Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Tea Party T-Party

Reporter's Notebook:

For last weekend’s New Years Eve I was thrilled to have been invited to a ball held by the Tea Party. The ball was held to launch a new campaign by the Tea Party to dispel innuendo that the movement has racist undertones.

To show their color-blindness, event co-hostesses, Sara Palin and Delaware senate race loser, Chris O’Donnell, filled the guest list with a bounty of African American celebrities. This move was in hopes that with some good fun and a few drinks, dialogue could be opened. The roster of attendees included; Booker T, Mr. T, Ice-T, T-Pain, T-Boz, TI, and strangely, the withered old white oil tycoon, T. Boone Pickens.

As I mingled with the crowd I had a chance to speak with Mr. Pickens. When I asked him what it was about the Tea Party that got him behind their movement, he enlightened me with this statement, “I don’t give a rat’s patoot about the Tea Party. I’m an oil man you see. I just figured with that Mr. T fella being here, this place would be overflowing with Black Gold.”

I listened for a short time longer to Mr. Picken’s geriatric rants about how hard he worked as a child and how he had no shoes and "la-dee-da-dee-da." I couldn’t take anymore so I excused myself and headed to the bar for a drink.

When the bartender asked what I would like, I asked for a rum and coke. I was informed that they did not have any rum. I proceeded to request three more different drinks and was told each time that they did not have it in stock. Frustrated, I asked the bartender what they DO have. I lost all hope for the success of this event when he replied, “T-Bird or Black Tea.”

It was New Years Eve though, and I wanted to get my swerve, groove, and freak on, so I grudgingly went with the T-Bird, trying to forget the misery it would bring me in the morning. Once I had downed three or four glasses of the foul rotgut, it did start going down a lot easier.

With this liquid courage flowing in my veins, I found the nerve to strike up a conversation with the intimidating Booker T, former WWF star. I asked Booker what he thought of the efforts put forth by Palin and O’Donnell. He explained to me, “This shindig is an insult. Serving T-Bird to black folks? What up wit dat!? They think we all drink that shit? Both them skanks is stupid white bitches, but in their defense, I'd bang both them hos all Got Damn Night!!"

Despite the awkwardness the choice of refreshments had caused, the guests were working through it and all were having an okay time. That is, until Chris O’Donnell returned from a short absence sporting a urine soaked dress, tear streaked mascara, and a bit of vomit in her disheveled hair. Somehow in her over-inebriated state she was able to perceive that all eyes were on her. After realizing this, she delivered the final nail in this ill conceived gala’s coffin.

“What are yooo ashholes looking at?” She screamed slurrrily as she weaved to and fro. “Ya wanna shtare at the witch? Go ’head, shtare, I, don’t, give, A, shit. Go 'head, gawk at the three elecshun looser you, you sunsh-of-bitshes. And one more thing,“ she spoke, voice crescendoing as she went, “the nexsh mothrf-----r that shays they liked me in Batman Forever isz gonn get thare F-----G, THROAT, SHLIT!!!"

At this, Ms O’Donnell fell to the floor, sobbed uncontrollably for a bit and began to vomit again.

Although I don’t like Ms. O’Donnell’s politics I did feel pity for her and scanned the room for Ms. Palin, hoping she could help. I did not see her, or Mr. Ice, or Booker for that matter. I did spot T-Pain and approached him to ask if he knew where Sara had gone.

“I don’t know where she went for sure, but I’ll tell this homey. Tomorrow she needs to open a children's clothing store in that pussy cuz tonight it’s gettin’ filled up with 3T’s.”

T-Pain’s comment gave me one hell of a laugh so I decided to call it a night on a positive note. The famous artist gave me his number and told me to call him if I want to smoke out and play Madden 11’. I thanked him, headed down the hall, gingerly stepped over a passed out Mr. Pickens who was spooning with a planter, pushed open the hotel's double doors, and stepped outside into a New Year.

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