Today, I’m a big fan of a more acceptable personality, Jon Stewart. He also points out the hypocrisy of society, particularly the politicians. When I see the blatant hypocrisy of these “public officials,” I think that if we’re to take a moral example from our elected leaders – no wonder society is so fucked up!
What impresses me is that Stewart doesn’t do it in a mean-spirited way. He is also very knowledgeable and articulate, holding his own on a variety of subjects with his guests. It’s refreshing to see someone call it like it is.
When I was in Utah’s Garfield County Jail during the reign of Bush, Jr., it took me two years, but I finally saved enough money to rent a T.V. I was the only Democrat there, and I caught hell for it, arguing not only with the hacks but with the inmates. I realize there’s not a whole lot of difference between the two political parties. They’re both controlled by big corporation money, especially now since the Supreme Court decision allows superpacs to contribute large amounts of money secretly without exposing the donors.
The lobbyists do the bidding of the big corporations because money grants “access.” However, to me the Democrats at least let you “wet your beak.” The Republicans want it all and begrudge you even a safety net…like it’s a fuckin’ hammock. I just get the impression they’ll let you die in the street. Constantly having a radically different position than both my fellow inmates and my jailers, I started questioning my reasoning, thinking “maybe I’m fuckin’ crazy!” That is, until I started watching Jon Stewart – he validated my opinions on topics and allowed me to regain some measure of confidence. I’m not so sure Mr. Stewart would be pleased to find out we were kindred spirits.
Both Jerry and I started hanging out with the older guys, Nicky the Count, Freddy Agnello, Richie Agnello, John Barcelo and Harry the Turk, also called “Crazy Harry” (who later unfortunately truly became "Crazy Harry"). One night while smoking pot with a couple of the other older guys in the neighborhood, Richie Conte and Junior Fitapelli, in Richie's apartment on 2nd Avenue between 26th and 27th Streets, we started ad libbing the current commercials - we called it "goofin.”
Van Heusen shirts aired a commercial where a man walked out of the ocean with a briefcase and as he walks towards the camera a voice says, "Van Heusen shirts never get wrinkled.” Wearing a Van Heusen shirt myself, I grabbed an old school bag lying on the floor, went in the bathroom, turned on the shower and came walking out soakin' wet saying the same commercial line. Junior went in the bathroom, came out walking on all fours with a feather duster sticking outta' his ass, imitating the NBC peacock logo (I didn't ask him how it was attached).
Richie was laughin' so hard he said he had to shit. He goes in the bathroom, sits on the bowl, lights a cigarette, throws the match in the toilet and the next thing you hear is; “KaBoom!” He bursts out of the bathroom, running around the room with his pants and drawers down, waving his hand behind his ass. After me and Junior's shock and awe reaction, we got a pot of water and cooled him off, but he had some serious burns on his ass and balls so we called Bellevue Hospital. They sent an ambulance with two attendants who looked like they needed an intervention.
Richie lived on the third floor of a walk-up tenement with a narrow wooden staircase. The stretcher was from the Titanic, not one of the modern collapsible joints they have today. When they get to the top of the stairs, they try to get Richie to lie down on the stretcher, but he says his ass hurts too much. Amidst the chaotic and humorous scene, one of ‘em says, “lay sideways.” Richie complies and the two bumblin’ burn specialists jerk the stretcher up so fast and hard, Richie goes flying over the banister, lands on the second floor and breaks his leg.
Man, I bet he wished he “just said no!” It seems Junior, trying to find some glue for the feather duster, threw some combustible liquid in the toilet and didn't flush it. One aroma I never want to experience again is burnt ass hair. Sadly, it wasn't too long after that incident that Richie got in a fight with a couple of dykes in Bickford's coffee shop on 23rd Street between 2nd and 3rd Avenue and was stabbed to death.
Continuing serialization of Sonny Patini's memoir. Inquiries invited to email@example.com.
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