So on Thursday morning, October 12th, 2006, at 4:30am Michael James White died.

You might have gathered by our shared last name that he was related to me. And although a correct assumption that would be, it doesn’t feel like a relative died.

I have a joke in my set that goes a little like this:

“My Uncle is one of those people that the Indians referred to as..um..What’s that word? Oh yes, ASSHOLE. My uncle is pure asshole. Like from concentrate. But my mom says I should be nice to him. ‘He’s diabetic, he just lost his leg.’ and although these things are true he’s still an asshole. The difference between him before and after is he has less body mass. Which, when you think about it just means he’s more asshole per capita. Pound for Pound he’s a bigger asshole now than he ever was.”

And I’ve told this joke many, many, many times. I probably will continue to tell it. But now there’s all types of crap going on behind the scenes.

My mother is very upset by his death.

I am having a hard time dealing with that. Yes, Michael was her brother but he really and truly was an asshole. The clincher for me was when I went to visit him to help out back in 2001 when he had his first couple of toes amputated and at some point during the trip he ripped me a brand new asshole because I said that Newburg, where he lived, was a backwoods town. Please note, I didn’t say it to him. I was instant messaging someone about where I was and told THEM. He read the message when I went to take garbage out and then cursed me out for 15 minutes explaining how much of a shitty person I am and how bad my life is and how useless I really am until I could no longer take it and I told him to go fuck himself and left Newburg in the middle of the night.

This was classic Michael White. The phrase ‘Michael White‘ in my family was a term for unprecedented arrogance. Being a general douchebag and for the most part stubborn beyond belief. When he’d do something very douchy the normal response would be ‘Well, that’s Michael White’

Now he’s dead.

Michael left my mother stranded in Newburg about a year or 2 ago.

She went to spend Thanksgiving or Christmas with him, sans me because to me this was an exercise in futility. He’s an asshole. Being nice to the asshole doesn’t change him. It just gives you chances to be treated shitty by them. They got into a fight and he treated her so bad that she had to leave and he wouldn’t even call her a cab. His own sister with a heart condition.

And now? He’s dead.

And she’s upset by the death. I’m like ‘Really? Fucking really?’ to the point she’s mad at me that I’m not trying to console her more. I don’t have it in me. I don’t care about his death. The night he left her stranded I called him and told him to never, EVER call me or my mother again. I told him that he was a miserable person and that he’d never have anyone because he was just a bad person. I never yelled. I calmly stated it so that he knew I was serious and wasn’t emotional. I wanted him to have moments when he reflects on his life and thinks about what’s happened to him that he’d realize that his family, only living family actually(there was three, now there’s 2) had turned there backs on him because he was a generally bad person.

And now?

Funeral? Yeah, I don’t think I’m going. I have previous engagements that evening and it would be really hard for me to cover one of them. I’d lose money that night if I’m not there. But I do feel bad. I can’t explain it. Even now writing all of this I can’t think of a redeeming quality about him but I feel bad.

Indeed.

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