I didn't grow up in this kind of world... I grew up in Detroit, Michigan, in the 60s, the 70s. It was a kinder, gentler time. Sure, we had a race riot or two, but deep down inside, we loved each other.
When I was a kid, a terrorist act -- that was like when someone would take a dump in the swimming pool at the YMCA during summer camp. That was a terrorist act. That was the most evil thing you could do.
I went to Catholic school, everyone in my neighborhood was Catholic -- I literally had no idea that Jews existed. I thought they were characters in the Bible, like Argonauts or hobbits or something.
I was raised by people that wear lime green polyester pants and white vinyl shoes, and I thought that this was endemic to my race 'til I saw a black man wearing red polyester pants and white vinyl shoes. Then I realized -- bad taste knows no color barrier.
When you're not 21, it's great to drink because you're not allowed to. You're a rebel: you gotta get a fake I.D., you gotta find a place to drink it, you gotta sneak in drunk. And if you get away with all that, you're laying in bed, your heart's...
Really? These are the best years of my life? I live with my parents. I don't have a car. I'm a virgin. I have no money. And these are the best years of my life? Then kill me right now.
Safety was not a big thing when I was growing up. A seatbelt was something that got in the way. I'd be like, 'Ma, this seatbelt's digging into my back.' 'Well, stuff it down into the seat. What are you, mental? Roll those windows up. You're letting the smoke out.'
I grew up the baby of eight kids. We grew up in a two bedroom house. My mom never had to worry about curfew. You came home late, you didn't have a bed. It was simple.
We couldn't afford no Halloween costumes -- eight kids, please! Mama sent us down to the liquor store, put boxes on us. We didn't know what we were -- 'I don't know what we are. I don't know. She didn't tell us. I think we UPS? I don't know.'
Remember when you were growing up and you wanted to color eggs for Easter? Where did you go? There was only one game in town: PAAS. You went to PAAS, or you went to hell. Remember that? That was on the box.
First job I had: Burger King. My brother got me the job; he was the manager. And you think that'd be cool, right? 'Cause he's my bro. But he was a dick. He thought he was the burger king.
One day talking to Special Fred / He grabbed a brick and he swung at my head / And as he laughed at me that's when I knew / That Special Fred just made me special too.
My kindergarten teacher was the first one to recognize something wasn't quite right with me. She called my mama and said, 'Ms. Kerwin, we're sending D.C. to the house. We think he might be -- retarded.' She said, 'Send him on home. I bet he won't be retarded tomorrow.'
I'm originally from a place that sort of has a galaxy-wide reputation for sucking, called Alabama. And not from one of the good parts -- I'm from one of those places where the whole number system consists of one, two and a sh*t load.
My fondest childhood memory is I made out with my babysitter, Cathy. She stops in the middle of everything: 'We have to stop this. I feel like such a whore.' 'Why? I'm not paying you -- my parents are! Come here!'