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Slap-Boxing With Jesus

Adventures In Denver

Before I begin this shit, I’ll just say that I can see why Kobe fell into that trap while he was getting his knee fixed in Colorado. But more on that later.

Seeing as how I’ve split the better part of the past decade between New York and California – with journeys to Miami, Las Vegas, Tijuana, Trinidad and Puerto Rico spliced in between – I thought I’d seen enough to get a general idea of how other parts of the KKKountry works. So hitting up Denver should have been a cakewalk.

Never have I been so wrong in my life. And I tend to call the various ethnicities of the world their respective slurs, so that should tell youse something.

In my ever-so-humble opinion, Denver is not only the most random-ass city I’ve been to, but also it by far may be the whitest in the entire Northern Hemisphere. Add on the events prior to the Rock The Bells tour stop, as well as the city gearing up for this week’s Demon-Cratic National Convention, and my normally demure self was flabbergasted at all the shit that went down.

To describe it more eloquently, think of every White person stereotype your fragile little minds can formulate, then imagine that shit come to life, amplified by rap music and cheap booze:

* White people with dreads? Check
* White people with no teeth? Check
* White people getting shitfaced and subsequently punched out in public? Check
* White women wanting to partake in the Black experience? Check, and check. Now it all makes perfect sense…

Not to say that there isn’t any stranger things in the world, but when you spot a furry enjoying a meal at a bistro on a 90 degree day in between a bunch of random-ass protesters in between get-rich-quick schemers pushing buttons and an Obama minstrel puppet that resembled Bill Cosby circa his Jell-O Pudding Pop days, something is definitely not aligning with the stars with that city.

As for the festival itself... well, Denver lost on that one. With three of the better acts missing in action, Denver’s Rock The Bells was a shoddy rendition of the California show I attended, and I spent more time firing off free CDs and selling t-shirts like a Central American day laborer than actually watching the acts. Shouts to the peoples who stopped by the so-called bad guys’ booth just to give me props for all the charitable work I’ve done on this blog, though. Not to sound cynical (right…), but for all the talk from the faceless schmucks in the section below this shit threatening violence yet it still not happening, it really makes you wonder who actually says that shit in the first place. My guess is that they’re more bitchmade than period blood.

Not to say that I didn’t enjoy the experience, but visiting a spot like Denver on my own volition isn’t really on my to do list. But I’ll give props though: despite the fact their best wide receiver was Ed McCaffrey, Broncos fans are a dedicated bunch. And had I stayed longer, perhaps I would have appreciated the city for, errr, the fact that Wonder Bread originated from there. That shit is crack.

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