I had an unusually long meditation in the shower the other morning. As I watched the semen trickle down m'leg and then stubbornly stick to the drain opening, I realized that I spend too much time in this city making fun of Dominicans who lack teeth, sandniggers and sandniggerettes who plot terrorist attacks and spit on truck food, and other bigheaded Indians named Ukbar. After waxing my balls, I decided it was time to take a short get away. But where?

I thought that it is simply unfair to stay here in Philly and make fun short Mexican dudes who carry around peanuts in their pockets like loose change, or talkative Brazilians who smell like bean burritos when they dance the Salsa; and it's simply inappropriate to assume that all Philly Gooks, I mean Asians, eat cats and dogs because I've seen quite a number of then break their routine and dine on rice and egg rolls.

But the Racist Manifesto was the last essay. I'm simply here to tell you about my trip to Mianus (pronounced MY-ANUS), Massachusetts. I got the lead from an episode of "Jackass" and thought there would be many fun things to do in Mianus.

Peachbooties! Mianus is filled with peachbooties! Peachbooty, as my English co-worker Tom would say, is another term used to degrade the white man. I've heard people refer to white people as the "man" or the "White She-Devil" or "white-boy!" or "wigger" or "whitey" or even "Rocky Balboa." But never have I heard the word "Peachbooty."

I was the only brotha' in Mianus, but I had no problem meeting interesting people and finding plenty to do in Mianus. I visited this steak and sub shop in Mianus that was run by a bunch of dark-skinned Italians from Mianus. While eating dinner, one of the dagos explained to me that he and his brothers worked the shop 12 hours a day. I explained to him that Sicilians were castaway sandniggers from the coasts of Algeria.

They labored over a hot, steamy grill, and the sweat and mini-microbes from their foreheads and armpits would often run onto the grill and add a little flavor to the grub. After work they often scored an 8-ball of coke, watched the "Muppets Take Manhattan", and then hit the casinos in Atlantic City. The only problem is these Italianos from Mianus didn't know the meaning of Bed, Bath and Beyond; and after their long, sweaty shifts, they would only splash on some cologne to cover up the funk from their dirty armpits and all I could do was laugh because you and I know that there were molecules and mini-microbes running amok in their underwear and groins.

And they had the audacity to wonder why the people around them kept complaining of that wet dog odor and why little Leon could make the connection between their funk and that smell that comes from that brown stuff recognized worldwide as shit.

That disturbed me a bit because it reminded me of one time, in band camp, I had cunnilingus with a peachbootied Italian who worked the grill in the camp kitchen and she would sweat a lot, and I can remember licking her butthole and instead of that clean, flower-like flavor I was so accustomed to, I got a flavor that resembled sweat and shit-stained dinkleberries.

And I met this peachbooty named Richard on the town train on the second day of my stay. He has Downs's syndrome, so most of the commuters try to show him sympathy and pretend to be his friend. I didn't. I thought of Barney Rubble the next time I saw him. As a matter of fact, I saw Rich the next day as he was running for the train as it was pulling off. I had to laugh out loud because it reminded me of Corky from an episode of "Life Goes On" where he went running after his essay paper after the wind carried it from his infected hands.

Of course I'm evil. But if you take a minute to think about what a frustrated man with Down's syndrome looks like, you would laugh yourself to tears. I just laughed as Richard slammed his bag "down" to the ground and threw an "Ooooohhh!" Elmer Fudd-like fit, then the commuters laughed because I was laughing and they do not like the bastard anyway and then I laughed even harder because I had a pop-up thought of this Dominican guy I know with no teeth on his jaw.

And there was this other peachbooty named Annie that I met at the library in Mianus and she was wearing a pair of shit-brown overalls and her boobs hung low like a Geriatric home care patient with Legionnaire's disease. I observed that she would have these Bugs Bunny-like twitching fits and no one knew why, but I did because as I examined a little closer, I could see that the streams of snot flowing from her nostrils were infested with small cocaine and heroin deposits.

And on the fourth day, God created the light. I tried to figure out what most of the people in Mianus did for fun, so on the fourth day I found myself drinking at the local saloon with this guy named Eric. It was weird walking alongside Eric because his left leg was eight inches shorter and when he walked he waddled from side to side and up and down.

I couldn't stop laughing so I had to make him laugh by telling Him about this Dominican guy at my job, and when he laughed, I laughed even harder because you and I know I was secretly laughing at the way he limped his way through life and then I laughed harder because the Bacardi and the ecstasy kicked in and all I thought of then was a young man with Down's syndrome throwing a temper tantrum and running awkwardly for the train.

And get ready for this run-on sentence: When we were officially fucked up at the saloon, Eric would take off his shirt and limp-dance at the bar and everyone would laugh to tears because he had "bitch-tits" that flapped up and down when he danced and then I would upchuck m'Bacardi and then would laugh even harder because Annie was wiping her nose and working the grill and if that place caught on fire because of her powder habit and mini-microbes crawling in and around her butthole, we would all be burned to a crisp, meshed into tiny little pills at some factory and sold at the local drug store for fifty cents.