Snitches get stitches

Before I started my internship in Washington, D.C. I was told, “A duck could be somebody’s mother.”

Even an ugly-looking nobody could be the second cousin of the person you’re joking about.

Stupid wisecracks can get you canned if you happen to sit next to someone with enough free time and a Blackberry.

My dedicated haters know that I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut, but if you rolled with my crew back in elementary school you wouldn’t take any beef either.

As a child from the ghetto streets of Bloomington — Bryan Park, chillin’ where my honkeys at — I’ve learned that snitching gets you stitches. It was a fact of life on the playground of Templeton Elementary School.

If you witnessed someone shooting a rubber band gun or stealing Pokémon cards, you’d turn around and look the other way. It ain’t your business, don’t get involved. But if you had something to say you wouldn’t let a punk sixth-grader keep you quiet just because he was older.

So why do people care enough to go out of their way to stay PC? I used to think Washington was just filled with sensitive thugs who either can’t take a joke or are too insecure.

They say Washington, D.C. is a smaller town than you think, where everyone knows each other. It’s all about sticking to your gang here. In Congress, the two biggest gangs are the Bloods and the Crips. They both started as community groups back
in the 1800s.

The Bloods and Crips just wanted to protect their own political blocs and put their younger members through committee. But eventually things turned sour when they started slanging subsidies.

Capitol Hill can be a dangerous place; they have turf warfare on a biannual basis.

Members of Congress stay strapped with fully-loaded Blackberry’s and roll out at least ten deep wherever they go.

Being an outsider is frowned upon, that’s why you join a gang before you get here. Some people join the GAO or a non-profit like the AARP, but once you’re in there are only two ways out: prison or with your duffle bag on a plane back home.

The other day a friend of mine, who will remain nameless because I ain’t no snitch, was in line for a hearing on human rights. She said under her breath, “Since when did they start caring?” — obviously being sarcastic about Congress.

The next intern in line turns around mean-mugging her with his hand on a Blackberry and asks, “What’s you’re name girl, and where do you intern at?” pretending as if he’s trying to holler or something.

She realized what was up and gave him a fake name and organization. She wasn’t about to get clapped by another intern.

The competition in our nation’s capital is rough; this kind of scrappin’ happens here on the daily.

That’s why you learn to keep your head down and leave your hate
to the blogs.


E-mail: nicjacob@indiana.edu