I Want You to Shut the F#ck Up Read Online Free PDF

white landowners. After the immigrants came, we were amazing. We became hybrids! You can see the same phenomenon happen even today, if you ever see someone who is racially mixed. They’re just
prettier
, because they’re the best of two things.
    The two world wars came when all those immigrants had just about had enough. Before the world wars, people weren’t scared of us. It wasn’t until the many became one that America turned into a global force to be reckoned with. Take one of the many examples out of the conflict: World War II was the first time that black people were allowed to fly. At first, white people hated them. The Tuskegee Airmen had no support—but they had a lot to prove. That’s why the whole time they were commissioned, they never lost a plane. Their record of protection was so great that the white pilots started going, “Gimme the coloreds.” During this whole era, the one thing that held this nation together was that we were broke motherfuckers who weren’t taking any shit. Back any dude who has just tasted freedom into a corner and see what happens next. Spoiler alert: It will not end well for you.
    All those immigrants had
pride
in what they did. Wearing a uniform and putting in a hard day’s work at the factory meant something to them. Even when the Great Depression hit, many men were too proud to accept “handouts” in an economy collapsing through no fault of their own. Everyone likes to think that America is as proud as ever. But is it? Or is pride the exception? Take a look atphotographs of people shopping at Woolworth’s back in the day. Now compare them to people at Walmart. Are they from the same country? Are they even from the same
species
? Our leaders are only as good as our people.

    I’ve seen how businesses handle pride from both sides. One recent Saturday night, I had a performance in San Francisco. The showtime was technically 8:00, but since I had an opening act I didn’t have to get there until 8:45. I went with a couple of my friends to a restaurant called Farallon. We arrived at 6:45, which would give us plenty of time to enjoy our meal before I had to go on stage.
    They served us the bread, and they served us the salad. I got my Dungeness crab appetizer, and I had my roasted tomato soup. They were spectacular. But by 8:20, we hadn’t gotten our meals yet. I called over our waiter, knowing I had to leave. “Box up our orders,” I told him. “We’re getting ready to go.”
    Immediately
, the manager came over. “Was everything to your liking?”
    It’s not like I was irritated and had been complaining. “Everything was
excellent
,” I told the dude. “I just have a show, and I gotta go.”
    “I’m not going to ask you to pay for this,” he said to me.
    “I can’t do that,” I said. Between the food and wine, I knew that the bill had to be over five hundred dollars.
    “No,” he insisted, “we didn’t get your food to you. We don’t want you walking out with bags of our food when you didn’t get a chance to enjoy your meal.”
    Next, the
chef
came out of the kitchen and apologized.
    Even the owner of the restaurant, who was having dinner in abooth by us, came over and apologized. Then they gave me the box of food to take with me for
free
.
    The next night, I went back to Farallon—and this time I paid. Every time I go to San Francisco, I go back there because they had such pride in their product and their service. American service used to be head and shoulders above everybody else’s, and the customer was always right. Even motherfucking Domino’s Pizza used to promise they could get you their “food” in thirty minutes or less.
    I told my friend this story and he just rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but you’re a celebrity. Of course they treated you well.” He exactly proved my point: It was such an aberration that a person gets exemplary service, even at a top-class restaurant, that there must be some other explanation. That kind of thing might