idiotropic

Walking down a security-compromised dark alleyway near the Elbo Room last Saturday, my friend and I were approached by a scraggly old fellow who was bearded, toothless, Caucasian but black with dirt, and holding a 40-ounce bottle of malt liquor. Addressing us with a profound slur, he wanted to find a good place to sleep. I pointed towards a porto-potty across the street and suggested he take the luxurious bathroom suite over there. Pleased, he began to walk in that direction, which was — crucially — away from us. Noticing a Ducati sport bike on his way, he had to return and discuss it with us:

“Hey man…You see that fuckin Doookahtee over there?! I’m a motherfuckin Hell’s Angel prospect man and I hate motherfuckin crotchrockets man mother fucking Hell’s Angels prospect, man… man I hate motherfuckin crotchrockets… but i love fuckin Doookahtees man.”

He repeated the above several times.

We tried to make him go away. But then he wanted to talk about Jesus.

“You know what else I fucking love, man, mother fucking Jesus Christ man. I love Jesus man, Jesus got people like us man. He was one of us man. Jesus Christ… that guy, you know he was hanging out with guys like us man, with whores, and killers… and bikers, man.”

Jesus Christ was hanging out with bikers. This was his message. Jesus was on his side; Jesus was a bad-ass, he subverted the status quo of the Jewish and Roman ruling class, and he did it by shacking up with hustlers, turning water to malt liquor, and cruising on his hog.

At this point the Prospect wanted to show us the way Jesus did things. He slipped his hand under his vest, revealing the belt that held up his dirtbag pants, and caressed what appeared to be the chrome butt of some kind of firearm. He asked, “Do you pray?!” Swaggering, caressing the chrome, he repeated “Do you pray?!”

I said no. My friend said, “Sometimes.” He didn’t like “sometimes.” He wanted to know how often. I jumped in with “Wednesdays and Sundays.” He asked “What do you pray for?” My friend said “My family.” The Prospect said “Why don’t you pray right now?!” I said “Its not Sunday yet,” though it probably was.

Somehow, we eventually got this guy to start laughing and he backed off and we got the fuck out of there. Moral of the story is: Jesus Christ may save your soul, but you’ve got to save your own ass from his followers.