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"Despite everything, I believe that people are really good at heart.” Trust me, that is not a quote from Brett Meisner. It is, however, a quote from Anne Frank directly from her diary - a diary, which was given to Frank on her thirteenth birthday, and chronicles her life from June 12, 1942 until August 1, 1944 – a time when she and her family hid from the Nazis. She eventually was captured and sent to a concentration camp where she died months later. Yet her voice would live on forever.
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It’s amazing that surrounded by so much hate, fear and desperation, a young girl had the courage to look at the human race and still see a sense of goodness. However, I’m pretty sure her “positive outlook” on mankind would be greatly diminished if she met the majority of retched, soulless, unemployed, oxygen thieves that post to my MESSAGE BOARD FORUMS
Face it, there are bad people on this earth; and there are good people on this earth, as well – but usually the bad people have more of an impact on society.
Nazis are bad people and that’s why they got their asses kicked in the end – but not before they killed over six million good people. It gets tricky sometimes.
What we need to do as humans is take a hard look in the mirror and ask ourselves this: “Am I a good person or a bad person?” The answer will come to you. I ask myself that very question everyday, and I am confident to say that I am a good person at heart.
Like Anne Frank, I too, have suffered from persecution for my beliefs. Like Anne Frank, people find comfort and strength in my words and actions. Maybe more – maybe less. Time will tell.
Being half Jewish and half Irish is weird combination for me. Put it like this: I love U2, but I don’t want to pay full price for a concert ticket. Not sure why, but being Jewish has been extremely helpful in my Hollywood career as a high-paid “script doctor.” Jewish people are just like everyone else – but better.
I’m not sure why Hitler and the Nazi’s were so afraid of the Jewish people. It could have been the whole “Cabal and world domination” thing – or maybe they just thought Jews were annoying. Granted, Jews can be picky, but that’s not a reason to kill. When I was a kid I worked at my Uncle Hal’s Jewish deli as a waiter. The customers always complained. My favorite line was to interrupt them during a meal and say “was ANYTHING okay?” See – I can laugh about it now. I don’t know if Anne Frank had a sense of humor. I hope she did. I do know she had a ton of courage.
Courage. I guess that’s why I relate to her. I truly wish I had her tremendous sense of optimism in times of trouble. She probably looked at the two years she spent hiding in that tiny room with the attitude of “well at least we got a good deal on rent.” I wouldn’t have lasted that long. Locked away in a hidden room with little to eat, no cable TV (or even a VCR) - I would have been pissed. Really pissed. And more than likely I would have kicked down the walls and starting kicking some Nazi ass! Seriously, were the Nazi’s the gayest looking bad guys ever or what? Its one thing to dress like a “gay soldier” if you’re Adam Ant or David Bowie – but to dress like that for real AND chase 13 year-old girls around? They were probably pissed when they found out “Frank” was her last name. Hoe. Moe.
I remember watching “Schindler’s List” and seeing Ralph “Raffe” Fiennes dressed as a gay Nazi soldier. Yes – his name is RALPH but he insists on being called Raffe! Anyways, where was I? Oh yeah – gay soldier outfits: Long gay coat; shiny buttons, Knee-high shiny boots - Only things missing were a tube of Amyl Nitrate and a jar of “Anal Ease.” Who the hell could have possibly been afraid of these guys? If I were being chased by him I would stop dead in my tracks and knock him out cold with a Hitler-salute upper-cut. Then I would make him walk around the town wearing Ass-less chaps and a sandwich board that said “My name is RALPH and I LOVE THE COCK!”
Hitler was the biggest fag of all of them. He was the first male recipient of Dirty Sanchez back in the late 30s. He designed those faggy uniforms! If he were alive today he’s probably be the projectionist at the Tomkat all-male movie theater in West Hollywood. But he isn’t alive. When the US Army was finally closing in on him, he shot himself dead like a little pussy boy. Meow. Bang. Dead.
Anyways, as I was saying there are two kinds of people – good people and bad people. Wait, that’s not true – there are actually three kids of people – good people, bad people and good people who think they can “change” or “help” bad people. These people are often called “Good Samaritans” – but what they should be called is “Nosey Motherfuckers Who Should Mind Their Own Business.” Why? Because these “Good Samaritans” fuck things up when they change the course of fate.
Case in point – meet Kent Lomax.
In the Spring of 1977, Kent Lomax was a 25 year-old Biology major at the University of Hawaii. One cool May morning, Kent was on his way to a beachside Yoga class that his classmates had suggested he try as part of a new healthy lifestyle change. For many years Kent had lived a hard partying lifestyle, so yoga and exercise - along with a change in his diet – was something he was willing to try.
Unfortunately, the night before his maiden Yoga class, Kent decided to have a farewell celebration to his old lifestyle. An “all you can eat” Hawaiian buffet and half a dozen Heinekens seemed like a good idea at the time – but now on his way to the class his stomach started to turn. Soon his intestines were burning. Gas pressure building up in his ass. Kent decided to let out a nice fart to ease the pain. He lifted a cheek and pushed.
Phhussshhhhbbllluuggglle. “Uh oh.”
A warm gush of ass juice and several ounces of liquefied shit now filled Kent’s asscrack. It wasn’t exactly a fart. And it wasn’t exactly a shit. Kent had “sharted” in his pants – and worse yet was the fact that there was a gallon more to spill and a growing stain on the back of his grey sweatpants.
There would be no yoga class today as Kent quickly made his back to the parking lot to locate his VW. As Kent approached his car he noticed another car a few spots from away. The car’s engine was running. He could see the car’s driver was sitting in the driver’s seat, possibly sleeping. Kent tried to walk past without the man seeing Kent’s large and growing shart-stain.
Once inside his VW, Kent took another look over at the other car. He noticed that not only was the car’s engine running, but there was in fact a vacuum hose crudely attached to the car’s exhaust pipe and running into the passenger window. The driver was trying to kill himself.
Kent was in panic mode. He couldn’t leave the guy there to die – and he couldn’t have a whole crowd of police and onlookers arrive and see his shart-stained sweats. Fuck it, he thought. “I’ll do the right thing,” Kent said to himself as he made his way to the other car.
After determining that the driver was unconscious but still alive, Kent was able to open the door and pull the driver out of the car before the carbon monoxide gas took the man’s life.
As the unconscious man lay there on the pavement, Kent Lomax had a brilliant idea. He switched his soiled sweatpants and underwear with those of the unsuspecting victim. Shortly thereafter, the man slowly started to cough as he regained consciousness.
Just then a police cruiser pulled up. “What the hell is going on here,” the police officer asked.
“I don’t know. I just found him here like this,” said Kent. “I think he shit his pants.”
Ten minutes later an ambulance arrived and took the man to the hospital.
Kent Lomax was hero. Kent Lomax was a “Good Samaritan.” Kent Lomax thought he “did the right thing!”
In reality, Kent Lomax was an asshole.
The name of the man he saved from suicide was Mark David Chapman. Yeah, THAT Mark David Chapman.
Mark David Chapman was a loser and drifter from Texas. No big surprise that he was from Texas - lots of losers live there. The problem is he didn’t stay there.
After the aborted suicide attempt in Hawaii in 1977, Chapman was hospitalized and in and out of treatment centers. He set off on a worldwide odyssey of bizarre behavior that ended in New York City on December 8th, 1980:
THE OFFICAL ACCOUNT – 12/08/80
“On the morning of December 8, 1980 Mark David Chapman departed from the Sheraton Hotel, having left personal items in his hotel room for police to find. Chapman bought a copy of The Catcher in the Rye from a New York bookstore, in which he wrote "This is my statement", and signed "The Catcher in the Rye". He then spent most of the day near the entrance to The Dakota apartment building where Lennon and his wife Yoko Ono lived, talking to other fans and the doorman. At one point, a distracted Chapman missed seeing John Lennon step out of a cab and enter the Dakota building on the morning of December 8. Late in the morning, Chapman met the Lennons' housekeeper, who had just taken their five-year-old son Sean for a walk. Chapman conversed with the housekeeper and patted Sean on the head as they departed.
Around 5:00 p.m., John and Yoko left The Dakota for a recording session at Record Plant Studios. As they walked towards their limousine on the curb, Chapman shook hands with Lennon and held out a copy of Lennon's new album, Double Fantasy, for him to sign. Photographer Paul Goresh was present when Lennon signed Chapman's album and took a photo of the event. Chapman reported that "At that point my big part won and I wanted to go back to my hotel, but I couldn't. I waited until he came back. He knew where the ducks went in winter, and I needed to know this" (a reference to The Catcher in the Rye).
Around 10:50 p.m., the Lennons' limousine returned to the Dakota. Lennon and Ono passed by Chapman and walked towards the archway entrance of the building's courtyard. From the street, Chapman turned and fired five hollow point bullets from a Charter Arms .38 revolver that he had purchased in Hawaii, four of which hit Lennon's back and shoulder. One of the bullets pierced Lennon's aorta, causing severe blood loss by aortic dissection. It has been suggested that, before firing, Chapman called out "Mr. Lennon!" and dropped into a "combat stance", but this is not stated in court hearings or interviews.
Chapman remained at the scene, taking out his copy of The Catcher in the Rye and trying to read it, until the police arrived. The New York Police Department officers who first responded to the shooting recognized that Lennon's wounds were severe, and so they decided to transport him in their police car to Roosevelt Hospital. Chapman was arrested without incident. In his statement to police three hours later, Chapman stated "I’m sure the large part of me is Holden Caulfield, who is the main person in the book. The small part of me must be the Devil."
Lennon was declared dead at 11:15 p.m. after losing more than 80% of his blood.”
So what is the morale of the story?
Mind your own fucking business. It’s that simple.
If there’s a family of Jews hiding from gay Nazis in a hidden room in some office building – let them be. If your best friend’s girlfriend is banging her boss behind his back – shut your mouth. More importantly, if someone wants to kill themselves – let them.
Look – I’m not heartless. There are plenty of places for depressed people to go to get help. Leave that to professionals.
If you are a doctor, psychiatrist or even if you answer the phone for your local suicide prevention hotline, please at least ask callers “how do you feel about the Beatles?” If you don’t want to be so direct, simply hum a few bars of “Hey Jude” and see if you get a negative reaction. Be proactive. Be creative. Trust me, Paul and Ringo will appreciate it.
Again, when I say mind your own business, I’m not just taking about potential suicides. I mean mind you own business about everything. Let life happen the way it is planned. Don’t fuck with fate.
So the next time you see some eager waitress from “Ruby Tuesdays” chasing after a customer in the parking lot screaming “you almost forgot your purse!” Be sure to stop her and tell her, “Thanks for screwing up the future you stupid fat cunt!”
Peace out!
Brett
POST FEEDBACK HERE - MESSAGE BOARDS
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