Missin' Thrope, radio.
Pissie, piss-mongering, fucking piss-pot of the damned.
Missin' Thrope, radio.
International cream-corn fuck-hedory.
Missin' Thrope, radio.
Simply a dirty Jew.
Missin' Thrope, radio.
And as the young man knew full well,
chicken-fried steak couldn't fuck back.
All it could do was be delicious.
Missin' Thrope, radio starts now.
Welcome to season two episode seven of Missin' Thrope, radio.
I don't know if you know this about me,
but I am a well-respected member of my community,
a pillar of the community, if you will.
Being a person that people look up to,
I get invited from time to time to do things
that pillars of the community get invited to do.
One such happening came along this week.
I have been invited to judge some fucking
local special interest groups,
48-thirty-thirty-a-th annual fucking chili cook-off.
And there's a very good chance that you hear that
and you're like, oh shit, nice.
You get to go and sample all the chilies you don't have to pay.
Sounds like a pretty good time, Lorenzo.
I could not possibly disagree more.
First of all, I don't like being around people like that.
The place is gonna be absolutely goddamn jam packed.
Chili cook-offs are big business.
People come from miles the fuck around
to sample chili and see who's got bragging rights this year.
There's a legit trophy involved, a traveling trophy,
that last year's winner has to bring with them
to this year's fucking event,
and if they choose to compete,
maybe they lose the trophy they brought with them
to the next champion and so on and so forth
and so on and so forth in perpetuity.
The annual chili cook-off in my community is a big fucking deal.
And I have
And I have been asked to judge.
So like I was saying,
it's gonna be fucking absolutely jam packed with people.
People come from miles around.
This one, however, has been going on for so long
that people are going to come from miles and miles around.
So the chili cook-off venue is guaranteed
to be completely fucking stuffed with sweaty,
unwashed, stinking, fucking plastic spoon carrying,
fucking numb skulls, waiting to get their fucking shot
at the next pot of chili.
So the sea of humanity aspect has me a little on edge anyway,
right?
The second reason I don't wanna go is I gotta be honest with you
and I'm gonna say this quietly
because this is the sort of thing
that gets a motherfucker lynched in my neck of the woods.
Okay, are you ready?
I'm gonna say it softly, so listen closely.
I don't really like chili all that much.
I know, I'm in the minority.
The overwhelming majority of fucking white people
just can't wait for chili season to roll around.
They fucking love that shit.
They love that big pot of greasy red fucking muck.
And they just can't wait to crumble up their fucking crackers
into it and fucking sprinkle it with goddamn disgusting cheese
or mix in some fucking sour cream.
They can't wait to eat it by the spoon,
bowl, full, or bucket load.
I do not see chili as a fucking culinary delight
that everyone should be fucking jizzing
in their goddamn shorts over.
I don't see it, I don't see it at all.
I don't fucking understand it.
I've never understood the hype.
I've had chili all across this fucking nation.
I've had Texas chili.
I've had the famous fucking Cincinnati skyline chili.
I've had fucking Fred and Red's chili.
I've had fucking chili in Chicago.
I've had the fucking organic pleasure center
of fucking chili on the West Coast.
And I've had the really dirty fucking meaty shit
on the East Coast.
I've had chili everywhere.
And the only thing I can say about it,
the only common theme is that it's just kinda me.
Judging a chili cookoff for me
is the equivalent of being asked
to judge a fucking tuna noodle casserole cookoff.
The same level of who gives a shit.
It's like being asked to judge a cream corn fucking cookoff.
So I'm not excited to be the epicenter
of the sea of humanity.
I'm not excited about the fact that it's chili in general
because while I don't hate it,
I don't really love it and I don't care about it.
The third reason though,
that I'm not excited about this
and I'm actually considering turning down the opportunity
is because I can't stand chili people.
People who specialize in making chili,
people who take a degree of pride in making chili,
people who consider their chili making
to be part of their identity, I can't fucking stand them.
They drive me fucking nuts.
I can't stand to hear them talk about chili every fucking year
and the way they fucking talk about it
just drives me goddamn insane.
Well Bob, we're gonna go down to the lake
and do a little fishin' this weekend.
You wanna go?
Nah boys, I can't go.
I'm breaking out the cauldron.
It's chili making weekend.
Oh shit, chili making weekend already.
You know how per-snickety my chili recipe is.
It's gonna take every bit of my concentration
all weekend long.
Well let us know when you get that big pot of red greasy shit
brew that, we'll come over and have some.
I got you know I will.
Bring your eaten bridges, chili people.
People who specialize in making fucking chili,
people who specialize in making one greasy pot of red shit per year.
People who have special places in their home
for chili making instruments.
People who have special clothing that they wear,
only for chili making season.
People who have specialized aprons and poofy fucking chef hats
that they only break out when it's time to make
their disgusting pot of fucking red shit.
Their annual fucking disgusting red pot of shit, chili people.
They're all the fucking same.
And that's the thing, they're
all the same.
And while chili on a fundamental level is all the same.
So are the fucking people who make it and specialize in it.
And dream about it and try to air quotes
that guy you may have a fucking short skinny lady,
but they're all the fucking same.
They're all the fucking same personality wise.
They all have the same meager level of fucking intelligence.
They all have the fucking same outlook on life.
Every day they wake up in their fucking stupid benign.
God damn existence is just a day closer to the next excuse to make fucking chili.
They live by the chili spoon and they die by the chili spoon.
I fucking hate them.
I fucking hate them.
I fucking hate them.
I fucking hate chili people.
I fucking hate them.
They're all the fucking same.
They've all got their fucking special ingredients.
And their special methods and their special fucking cookware
and their special fucking spices that they have ground,
specifically for chili week.
I fucking hate them.
I absolutely fucking hate them.
And they're everywhere.
They're everywhere.
They're everywhere you go.
You're surrounded by them.
You're besieged by disgusting, sweaty fucking chili people.
No matter where you go or what you do, they're every fucking where.
If you don't believe me, just bring up chili in conversation.
Casual conversation.
Bring up chili in the fucking workplace.
Bring up chili while you're getting your fucking oil changed.
Bring up chili at the fucking strip club and see what happens.
The conversation that you were in will immediately fucking stop and shift
to somebody's favorite fucking ingredient or their wooden spoon
that their fucking grandmother and great grandmother used for making
chili.
And now you fucking inherited it.
Just watch and see.
Seriously, bring it up.
Well, Johnson, I was just wondering if you finished that TPS report.
You know, sir, I was on the way to do that at my home office.
And I accidentally tripped over a can of chili that was laying in the middle of the floor.
Chili you say?
Ha, let me tell you about chili.
The chili I make doesn't come out of a can.
That's for sure.
I
Oh, you don't know shit from chili.
You fucking Yankee.
I know that the greatest chili ever made.
It's got possum vagina in it.
My great grandmother used to make a chili that was so good when she threw it in the air.
It turned into sunshine.
I grew up on Long Island, but my father grew up in Mississippi and he
lend had to make chili from real dokeys.
Did you know I don't wear underwear all year long so I can get calluses on the bottom of
my fucking ball sack and then I shave that shit ever so fine with a cheese grater down
into my chili recipes and gives it that real earthy flavor gives it that real earthy
flavor that you can't get nowhere else but from real human ball sack calluses.
The secret ingredient for my chili is that it never stops cooking.
I've had the same cold run on my stove in the basement since 1971.
Chili people.
They're all the fucking same.
They all have some kind of fucking special recipe or they have some kind of special technique
or they have some kind of special ingredient that makes their chili just a little bit better
care enough about it to fucking judge a competition entirely devoted to it and thirdly I don't want
to have to fucking interact with people who really care about chili.
I don't want to fucking have to do it but I don't know how I'm going to get out of it.
I don't know that there's any way I can gracefully decline their fucking offer because it's
such a fucking honor in the community that I'm in to be asked to do this that I don't know
that I have the ability to legitimately and gracefully decline.
I'm going to have to fucking do it aren't I?
I'm going to have to judge the 48th or 50th or whatever the fuck annual community chili
cookoff because I fucked up and accidentally became a well respected member of the fucking
town that I live in.
Fuck me.
I don't want to be the people who are the worst of the three reasons I've given you that I don't want to do it.
The chili people the people who fucking specialize in making chili are the worst and I hate
them.
Don't get me wrong but there's one of them that I hate above all others.
It's not the guy who shaves his fucking scrotum into the fucking cauldron.
It's not the guy who uses platypus vagina.
It's not the fucking guy who uses grated rhinoceros horn.
It's not the fucking guy who walks around with his fucking spice bag, you know, up underneath
his armpit so it it blooms with his natural fucking heat and is impregnated by his natural
musk before it goes into the pot.
It's not that fucking guy.
There's one that I hate among all others.
Just one and I know you know who it is.
And it's entirely possible that you are this person in which case I fucking hate you
above all others.
That person comes to every chili cook off ever.
And this is the fucking day.
They do this.
They pull this same fucking trick there, there.
There's always one fucking broad in every fucking community who pulls this same fucking trick.
Are everybody acts like it's such a fucking curveball.
Oh my god.
Cindy's here with her white chicken chili and it's such a curveball.
She has a really good shot at winning every single year.
White chicken chili.
Cindy the fucking white chicken chili chef shows up every year.
So there's 1,950 different greasy pots of red shit.
But Cindy shows up with a fucking cauldron of goddamn chicken soup.
Okay.
Let's just call it what it is.
She shows up with a cauldron of chicken soup with 5 fucking beans in the bottom of it.
And she threatens it with little fucking cumin.
Okay.
And that's what makes it chili.
The hint of fucking cumin is what makes it chili instead of chicken soup.
Okay.
Did you know that?
Did you know that?
Did you know that white chicken chili is just fucking chicken soup that has a hint of
cumin in it?
Well, I fucking cumin your mom, Cindy.
Okay.
I fucking hate you above all others because you're a cheating fucking whore.
Showing up with a pot of fucking chicken soup at a chili cook off, deplorable act.
First of all, there's a special spot in hell for everybody who's going to be there,
who specializes in making chili.
The fucking public on a lie.
You have sold them a fucking lie and you say that it's white chicken chili.
Cindy, but we know it's not.
It's not fucking white chicken chili.
It's only chili because you fucking said it is with your fucking white ass and your bangs
and your frilly fucking stupid floor print goddamn apron.
No such thing is white chicken chili, Cindy.
And there's no such thing as white chicken chili for all of you.
What the fuckers who like to make that shit or have believed the lie.
There's no such fucking thing.
But Cindy, the fucking whore, who brings white chicken chili every year has a really good
shot at winning because it's the only pot that is not filled with red greasy shit.
Cindy, I hate above all others.
Cindy, the white chicken chili bitch, I hate above all others.
I don't think there's any fucking way I can judge this chili cookoff.
Can you imagine what a fucking nightmare it's going to be?
It's going to be, I'm not talking about my fucking mental health either.
I'm talking about how can you put me, someone who fucking not only hates everyone and being
around people and fucking doesn't even really like chili.
All that much in charge of judging a fucking event that is directly devoted to the making
of some fucking shit that I don't really care about.
And it's going to be completely full to the top with people that I wouldn't fucking piss
on if they were on fire.
Chili cookoffs, I can't fucking do this, but I don't know how I'm going to get out of
it.
I don't know how the fuck I'm going to get out of it.
I am going to have to fucking do it.
This is not going to fucking go well.
I gotta think of something.
I gotta think of something.
I can't fucking do this.
Because if left of my own devices and I'm told to impartially judge a chili cookoff where
there's 25, 30, 50, 75, 100, I
I don't know how many entries there's going to be, but there's going to be a lot of them.
If I have to fucking taste 100 cauldrons of greasy red shit and one fucking cauldron
of white chicken chili, Cindy, I'm not going to forget about you.
Can't.
But if I have to judge 100 fucking cauldrons of muck, the only logical, reasonable
answer is for all of them to lose and then everyone be burned at the fucking steak and
then ran through a fucking woodchipper, but I can't really order that now.
Can I?
That's not how you remain a pillar of the community now.
Is it?
Chili fucking cookoff.
Fuck me.
I get to figure out a graceful way out of this.
More to follow, I'm sure.
All right, onto the next segment.
Welcome to the Boomer Bunker podcast straight out of Jersey where we don't sugar code a damn
thing.
We see it loud, proud with a side of attitude, politics, culture, everyday nonsense, forget
about it.
We're diving in.
If you want polite and polished, go listen somewhere else.
But if you want real talk, Jersey grit and laughs.
This is your spot, the Boomer Bunker podcast, Jersey Tough Boomer Bold.
Check us out at BoomerBunker
dot com or listen wherever you get your podcasts.
Segment to you.
I don't really have any interest in talking about the news of the day.
I had somebody recently asked me why I don't use this podcast to give you my opinions on
what's going on in the world.
Well, you don't fucking need me for that, do you?
That's one of the things I've really stayed strong about in reference to missing through
operatio.
This isn't that you're not coming to me for the news of the day.
I prefer to talk about ridiculous shit.
Stuff that doesn't matter to anybody in the green scheme of things.
Like getting asked to judge a chilly cookoff and all the reasons why it would be a fucking
horrible idea for me to do that.
However, I say all that to say this occasionally I have thoughts about specific social issues
that I feel the need to weigh in on.
I don't know why.
I know in this case, I do know why.
What I want to talk about right now is racism in the label of racist.
That's what I want to talk about in this segment.
My personal feelings on the matter are that the term racist is being thrown out way too
often and way too liberally.
The term racist is being applied to people in ways that is absolutely inappropriate.
For example, when I was coming up all those years ago if there was some chick who came
out on TV or in a magazine and said she does not date men of a different race because she
wants her kids to look like her someday.
She would not have been labeled a racist.
They would have said that that's her personal preference and people could shake their
heads if they wanted to.
However, nowadays if a lady comes out and says that she does not date men of a different
race because she wants her kids to look like her, she's a fucking racist.
And I think that that is an inappropriate use of that term.
Maybe we we've forgotten what being a racist actually is but I don't think that's what it is.
And I don't think you think that's what it is either.
I think deep down we all know it's not racism.
Of course, it's not.
It's a personal preference.
We had it right all those years ago but somewhere along the way a group of people figured
out that if you fucking call somebody a racist they're going to stop doing whatever you
don't want them to be doing.
Or they're at the very least going to shut up and go away.
Being called a racist has been a social life and personal life and professional life killer
for a very long time and people are terrified to be fucking hung with that label.
It's one of those few terrifying fucking things that you can get accused of and it doesn't
do religion other than yours.
The word racist.
I know their mouth almost immediately like it's a pre-programmed response.
So I was rolling all that over in my mind.
The pre-programmed response among today's youth combined with the fact that being labeled
a racist is a fucking career in personal life, social life killer.
And I was debating on whether or not I really wanted to tackle this social issue.
It's not really in my wheelhouse.
I tell dick jokes and fucking tell funny stories and stuff like that.
I rarely get serious.
But the more I thought about it, the more I thought that people are misusing the term racist.
And I think on some level there are people who are purposely misusing the term racist because
they know like I said it's a show stopper.
The quickest way to get somebody to fuck off out of your face and crawl back in whatever
fucking hole they came from and to stop giving opposing viewpoints publicly is to label them
a fucking racist because they know now that they've been labeled a racist.
If they don't fucking stop, they're going to lose their jobs, they're going to lose
their family, they're going to lose their fucking social life, they're going to lose all
their fucking prospects.
It's one of the quickest ways to get canceled.
So I think that there's a group of people out there of may help.
Maybe even a fairly large percentage of the people that you hear utter the word racist
on a fucking daily basis.
Who know that it's a fucking show stopper and they understand on a fundamental level
that they're using the term improperly.
If you're one of those people who fall into that category, fuck you, I'm not talking to
you right now.
What I'm getting ready to do here is not for you because what you're doing, you're
doing nefariously.
What I'm getting ready to do here, I'm doing for the youth of Western society who have
been programmed to think that anytime someone of a certain race comments on someone of
a another race, that it's racism.
What I'm going to do here today is illustrate in a very misanthrobradio fashion, the difference
between using your powers of deduction and racism.
That's what we're going to do here today on this segment of misanthrobradio.
A wonderful, a real Mexican.
Janet, walk up to his El Camino, knock gently on the window, now's your opportunity.
Ask him where the nearest talker it is.
Oh my god, Joe, that is so fucking racist.
Stop the vignette.
What you just heard there was an interaction between Joe and Janet.
Joe pointed out what he infers to be, a gentleman of Latin origin based on context clues and told
Janet now is her opportunity to ask him where the nearest place to get real Mexican tacos
is.
Janet immediately whirled on him and called him a racist.
Let's see how Joe handles the rest of this interaction.
Janet, what the fuck are you talking about?
I'm not a racist.
Let's use our fucking powers of deduction here.
That is a vintage El Camino painted candy apple red slammed to the ground with hydraulics
and absolutely stunning rims.
He has a chain steering wheel and giant fuzzy dice hanging from the rear view mirror.
My powers of deduction tell me that that is probably a Mexican.
Let's find out.
Excuse me, sir.
Elevator was happening.
We were wondering where the nearest talker is.
Oh fuck yeah bro, three blocks down.
Try the fucking tone.
Thank you sir and we will be on our way.
As you just heard there, a vintage El Camino playing reggaeton music painted candy apple
red slammed the fucking ground stunning wheels chain steering wheel fuzzy dice.
Joe used his powers of deduction and inference and critical reasoning skills in order to make
an assumption and educated guess that that gentleman driving that vehicle was in fact
a Mexican.
And as it turns out, he was right.
Janet is an overly sensitive pre-programmed by society Kant.
Now by way of comparison, let's do the exact same scenario but show you what racism actually
is.
Ah, there you go Janet.
There's your opportunity right there.
There's a dirty goddamn fucking wet-back Mexican right over there in that El Camino.
Of course it's a fucking El Camino.
A Chevy El Camino.
Do you know why Mexicans like Chevrolet's because they can actually say the fucking word?
In particular, scenario the label of racist would be absolutely appropriate for Joe's
conduct.
Joe obviously has a problem with people of his spanic origin.
And
And calling Joe a fucking racist would absolutely make sense here.
Do you see the difference?
The first scenario he made an inference based on what he saw that the gentleman driving the
fucking vehicle was going to be a Mexican.
In the second scenario
while making
From long island New York he has a master's degree in accounting.
Ah, I see.
We was a Jewish applicant!
Sir!
That's fucking racist!
Is it though?
Is it actually racist to point out that someone is most likely a Jew?
I don't think it is.
The boss here in this vignette is using his context clues and powers of deduction.
He has perceived, based on the fact that the guy's last name is Schwartz.
He comes from Long Island, New York, and he works in his parents' jewelry store that
he is most likely a Jew.
Now let's check back into the conference room and see if the rest of this conversation
carines over the edge into racism.
Oh, Johnson, it is not racist.
To infer that the man is probably one of God's chosen people.
His name is Schwartz for fuck's sake, and he works in his parents' jewelry store.
He has a master's degree in accounting for Christ's sake.
He couldn't appear more Jewish on this fucking page if his name was Hebe Goldstein.
There was always eventually going to be a fucking Jew apply for one of these jobs.
We'll have to start buying kosher toilet paper, I'm sure.
Call him up, go ahead, get him in here for an interview.
I guarantee his nose is fucking enormous.
You know why Jews have large noses, Johnson?
Sir!
Because the fucking air is free.
As you heard the line was crossed, we crossed from using the power of inference and context
clues and the powers of deduction into racism.
Part one using powers of deduction.
Part two of that vignette, carined over the cliff and fell into the chasm of racism.
I think we have time for one more vignette.
Mom, mom, I've never been so excited, I just got asked to prom.
Oh my God, honey, that's fucking amazing.
Who asked you to prom?
Who's the best part?
I got asked to prom by the cutest boy in the school, Del Menetrix Jones.
What did you say his name was?
Del Menetrix Jones.
Del Menetrix Jones.
Where is he from?
His family just moved here from Detroit.
Oh my God, I'm so excited.
When can we go dress shopping?
Honey, hang on a moment.
You said his name is Del Menetrix Jones from Detroit.
Mom, what are you trying to say?
What I'm saying, dear, is that it appears you've been asked to prom by a black man.
Mom, that's racist.
Stop the vignette.
Del Menetrix Jones, I think is what she said his name was, Del Menetrix Jones from Detroit,
Michigan.
This young lady's mother without much information to go on to be fair, made a snap judgment
that Del Menetrix Jones from Detroit, Michigan was in fact a black man, not racist to infer.
She is using her powers of deduction and the information provided her to make an assessment
of the situation.
Now back to the vignette.
Let's see if shit gets racist.
You know, honey, for 200 generations, 200 probably.
I'm not a genealogist here, but 200 generations.
It's been whites, marrying the whites all back through our family tree, white man and
white woman, white woman and white man, be gat, be gat, be gat, all the way down to
you.
Okay, you, with your shark, a red hair and your beautiful green eyes and your beautiful green
eye, a best to skin.
Of course, a fucking course, there was going to be some fucking dockies show up and try
to scoop you up.
Now the fucking dockies love them some red heads, especially if they're a little on the
biggest side.
Mom!
I never ask you about your sex life.
I don't want to know.
But have you ever been fucked by a black man?
They're giant fucking elephant cooks who'll be up all the way in you.
You ever had your heart fucked?
You felt like you had your heart broken when Chad broke up with you last year.
Remember what that felt like?
So this Delmonetrix will actually fuck your heart all the way up through your vagina.
It doesn't sound very pleasant to me.
He's going to scoop you up, you come from a good family, he's going to ram that giant
fucking pork sword all the way up inside ya.
He's going to knock you up, he's going to break ya fucking cheek, he's going to make
sure that your credit is just as shitty as is and then he's going to drop
ya on your cute little white ass.
Delmonetrix Jones, ya merry who you date.
I don't want some fucking thug rolling up here in a Suzuki sidekick with 19 fucking speakers
in it in my house in my neighborhood to pick you up to go to a fucking prom.
Absolutely not.
Do you see the difference?
Part one of the vignette she took the information provided to her and she made an inference
that the man was black.
Not racist.
Not racist in the least merely inferring that someone is black based on their name and
where they're from is not racist in any way shape or form.
However in part two of that vignette that overprotective mother veered off the road of righteousness
into the pit of naughty racism.
Now obviously those vignettes are selling the Mexican and the El Camino.
The guy named Schwartz who was obviously a Jew and Delmonetrix Jones or whatever the
fuck his name was.
Obviously silly little vignettes but I did all of that again to try to explain to the younger
generations coming up that there is a difference between racism and deduction.
There is nothing wrong with using your powers of deduction and powers of reasoning in order
to come to conclusions about someone based on the information that you're given.
There's nothing racist about that in any way.
It's got a fucking suck.
I hope I did a decent job there conveying what I was trying to convey.
There is in fact racism in the world.
There is.
There's a hell of a lot of racists in the world but they're not lurking behind every fucking
bush waiting to jump out and offend you.
They're not
somewhere along the way we ended up with a skewed vision of what racism actually fucking is.
Racism is not pointing out that someone is black or Jewish or Hispanic.
Racism is not pointing out that somebody is fucking white trash.
Being a racist used to mean I fucking hate you because of the color of your skin or where
you're from and I want you to fucking die.
Even though you and your people have done nothing to me and or us, that's actual racism.
And more often than not, that's not what's actually fucking happening around you.
So I'm going to say it on behalf of everyone who actually has a sense of humor, stop being
so fucking offended all the time.
Thank you for joining me for this episode of Missing Through Op Radio.
Leave a review, blah blah blah blah and whatever fucking platform you use.
Tell a friend but only fucking cool people.
Don't bring me people who are going to get offended and be weird.
Alright?
Okay.
Until next time.