“That’s just the way that I talk yo” -Big L
For reasons that I continue to be unable to grasp, I’ve been getting ridiculed for my Boston accent for years. I’ll never forget the first time it happened, when I traveled to the far away and exotic land of fuckin Dartmouth (pronounced “Daht-mith) for college and it was routinely pointed out to me. Of course, all the imbeciles doing this were from goddamn Massachusetts of all places, and would be roundly mocked for their so-called Boston accents were they to travel to hick-infested cesspools south of the Mason-Dixon line, but this fact continued to elude them for some reason.
So imagine my chagrin when I moseyed on up to Vermont a few weeks ago—essentially just to take a giant shit on Vermontian soil, wink, and bid the Toilet State adieu—when a pair of dirty hippies simultaneously broke into wide grins and repeated my pronunciation of the word “Car.” Then this weekend I’m in my hometown of muthafuckin Taunton of all awful places, and some local broad was like, “Wow, you have a really strong Boston accent.” Luckily, she was pretty hot so I let it slide, but normally shit like that irritates me to no end.
Someone from New England pointing out my accent to me like I’m goddamn Australian or something is the equivalent of one sumo wrestler calling another one a fat-ass. It’s not like I’m from fuckin Tennessee and I talk this way. My father grew up in South Boston; my entire family lives there. I go to Boston every goddamn holiday this side of Flag Day to see relatives. How in the flying fuckarooni am I supposed to talk?
And you haven’t heard shit yet until you hear it from the source. Go to South Boston some time and listen to how they say “Bathroom” like there’s three “a’s” in it, or how they pronounce “potatoes” with a “d” instead of a “t.” Now those people talk like assholes. I, on the other hand, prefer to speak the King’s English. If you don’t like it, then fuck you, the horse you rode in on, and the whole cavalry behind you (Jake LaMotta joke).
The fact is, I’ve got no time for the letter “r.” I want to get my information out, pronto. I’ve got no need for some damn useless-ass letter gumming up the works when I’m speaking wisdom. There’s no reason for it. Quite frankly, unless it’s at the beginning of a word, I don’t even acknowledge “r’s” right to be a letter.
So now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go pahk my cah in Hahvad yahd.