The Sunshine State

Okay.

(Deep breath)

I don't even know where to begin.

(confused stare)

I...(pause and exhale)

What the fuck is wrong with Florida?

It started with the Trayvon Martin thing. Then the lady got 20 years for firing a warning shot at her husband. Then Black-Pac-Man ate a bath-salt power pellet and decided that stripping naked would make him more aerodynamic as he chased down homeless people to eat. Then today I read this article about a woman getting chased around a 7-Eleven gas station by her knife-wielding son's father who thinks he's Jason Voorhees. He yanks her outta the store and then douses her with gas and sets her on fire.

So again, what... the fuck... is wrong with Florida?

You see, not too long ago I booked my vacation to Florida. I had this crazy idea of going somewhere peaceful to escape the insanity of DC life.

HA!

At least crime up here makes sense. Oh you stood in line for 5 hours to buy some ugly ass tennis shoes? Well there's a 57% chance you'll get shot for your shoes. You live in Southeast? There's a 74% chance you'll either commit, witness, or be a victim of a crime before you get to the end of this sentence. But Florida? I don't know how the hell to prepare for that.

Back when I planned the trip, the only thing in the news was Trayvon Martin. We have discrimination up here. I was ready for that. I was just gonna put on my Captain (African) America shield and do my Chris Evans impression (albeit a shorter, darker version).

I didn't really settle on a plan if I was invited to play Hungry Hungry Negro. It couldn't be that difficult, though. I hear that bath salts give you superhuman strength, but you gotta catch me first. I don't give a damn if I'm in line at McDonalds, the first Floridian I see who looks hungry is getting punched in the throat. And if it turns out that the "zombies" can run like on 28 Days Later, then I'm up for that too. I have three (count 'em, three) medals from running track in high school and a lifetime of running for dear life once the ni-gras start shooting at the carnival, movies, Unifest, church, etc. A goddamned velociraptor couldn't catch me.

But this whole 7-Eleven thing with "Jason Voorhees: Off-duty Fireman" has me concerned. It takes a special blend of crazy to try and set someone on fire at a gas station. That's going all in with your crazy chips.

I'm starting to think that Florida is too rich for my blood.