Dirty Like Me

Rest at pale evening...
A tall slim tree...
Night coming tenderly
Dirty like me.

In 1961, John Howard Griffin, a white man from Mansfield, TX (best known for the 1854 organization of The Walnut Creek Congregation of the Cumberland Presbyterian Church), published the non-fiction work of critical acclaim: Black Like Me.

For those of you who think civil rights and general equality happened overnight, the idea behind the story was that Griffin would ingest Oxsoralen (an anti-vitiligo drug which lightens the skin in such a way as to mimic a disease most noticeable in Africans. Also, you trip balls), and use a combination of dyes to pass as a black man in the South. He would not reveal his plan to anyone, unless approached by suspicious bystanders or threatened by future Lynyrd Skynyrd fans.

Griffin planned to go about his business and discover the truth behind the ugly monster of the time; racism. He encountered mind-numbing hatred and general mistreatment around every corner. He felt the lynch-mob of injustice and the tobacco fields of pain in his heart.

He continued on his quest, despite the chain gang of agony (chain-gangony), only to find that there was hardly a foreseeable end to this vicious cycle. White hatred bred black crime which, in turn, fueled white hatred. It was real, and he lived it. It brought rave international attention and he was thus regarded across the globe as a preeminent human rights activist. (In his hometown he was hanged in effigy.)

Being a staunch opponent of racism was Griffin's ticket to eternal parody, his chance to be forever imitated. His bold foray into a world he only thought he knew left the door open for people like me to be black like him.

However, I don't aspire to change racial perceptions. I don’t hope to bridge the education gap. I don't wish to blur the poverty line or fight for a woman's right to vote. I'm not going to hand-feed starving Eritreans or rebuild Burmese cities destroyed by Typhoons and angry cobras. I'm not going to rent Pluto Nash or even give money to canvassing environmental groups. I'm not going to do any of that. I'm going to do something much more intrepid. I am going to become: Dirty.

In fewer words, I have joined with one of the most feared and hated groups of people in the United States. A group whose very name makes the MS-13 look like the local muscular sclerosis chapter that meets at the YMCA. A group who has lower back tattoos over their lower back tattoos. The D10. I'm going to disguise myself and see what it is like to live like they do, and try to survive.

Who am I? I am known affectionately as "Guts." I was born from the vagina June 17th in the One Thousand Nine Hundred and Eighty-Fifth year of our lord. I grew up with stars in my eyes, a real dreamer. And they all came true. I'm hung like a horse and I am the AAA you see on all arcade games (yes, I did beat Cruisin' World in one sitting, first try).

Today, most importantly, I am a young professional, nay I embody the spirit of young professionalism, and I champion its great pursuit. (To get an idea of how great visit beingprofessional.blogspot.com). I stand for earlier happy hours, larger rounds, stronger pea coats, and faster, smaller, less practical vehicles. Ultimately, though, I'm a person just like all of you. Only a much better person. Someone who is so devoted to the pursuit of knowledge and the quest for greatness that he will risk his life to study a creature that few dare to approach. I am a person who will go to great lengths for fame, and if it takes studying this unnatural group of men, then I'm game.

This is the start of something great, something exciting. Just like blacks in the South in the late 50s and early 60s, the D10ers (Dirty Ten-ers) in the Midwest and abroad are generally misunderstood and often ridiculed for their various indiscretions. Their cynical world views, love of the Interweb, and admiration of excrements have made them the butt of one or two water cooler jokes (believe me I know). Their openly gay displays of camaraderie and their questionable hygiene has left people gagging and sharting themselves in passing. However, their high levels of intelligence and intoxication combine to stun people who they come in contact with. They are a rare breed. But still they are not accepted. I intend to find out why.

Again, like blacks in the South in the late 50s and early 60s, the D10 are pariahs and stuck in a vicious cycle of intolerance. Societal pressures, the status quo, and social norms cause the D10 to lash out intellectually and non-violently often resulting in self-degradation and belligerence. These Episodes (or hangovers), in turn, fuel societal hatred for the group. It is my mission to change people's minds. We all could learn something from these miscreants. I intend to find out what that is.

When all this is over, I wonder how you all will see me. Will we be equal? Will the D10 be equal? Will you see me as a traitor to my kind? Or will you see me for who I really am. One of you, who is Dirty like them.