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Things We Know

by Brian Dykstra

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So my editor calls and leaves me the info that this is to be the Summer Edition of Urban Desires, and perhaps I can find it in my mood to RANT about Summer crap. You know, heat, humidity, sweltering nights and soaked sheets, etc. The problem with that is . . .
I don't really care, there ain't much mileage in it, and there's an obvious solution. Isn't there? One of the things we know is that we can get an air conditioner and punch another hole in the ozone layer. Heck, everybody else is doin' it, why not me?

There.

That's my summer issue RANT. (And you read that right, I do not have an air conditioner because it is ecologically irresponsible. I write this with a sense of moral superiority, by the way. So there. Now let's get to the business at hand.)

Joey Buttafuocco (17K/au) got caught soliciting an undercover cop whom he thought was a prostitute. (Joey, Joey, Joey). His wife flew to his defense, and mumbled out the side of her mouth that Her Joey was just a friendly guy. (Mary Jo, Mary Jo, Mary Jo). This otherwise meaningless series of events jump starts my column. I am struck by a number of related ideas. The first of which concerns . . . The Things We Know.

By that, I mean the things we know but have to pretend we don't know. For whatever reason. The Things We Know are different from Urban Myths. Richard Gere's sick fascination with furry rodents (12K/au) is an Urban Myth. Just about any story that includes everybody's embellishment of "I heard it from a friend of a friend" or "My cousin was dating the night nurse on duty," is not what I'm referring to. Not the crack addicted squirrels of Central Park. Not the Norwegian Water Rats taking down dogs on the South Side. And certainly not the burglarized vacation hotel room where the perpetrator leaves behind the family camera which contains a snapshot of your toothbrush up his butt. No. Not the stuff that sounds plausible. I'm talking about The Things We Know.

Of course, first we have to toss aside the whole burden of proof problem, drop kick the benefit of the doubt question, and excise the media-as-mind-controlling-conspirators paranoia.

There are certain things we as a society know. I'm not suggesting that any actions be taken on these issues. There are systems in place that promise to take care of the important stuff in a controlled, level-headed manner.

Still... Starting with Mr. Buttafuocco (16K/au) , one of The Things We Know is that Joey porked Amy. He did her. We know that! Not because he was indicted for statutory rape and convicted for endangering the welfare of a minor. We knew that long before he was ever arrested. How do we know? Because we know. What proof do we have? We have no proof. But we are human beings. We have a modicum of common sense. We watch each other behave. We hear what may very well add up to "circumstantial evidence", ("The circumstance, Mr. Simpson, is that the blood of your ex-wife, Mr. Goldman, and yourself were all found inside of your vehicle.") and we are not stupid.

Yeah, Joey did Amy. We know that.

O.J. is Guilty. (Come on, People! The man whacked his ex and some boy-toy she was flirting with. I'm not saying he'll get convicted, but the fucker's a murderer.)

Clinton inhaled.

(And he probably liked the shit.)

And speaking of marijuana, wasn't Kato (17K/au) stoned on the night of the killings? His series of meaningless phone calls don't point any particular direction, but what about his "knock, knock, (10K/au) knock" paranoia? What of his conspicuous McDonalds consumption (10K/au) ? And his absolute inability to decide if time between events was five minutes, or perhaps closer to an hour (21K/au) ? Isn't this something we know if we just think about it for a moment? Okay, I guess not. Not really. But that's the way I'd bet.

Yeah, Reagan (11K/au) knew all along. Bush (9K/au) knew. North (14K/au) lied to Congress. Tonya Harding (15K/au) knew too, but that was about something else.

We know the Menendez brats are spoiled rich kids who shotgunned Mommy (twice) and Daddy in an If-I-can't-win-I'm-gonna'-take-my-ball-and-go-home fit of pique.

Knock, knock?
Who's there?
Elvis is dead. (10K/au)

Sorry. We know that. And not just because if he wasn't dead, his little girl doing the nasty with Michael (8K/au) would have killed him.

Speaking of Mr. Jackson (10K/au) , we all know he ain't got no "pigmentation depleting skin disease." Sorry, Mike (21K/au) . That's like Cher asking us to buy that she picked up the dreaded Tits Growth Spurt virus on one of her many visits to the Congo.

Oh, and Tyson's a rapist. He gets the parade in Harlem, but Ms. Washington still got raped. No matter how much it gets dressed up, it's no prettier than that. These are just samplings of The Things We Know.

Considering them (and especially the Buttafuocco arrest) led me to another thought. That is . . . The Concept Of Lessons. Let us consider for a moment that some of the newer psycho-dogma is halfway accurate. To wit, the Universe will present us with a lesson until we have digested and learned from the experience. Until we learn this "life lesson" it will keep being presented in various forms.

Yoo-hoo. Joey? Remember what happened the last time you were away from home shopping for illegal pussy?

But then, maybe that's not even the real question as it relates the Family Buttafuocco. What if the lesson is Mary Jo's? Here we have a Long Island housewife whose husband's very young mistress shows up at the house and shoots her in the HEAD! Hello! Wake Up! Universe calling! There's a hunk of hot metal inside your head. You cannot believe him.

You are not allowed to go on T.V. and tell the world that we don't know "Your Joey," like you do.

Not only does that make you the stupidest woman in the history of Long Island (no small feat, by the way) but the mind reels, trying to imagine what the Universe could possibly have in store for you since you didn't get it the first time.

Did you know that John Bobbit (11K/au) got in a domestic altercation with a woman he'd been dating?

We should probably take a moment to let the scope of that thought fully sink in.

What is that, one of the signs of the Apocalypse? Here's a man who physically abuses his wife until (taking matters into her own hands ... pun intended) she slices off his dick with a kitchen knife (13K/au) .

TELEGRAM! John W. Bobbit! This Is Your WAKE-UP CALL! Look, an opportunity to learn a lesson. And what happens? First, they find the shit in a field, they get the shit reattached, the shit actually even starts to work, and Mr. John beats up another woman.

Doesn't he know there are such things as garbage disposals (16K/au) ?

I don't know what more could have happened to Mary Jo. For Mr. Bobbit however, things could have been worse. If the Universe has to find another lesson for a guy who likes to abuse women, there are other knives in the world. And, this time maybe that part of Mr. Bobbit will become more acutely aware of well traveled train tracks, flocks of hungry pigeons, or a cranky Norwegian Water Rat waddling down a sidewalk hot enough to cook on.

It is the Summer edition, after all. Cowabunga. (23K/au)