A Graduation Speech (for Driver’s Ed Course)

Congratulations, my fellow drivers of life!  The last six weeks have been a thrilling ride for us; bumpy for some, up and down at times.  I will always remember this course, but a new road has opened, one with an unknown destination and unfinished surfaces.  At times, you will feel like you need the instructor there to help you with the brake, but just remember what we learned…

In 200 feet, turn left on Alameda Street.  En la siguiente intersección, doble a la derecha en la avenida Roosevelt.  Continúe por 1,25 millas para llegar a su destino.

Opps!  I accidently pressed the language button.  Anyway, to whichever destination we arrive, may we always know to stay the hell out of each other’s way.  So, buckle up, put the pedal down — balls to the wall, bitches!  Oh, and hey, don’t forget to use your turn signals.  Right?

Honk!  Honk!  Honk!  Honk!  Honk!  Honk!  Honk!


Hoja blanca


se atora en la cerca

Un ave mira delicadamente en tanto paso veloz

La mariposa amarilla vuela

Un letrero de ‘no hay paso’ tirado mientras entro sin pensar.

El cielo azul

el sinuoso camino

el pasto verde

Escribiendo me detengo ante el semáforo

Hay águilas


hay tráfico

hay campo


Un autobús verde





Todo lo miro


Una laguna

una bomba de agua



carros y camiones

El combustible está a $2.84

¿Llegaré a tiempo?

Pienso mientras manejo detrás del policía

Otra parada




ya no hace frio

Un convertible negro me rebasa

Una motocicleta

yerba recién cortada

una mirada



Un hombre lanza un frisbee

Una fuente borbotea

Alguien en bicicleta

Un jardinero hispano tras ventana cerrada

con clima artificial

Autobús y otro niño a la escuela

Dos camiones

el convertible sigue adelante

Una van roja atrás

Todo se mueve con ritmo

mientras doblo a la izquierda

Bienvenidos a Carmel

velocidad máxima 30

radar speed control

Aún se vende esa casa

Dos ciclistas

una sonrisa y doblo a la derecha

Otra fuente

todavía no más de 30

otro hispano

otro convertible negro

Sentido contrario

autobús escolar

luego una construcción

Casi llego a tiempo

un poco más

El policía



Apago el motor


We can all agree that minors are not adults and cannot make decisions on their own without some restrictions, but think about all the things they cannot do legally: Can’t drink alcohol, can’t get a tattoo, can’t jump out of a plane, can’t get married, can’t smoke, can’t, can’t, can’t! And once you are 18, you’re free!… to follow all these other rules, until you die.

“We make the laws, we’re the adults, so you’ll wait until you are 21 to do it, and don’t do it under my roof!” Adults are aware of the influence they have over minors. Adults are older, more educated (sometimes), so they make up the rules! Sounds an awful lot like our congress, right? They’re the ones that make it legal or illegal in the first place. They’re our real parents, voting bills into laws, debating whether or not America can get a tattoo. With the way things are going with our national debt, we won’t need permission; we’ll soon all have a government-issued tattoo stamped right on our ass that reads, “China.” They’ll leave out the words “made in,” but you can bet that somewhere on the tattoo gun it will say, “Made in China – We own you, bitches!”


Being a father, listening to the nursery rhymes and children’s songs of my childhood is difficult. Not because I don’t enjoy the music, but I find it hard not to over-analyze the words – I mean, we’re supposed to be monitoring what our children are listening to, right? The other day, I was sampling some traditional children’s songs and I got hung up on one in particular… “Buckeye Jim.” Let’s take a look at some of the lyrics:

Way down yonder in a hollow log
A red bird danced with a green bullfrog.

Emphasis on “way down yonder”- why is “down” always supposed to be a “bad place” where the logs are hollow (i.e. an empty, desolate place wherein resides the old bullfrog that everyone long forgot about). Pay attention later… the birds can go down yonder to visit a bullfrog, but they also have the opportunity to go UP yonder (this is social mobility – they can hang out and dance with the lower class, but also rub wings with the social elite, those with great influence and wealth). Why is such an effort made to distinguish the color of the damn bullfrog?  Are not all bullfrogs FUCKING GREEN?!?! The Northern Cardinal is one of many RED-colored birds that can be found in the eastern and central U.S. which leads into my next interpretation of the chorus:

Buckeye Jim, you can’t go
Go weave and spin, you can’t go
Buckeye Jim

Who came up with the name “Buckeye Jim?” Was he from Ohio? Could they possibly be talking about Jim Bollman, the former offensive coordinator and offensive line coach for the Ohio State Buckeyes football team? Did he know Cotton Eye Joe from Georgia? I don’t know WHO he is and I’m not sure if I want my child to know about him either. It’s all too sketchy, and I am mostly concerned WHY he can’t go?  Did Jim do something bad? Is he being detained? Does he have a urinary problem? WHY can’t he go?!?!

We don’t know… what we DO know is that he is allowed to “weave and spin.” Now this sounds like slave labor – I guess that’s how he knew “Cotton Eye Joe,” but Jim was emancipated since Ohio was a free state. He must have worked on the Underground Railroad, which was a highly dangerous job. Now things are really starting to come together! Let’s continue:

Way up yonder above the moon
A jaybird nests in a silver spoon.

The jaybird obviously is from a rich, well-to-do family. He wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he was born in a silver spoon – there’s the rich, and then there’s the really fucking rich jaybirds. On a side note, the jaybird actually came into this  world because its parents were a spoonin’ one night, you see, and well… (JAYBIRD DIALOGUE ONE ROMANTIC EVENING).

Mama jaybird:      I’m cold. Hold me. Closer.

Daddy jaybird:      I’m fucking tired.

Mama jaybird:      We never cuddle anymore.

Daddy jaybird:      (grunts)

Mama jaybird:      Aren’t you gonna say something?

Daddy jaybird:      Listen, I’m tired, enough with the talking and bullshit, are we going to fuck or what? ‘Cause if not, I got to get
up early tomorrow and I’m dog-ass tired.

Now, back to analyzing the lyrics…

‘Way up yonder on a shootin’ star,
a bullfrog jumped, but he jumped too far

When you see a shooting star, what do you do? You make a wish, right? The bullfrog tried to have his wish come true, you know, come up out of his working-class status, so he jumped, only he jumped “TOO far.” His oppressors would have nothing of it – they’d rather keep him on the unemployment benefits and sell his job off to India or Mexico while all the while becoming richer and richer and RICHER! And what about the bullfrog’s neighbor, the poor old woman?

Way down yonder in a wooden trough
An old woman died of the whoopin’ cough.

An old woman died of a whooping cough?!?! Isn’t that a disease that affects mostly infants and small children? Since the 40s, most infants are vaccinated before six months of age. So, the old woman MUST have been born before then, which explains why she is OLD, but it still doesn’t explain WHY she died of the whooping cough – just another way that the birds, or should I say “the man,” can keep her down.  FUCKING BASTARDS!!

And it doesn’t stop there.  Other children’s songs are programming us in similar ways… How about “Baa-Baa Blacksheep?” What I am talking about is the programming of stereotypes, teaching racism to our kids… Okay, it’s a BLACK sheep, we get it. But black sheep can find other ways to make a living; Slingin’ wool aint the only option.

Baa-baa blacksheep, have you any wool?

Translation: “Yo, dog, you gots any of dat fire shit?”

And they got the sheep all feeling bad about their status in life, having to address everyone as “sir” and “ma’am;” it’s fucking degrading:

Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full.

The motherfucker is all hunched over, repeating itself, as to not take another lash to the back… “Yes, masser, I got your wool right here.  Right away, masser.  As you say, masser.”  Fuck me!!  And they have to be all specific about just how many bags…  Three bags full, three little pigs, three fucking bears!  In the Torah, three is the number of truth and, for me, the truth is that these nursing rhymes are fucking bullshit, and I won’t have anything to do with perpetuating prejudicial, triad bullshit-brainwashing. Not me!


What’s up with all these Amish furniture stores? “Simply Amish,” “Amish Furniture Warehouse,” “The Amish Furniture Outlet.” They put the buggy outside to make it look authentic, but in the parking lot, you don’t see any other buggies.  No, no horses are tied up under a shady tree enjoying the recently fertilized grass, so how did the workers get there? Did they ride an armoire into town today? Have they installed small, oat-burning motors on a couple of mahogany wood beds, starting a new bed-race craze amongst the Quaker community? No! It’s just a marketing scheme to make you think that you’re buying quality furniture, crafted with 18th century tools and the sweat from Ismael’s brow. I guess it’s better than buying some shit furniture from China… Unless, of course, it’s Chinese “A-mish” Furniture!

Twitter One-liners

Here’s are some one-liners from my Twitter account (@CrzyAddey):

If someone enters a vacant house and takes a dump, but doesn’t stay there, is it still considered squatting?

What do you call a truckload of illegal immigrants stranded in the middle of a blizzard? — Cool beaners! Or not so cool beaners for them.

In protest of the SOPA Act, after Wikipedia “went black,” it DID come back. To each their own.

If you get a second helping of sloppy joes, is it considered sloppy seconds? Just wondering.

If my body were a map, my penis would be labeled as follows: “Mount Me.” Elevation? It depends!

You got to get up pretty early in the morning to get up pretty early in the morning.

The best part of waking up is waking up, not Folgers. Half the time, I’m just glad to be alive!

What does a brotha call real cash? — Fo’ real dough.

I like buying soy milk for two reasons: 1) No one else drinks it in my house, so I can drink right out of the carton, and 2) Man boobs.

You know the old saying, “Dress for success,” unless you are a bum… you don’t want to look too fancy. If might not be too convincing when you are asking for free money.

When one is missing their ears, and they don’t have a plan of action, do they just decide to “play it by toe? hand? elbow?”

Here’s my impersonation of Juvenile, the rapper, at age 78: “Granny, you look good. Won’t you back that cane up? You’s a fine grandmother. Won’t you back that cane up?”

If eyes menstruated, once a month everyone would go around with iPads on their faces.


The 2010 Census data reports a national population change of growth of 27.3 million people between 2000 and 2010, with over half of that change, 15.2 million, being attributed to the Hispanic or Latinos. In recent years, many companies have made accommodations for this Spanish-speaking population… Bilingual signage in the stores, advertising in Spanish, Spanish-captioning and audio options on TV, Spanish subtitles for movies, instructions in Spanish, Spanish interpreters, and, get this, after-work English classes at McDonalds… amongst other things.
Now, in response to this continual influx, businesses have decided to begin to train their employees to speak Spanish in order to better serve this growing population. For example, the New York City Taxi Commission has decided to train their cab drivers in the language. Let’s take a look at a clip.
Cab drivers are in a “Spanish-immersion / Survival / Occupational Spanish” class where the seats in the classroom are arranged with the cab drivers role-playing in desks (i.e. driver in a desk in the front, and their passenger behind them). There is a teacher at the front of the classroom writing some key survival taxi-cab phrases on the front of the board.
All right, class. Listen and repeat after me… “¿Adónde va?”
Subtitles in English (“Where are you going?”).
“¿Adónde va?”
Subtitles in English (“Where are you going?”).
¿Tiene cambio?
Subtitles in English (“Do you have change?”).
¿Tiene cambio?
Subtitles in English (“Do you have change?”).
“¿Me habla a mí? ¿Me habla a mí? ¿Me habla a mí?”
Subtitles in English (“You talkin’ to me? You talkin’ to me? You talkin’ to me?”) [Reference to famous quote from Taxi Driver (1976)].
“¿Me habla a mí? ¿Me habla a mí? ¿Me habla a mí?”
Subtitles in English (“You talkin’ to me? You talkin’ to me? You talkin’ to me?”).
Profesor/a, ¿cómo se dice en español “where’s the ****ing tip?”
We’ll be learning that later in the advanced course.
The definition of “Hispanic or Latino” used on the 2010 Census “refers to a person of Cuban, Mexican, Puerto Rican, South or Central American, or other Spanish culture or origin regardless of race.” All Census participants were instructed to self-declare whether they were “Hispanic or Latino” or “Not Hispanic or Latino.” I think this is great! I am glad that we, as a country, have finally pushed beyond race and can talk serious about ethnicity… Yeah, however, after my recent adoption of a Chihuahua puppy, I really had a hard time figuring out which one I should check off… What do you think, “Hispanic” or “Not Hispanic?”
Flash picture of Nick [obviously not Hispanic].

No, but seriously, the New York City Taxi Commission has not only taken the initiative in training their cab drivers in the language, but has also created a dedicated fleet of “Hispanic taxis” for exclusive use by self-declared “Hispanics or Latinos,” regardless of race.
Run quick footage of several New York City taxicabs during Midtown rush hour in Manhattan. Imposed on the side of one taxi are the words “Hispanic Taxi.” Change over to interior camera of the taxi where the GPS can be heard giving instructions in Spanish. The driver (Gabriel Iglesias) is clearly frustrated, and stops to pick up a customer. The customer is an Asian-American.
¿Es Usted hispano?
Subtitles in English (“Are you Hispanic?”).
32nd and Broadway.
Hey, I said, are you Hispanic?
Yeah, sure. 32nd and Broadway please.
You don’t really look or sound Hispanic at all. Could you say somethin’ in Spanish?
Subtitles in English (“Hello.”).
Oh, I’m sorry. No problem. 32nd and Broadway it is.

Nick continues …
It seems like more and more people use taxis these days. It’s true. Think about it… if you want to have a few drinks before heading home, no one wants to take the risk, especially here in New York where it is hard enough to drive. So from average Joes to A-list celebrities, taxis are the smart thing to do. As a follow up to our previous coverage of the increased need for bilingual taxis in New York, it is now being reported that several Hispanic taxi fleets have been added in other cities atound the U.S. Here is some local video we taped just the other day.

Jon Stewart is seen catching a cab outside of a night club. The taxi driver again is Gabriel Iglesias, who speaks with a broken English accent.
You don’t really look or sound Hispanic at all. Could you say somethin’ in Spanish?
“Arroz con gandules.” Now, take me to 23rd and Park Avenue.
You got it, man.

Arizona has actually caught on to this new trend, but I am not so sure that their motives are quite the same… Let’s take a look at this clip…
A Hispanic is seen catching a cab on the Las Vegas strip. Immediately, an entourage of law enforcement and immigration vehicles swarm up to the cab – Border Patrol agents are everywhere. Other nearby Hispanics disperse at the sight of deputies and federal agents.
“¡La migra, la migra!” ¡Corran!
Subtitles in English (“Immigration, immigration! Run!”).


[Horrible stage presence – microphone stand is way too high, once microphone is off the stand, leaves stand in front of him, nervous]
I just got off a plane… in order to tell this joke, ‘cause, you know, when you get off the plane funny stuff happens, right? Right?? …Yeah, that’s all I have on that one so far.
Uh, the other day, I needed to dry off after a shower and all the towels were in the laundry, so I was standing there naked and wet with no clean towel in reach, so I picked up my dirty boxers from a pile of dirty clothes on the floor and I dried off my clean body with dirty clothes. I guess that was okay.
All my friends say I’m weird. Isn’t that weird that all of my friends would call me weird? I mean, if just a few would call me it, that wouldn’t be so weird, but that’s not the case. I wonder what if all of them thought I was smart. I don’t think I would think it to be so weird if all of them thought that. Okay, maybe a little, but at least I would agree. Just kidding, I don’t have any friends.
Hey, so what’s up with white women? I’m just kinda over them. How about you? I really don’t have any explanation for this, but it seems like something that needs to be shared. Sorry, white women, no offense.
Oh, man, what else? Uh, oh yeah… what if, just imagine, I mean, take a second and just imagine what it would be like if, for some silly reason [laughing too much], if, for only a moment, hypothetically speaking, you know, somehow miraculously, out of nowhere, some crazy thing would happen… Whoa. How strange would that be?
Wow, how the time flies… I gotta go, but you guys were great!