at some fancy New Year party he said something to his wife  who he obviously loves very much, about not jinxing her resolution by saying it out loud.  That’s what people I know are like. They don’t say too much. They don’t really go to fancy parties though.  I have one blue suit that I wear to weddings and funerals, I can wear black or brown shoes, I have one pair of each. Maybe I’ll be buried with one of each on my feet.

January 21 (Tuesday)

I never really thought much about the NRA.  I know a bunch of guys who are big into it and have tons of guns.  I’m not one of them.But I am beginning to be one and not for the usual reasons.  At least I don’t think it’s the usual reason. I want a gun just in case I get Alzhiemers.  I think everyone ought to have one when dementia starts setting in.

I heard somewhere that Alzheimer is like taking a nap on a train.  You wake up and have no idea where you are. You look around and see strange scenery.  Maybe you even look into your wallet to see where your ticket says you are heading to but nothing, no luck.  You get confused. People start talking to you, but you don’t really understand what they are saying, maybe a word or two here and there but not really. Then they leave and say everything is going to be alright.  

But it isn’t going to be alright, and you know it god damn it! You enter another world and you don’t know a soul.  All you can do is think about the world you left. You get all pissed off, because you want to go back to the world you know.  You’re sad because you never had a chance to say good-bye to the people you left behind.  

My dead mother was senile.  Near the end she was a real bitch.  She didn’t recognize me. She would swear at anyone who tried to talk to her and tell them she wanted to go to her home. Of course she was home, but she was talking about some place she lived thirty years ago. You have to feel bad for her because she was on that train to nowhere and couldn’t remember ever saying good-bye to the life she left behind.  

It’s scary for me because if she gave me the crazy gene like she got, then I am next.  One day I will lose it. Sure, maybe scientists will come up with a cure one day, but you know it will be too late to help me.  I think now you can see why I want a gun.

January 24 (Friday)

All this week there have been Prince the musician stories floating around.  The stories dealt with charges of his wrongful death being dismissed.

Just so you know, I think he was not one of --if not the greatest musicians of our time. I know lots of people do.  That’s okay. You don’t have to agree. I like Prince okay, just not great. Too ghetto for me, at least his music.

But there is another side to Prince that isn’t getting reported.  Some people know, but it is not surprising that the fake news has kept the real story covered up. If you know how to use the internet, you can find the truth.  Prince did not OD like we all heard. As a matter of fact, Prince was not Prince at all at least when he died.

The real Prince was killed in 1985 after he made Purple Rain the movie.  Roger Nelson was trouble for the elite.  He started talking too much truth about stuff like chemtrails and the corruption in the music industry.  Some people say it was Illuminati stuff, but I don’t believe that for a second. You would have to be a fool to believe in conspiracies.  It was just regular organized criminals that run the government and the world for that matter. Some people believe it was a motorcycle accident that killed him.  They are just not woke like me. 

Things get weirder.  So weird that you can’t make this stuff up.  The movie was a box office smash that the studio found a body double.  After a ton of plastic surgery and coaching, the studios used the body double as the new Prince.  His real name was Charles, That’s all we know. But after a while of pretending he was Prince, he turned into Prince.  

If you’re woke like me, you would have noticed some big differences though. Charles was shorter than the real Prince.  He was more light skinned too. Some people say that there was a difference in their voices too, but I can’t tell. The real difference is that Charles was a Jehovah's Witness and that meant he wasn’t allowed to sing sexy songs.  Jehovah's Witnesses are not fun people.  

When Charles started talking about spilling the beans in 2016 and fessing up to his real identity the Jehovah's Witnesses had to shut him up or lose their gravy train so they killed him.  It was all about money. It always is. Follow the money.

January 25 (Saturday)

Until yesterday, I buried three dogs in my life.  Yesterday, I buried the fourth. All four dogs were named Blue.  Blue is a great name for a good old dog.  

Yesterday’s Blue was different than the other three.  I learned a lesson. It cost almost five hundred dollars to put that bitch asleep.  Had I known it was going to be so costly, I would have taken care of it myself, but my wife and my snowflake kid wanted to make a big deal out of all us going in together and saying goodbye.  I had better things to do but went anyway.

The dog had been suffering for a couple days.  It was on its last legs. It reminded me of when my mother was dying.  It had a vacant stare just like she did. She was making big messes all over the place just like Blue.  No dog has a right to shit anywhere it pleases. I hate it when people make excuses for pets. They’re just animals.  Throw them away. You can always get a new one. I should have tied this Blue up outside and let it freeze. Maybe a fox would have come along and ended it all even sooner.  I’d have more money in my pocket if I did. My mother’s death was a waste of money too. What I couldn’t do with all the money we flushed down the drain then!

The vet made a big show about making the last minutes of Blue’s life comfortable.  She wrapped the mutt in a blanket. She had an I.V. in the leg and pumped it full of shots.  A shot of saline. A shot for pain killer. A shot of saline. Then the pink shot of death. Poof it was over.  Blue fell dead limp as a rag doll. My blubbering snowflake son crying and snotting up the joint. My wife balling too.  What a circus. I said, “Blue. you was a good old dog.” 

My wife took care of the bill so I didn’t see it until I got home.  I thought the process was cool. I didn’t care that my son acted like a pansy.  He is one. All kids are these days. It wasn’t until I saw the bill that I cried.