The power of words continues to amaze me. As a writer, really a story teller at heart, the power of certain words in the right order and context is something I should have committed to memory as triggers for violent responses by now, but I haven’t. Provoking someone into temporary insanity is not typically my intent, but it sure is fun to watch someone turn purple and see the spittle fly while talking. The urge to grab the hot-wire on an electric fence is something that has stayed with me from my youth.
Either I’m not terribly bright, some sort of masochist, or just have a need to stir up trouble. It’s quite possibly a combination of all three.
Challenging authority is about the closest I get to having fun most days. I’m not talking about slapping a cop and trying to outrun him or anything silly like that. That’s just a losing proposition all the way around.
The authorities of the world whose noses I like to tweak are the finger-wagging, self-appointed sort; the ones who enjoy issuing scolding comments such as “That’s not funny, Carlos” and the more sinister “Anonymous is watching,” followed by copying me on a snitching e-mail to the CEO of a social media platform, the Director of the FBI, and the President of the United States demanding my account be deleted and I be investigated on hate crime charges.
I shit you not. This has happened more than once.
It’s funny how people stop laughing at your jokes when you go after their favorite sacred cow.
Hell, it says “Gallows Humorist” right there in the biography blurb at the top of the page. Don’t you own a dictionary? Kittens and rainbows aren’t my style. I’m upfront about who and what I am, so if I’m not your brand of whiskey, my advice would be to find that little button that says “unfriend” and move on with life.
I have always liked a good fight, and punching up is the best way to get one. Otherwise, it’s just being a bully. All through school, my favorite activity in class was to ask the teacher a question I was reasonably certain he didn’t know the answer to. God help any History professor who gave a hint of knowing less about a given topic than I did. I can sense weakness, and that’s when I would pounce.
Perhaps I would have had more respect for the teaching profession and those who filled its ranks had they the stones to admit their lack of knowledge on a specific topic. Up and down the line, all the way through Graduate School, it was a rare duck willing to admit ignorance despite demanding it from the pupils. I tried pulling my crap with Hall Heffelfinger exactly once.
The older I grow, the more frequently I find myself disagreeing with his historical analysis, but to Hal’s credit, he was one of the precious few who would say, “I’m not familiar with that. Give me the five second version,” instead of telling me to shut up because I was disrupting the lesson plan.
Here’s a hint for instructors of any subject. Nobody gives a shit about your meticulously timed and robotically delivered lecture. You should be thrilled to have students who go outside the assigned reading and come prepared with curve balls to throw.
If you treat your teaching career like batting practice, don’t be surprised when some kid who takes the game seriously comes along and makes you look like the bush leaguer you are.
Speaking of bush leaguers, I have fallen out of love with Megyn Kelly of Fox News after her little spat with Donald Trump.
If you didn’t watch the Republican debate, Kelly came out swinging on Trump’s first question demanding Trump prove he was not a misogynist. In the course of a fairly pat answer, Trump ad libbed a line about Megyn Kelly not treating him very well with the nature of the question.
The last guy who should expect or complain about not getting fair treatment is Donald Trump. The circle he has operated in over the past quarter century is rife with absolute (figurative) killers who keep women like Megyn Kelly as concubines and make the politicians who shared the stage with Trump look like boy scouts. Hell, Trump owns half the politicians that were on that stage, and the other half owe him favors. Trump’s a brawler among a bunch of talkers, which goes a long way to explaining his frequent inarticulateness.
Watching Trump at the debate was like watching my grandfather when all six of his daughters came over for the holidays. The poor man couldn’t get a complete sentence out before those yammering broads descended on him.
At least one reporter agreed with Trump and me that the question was remarkable enough to ask about it the next day. Trump pretty much said Megyn Kelly was bitchy with him because she was on her period. Honestly, I hope he’s right because the alternative is that the darling of Fox News and Conservative media is turning to the dark side by asking feminist-inspired “gotcha” questions that have no right answer. Kelly might as well have well asked, “Mr. Trump, do you still beat your wife?”
Megyn Kelly is supposed to be this hard-bitten chick who can hold her own with any man. If she can’t take the occasional punch to the ovaries, she has no business being in the ring. And in what may or may not be a terrible coincidence, Kelly is taking a couple weeks off. Whether this vacation has been planned for months, as the Fox News camp claims, it still comes off looking like Megyn Kelly had to take some time off work to brush the sand out of her vagina.
If you feminist gals want to play with the big boys, you should be prepared to take one on the chin occasionally and not run off crying to your mother.
Don’t expect to find a baby shower at a boxing match. And certainly, don’t be upset to find two men beating the Hell out of each other when you get there.
If you find what I write or post on social media to be beyond your personal taste, whether that be racist, sexist, xenophobic, homophobic, uncouth, or whatever is offensive today, save yourself some effort and go patronize some other content outlet you find more acceptable. Call me an “asshole” on the way out the door, if it makes you feel better.
I send a dollar to a starving child in Zimbabwe each time someone calls me a name. I’ve been promised a lion hunt, if I reach one hundred thousand. Even the smallest donation helps fill little M’kimbe’s distended belly.
There is no end of people vying for your reading attention who post positive affirmations, pictures of kittens, and say “Namaste” to each other. That and Al Gore is pretty much what built the internet. I’m sure they’d love to have you stop by after declaring you will never read my stuff again.
Don’t forget to unfollow me, unfriend me, and block me as you leave. I’d also suggest deleting me from your browser history so you never have to risk seeing my drivel again.
If you absolutely feel the need to declare a fatwa and mount a social media jihad against me, I say “Thank you” for two reasons. First, each person you induce to come by and heap scorn upon what I create is simply another set of eyeballs to drive up the website statistics. Secondly, your friends like what I have to say more than you do and are converted to fans at a far higher rate than you imagine.
So, please, let the hatred flow through you and onto me.
Unlike Megyn Kelly and the humorless “Namaste Mafia” faction of Liberals (and believe me, they are Liberals whether they realize it or not), I can take a punch to the face pretty well.