The success of this blog has resulted in some important “writer person stuff” perks. The latest is an exclusive look at the yet to be released autobiography of New Jersey Governor Chris Christie titled Thank U 4 The Beef Gravy. Christie’s agent was nice enough to send us an official cover(above) and an advance copy of the first chapter. Christie’s publisher hopes to get this thing out while the education budget issue is still hot to “move crazy units”. I hope you enjoy:
Gravy is pretty cool, isn’t it? I’ve always liked gravy. One of my earliest memories is just holing up in my room with a big bowl of hot gravy and just eating it with a spoon. Or, I’d just make a spoon-like concavity with my two fingers and suck it down that way if I had already sat down with the gravy and didn’t feel like schlepping all the way to the kitchen to retrieve a spoon. I used to pretend my fingers were little people and the bowl of gravy was shark-infested waters. I’d make my fingers “walk the plank” as it were until they had no choice but to dive directly into the danger(gravy) below. But then I’d abandon this role-play and begin sucking the gravy from my fingers with abandon. I’m convinced that’s the only logical end to that short story. What else could you possibly do with anthropomorphic fingers that have been forced at sword-point to jump into an ocean of gravy? Suck them dry, that’s what! Gravy is so good because it’s like meat but liquid.
When I was young, my mom used to serve me breakfast. All of the primary food groups—sausage, dairy, bacon, and donuts–were usually represented. Having met my quota for health foods for the day, mother typically allowed me one “special treat”. It was one of the many sugar-based cereals but instead of milk, she put syrup on top. We called it “syreal”. I’d like to think the bulk of my worldview was formed sitting there, gnawing on cement-hard bricks of brown sugar, waiting for mom to finish preparing my syreal. She did this much longer than she had to. I learned how to make it for myself around the time I stopped being breast fed when I was 15. I never let on that I knew how to make it, though, just so I could listen to some of the smart things that mother would say while cooking.
Mother would tell me wise, timeless morsels of truth like how black and Spanish people are untrustworthy and that their sole reason for existence is to violate the highly coveted white woman. She’d tell me how all homeless people were “probably richer than us”, but if by chance they were “really homeless” they “are probably just lazy” and “should just get a job”. Once, when my father wouldn’t let me stay up until 2AM to watch the really patriotic part in The Deer Hunter where they all sing “God Bless America”, I held my breath until I fainted. I woke up and my parents had guests over.
Well I went out there and threw my toys all over the floor. “I hate you!”, I said. “You’re all gay-lords!”
“Chris, pick that up!”, father said.
“You pick it up! You fucking dick!”, I retorted.
Well those adults just about busted a belt laughing. “Sharp little debater! You should be a lawyer!” one of them said.
Well, hell—I resolved—I’ll become a lawyer then! There was one thing holding me back, however: school. I hated school and school hated me. My birthday was usually on September 6th(look it up), so I often held school accountable for souring what should have been a joyous experience. Instead of cake and TV all day, I’d have to go to school and then eat cake and watch TV. And so it began.
I was constantly picked on for being right. Once in science class, someone asked how the world was created. The teacher, Mr. Sciencemun, said that at our age, that’s a very touchy subject for him to discuss. He said that some people believed in scientific, fact-based theories and that others believed “that God created a guy…then created a woman from that guy’s rib…and then had an evil talking snake and poisonous fruit and a bunch of silly horseshit going on in there”. I raised my hand and told him what I knew to be right—that God created the world and that’s all there was to it. That’s what my parents and the God teacher that I was sent to before I had the ability to think critically had always told me. Mr. Sciencemun, asshole, came back with his stupid, “Well, Chris, that is one argument…but we just don’t know”. Fucking asshole.
At home that day, my mom told me that Mr. Sciencemun was “definitely going to hell” and that “sometimes teachers get out of hand with all of their ‘trying to teach kids stuff’”. My mom was so right.
“What can I do about it?” I asked. Eager for some guidance or comfort.
She tilted her face away from the cupcake, sausage, and cheese sandwich(exactly what it sounds like) she was making me for Dinner Part 1 and gave me a mission statement that would carry me through the next forty or so years of my life.
She said, “Run for governor after an extremely unpopular Democrat has been in office for a few years, so people are almost guaranteed to vote for you off of that alone, then, dismantle the education system.”
Mother went back to her(soon to be “my”) sandwich, humming a patriotic sounding ditty. Beyond that delicious sandwich, my life had been injected with 200CC’s of purpose!