Apparently Frank is in need of a mental enema.
At a recent reunion of venerable old friends Frank, who’s once cerebral refrains roared from beneath his once-thick-mane, has apparently gotten as clogged-up as his jowls and bowels. He started howling like a gay-lesbian couple that “we have a ‘union’ problem.”
“Now, now Frank,” I responded. “I know that’s not just the Bombay Sapphire sloshing over that mushroom cloud you call a brain. But, please tell me: Precisely what union are you talking about?
Is it, I posed:
“Duh miserable state of the Union?
“Duh hypocrisy of the failing union of heterosexual marriage?
“Duh disappearing working man’s union?
“Duh greedy union of corporations and venal politicians?
“Duh unconstitutional union of dunces and neocons that all but killed our freedom of speech with the (Un)Patriot Act?
“Duh tight-ass politically correct union of unenlightened demagogues and parsimonious puritans?
“Duh union of bank-robbers and robbing-bankers?
“Duh government’s incivil servant union that hides its smug indifference behind the fog of bureaucracy?
“Duh…. Come on. If you’ll be frank, I’ll be glad,” I growled back. “Give me a hint here. Don’t just be another poster boy for Planned Parenthood.”
An impish smile of wry comprehension leaked across big Frank’s beachball cheeks.
You gotta love duh anthropomorphic lug – even though the most he and I have in common anymore is the right to trial by jury.
I think Frank has just been blinded from the gleam of self-satisfaction beaming off his shiny pate. From the day I aided and abetted him in relocating his ailing New England shoe factory to Eastern Europe over 25 years ago he has viewed life as a dandy man over-perfumed with his sense of entitlement, privilege and tax deductions.
He just can’t help himself. Like many who think the pleasure of means anoints you as the arbiter of being right about how life should be. Frank, like many, conveniently can’t quite remember which came first: His money or his brains.
And he has long forgotten that a rich man ain’t nothing but a poor man with money. No matter how many times, in how many ways I have explained this to him, he still doesn’t comprendee: “Frank, you don’t see life as it is. You see life as ‘you’ are.”
He tilted his rummy, platter-puss face and poked a stubby digit finger in my chest. “You always were a communist,” he laughed.
“Certainly, Frank. AfteralI, I had nothing to lose but your ‘capitalist’ chains…around my neck.”
Indeed, Frank has been right about many things. But he’s wrong here: We don’t have ‘A’ union problem in this country. We got ‘em cheaper by the supertanker. But duh problem isn’t any stupid union or dumber management . The problem is always the same: Communication.
We are too fast to talk and too slow to listen. We don’t debate, we shout and shoot. Like the LGBT, the fundamentalist, the politicians, the CEO’s and all the other stupid dumb SOB’s like the Colorado jerk at the Batman movie and that sick white supremacist scum shooting Sikhs in Wisconsin.
To all their way of thinking you are either for them or they’ll nail-gun your ass to the cabin wall. There is no exchanging point and counterpoint. There is no respectful listening and replying. This is a country where most everyone sleeps with his mouth open so he can get the first, second and all his verbose, self-serving halitosis in, first thing in the morning.
And for what: 15 minutes of foul-mouth fame?
Too many of us are too stupid to know that we are uneducated, uninformed, intolerant, sanctimonious, despicable, un-aborted and mostly wasted protozoa. At the circumcision they threw away the wrong end. We practice, practice, practice but can still barely get it up without a Viagra in one hand and the latest, dumbest, trashy, Dominatrix romance novel in duh utter.
Stoopid! Aren’t we?
And don’t forget the difference between genius and stupidity: Genius has its limits.
Most of us don’t.
Exacerbating the problem is that it became harder to speak out about pertinent and germane matters with the inception of the Patriot Act under that wicked genitalia duo of Bush and Dick. The President all but legislated free speech to be a crime.
Free speech. Protests… You remember duh stuff this country was founded upon. What our constitution and bill of rights supposedly protect. Why the tired, the poor, the fed up and the annoyed came here hoping to prospect… Just ask those three women in the punk-rock band Pussy Riot who are about to receive long jail sentences in Siberia. They staged a protest against ‘democratically-elected’ Russian President Vladimir Putin.
As Justice Brandeis once roared: …It is the function of speech to free men from the bondage of irrational fears.
Furthermore, free speech is meant to protect unpopular speech. Popular speech, by definition needs no protection. Free speech, wrote Supreme Court Justice William Douglas, is not to be regulated like diseased cattle and impure butter. The audience that hissed yesterday may applaud today, even for the same performance.
So, what did Dan Cathy, owner of Chick-fil-A, say that was so abhorrent?
I thought he was merely exercising his right to free speech with his biblical antigay marriage remarks? Even though I don’t necessarily agree with his opinion or the ‘holy’ biblical foundation it is supposedly based upon, aren’t we endowed to respect the rights of the man, the businessman, the boss and the successful human that he is. He lives a dignified life of faith. Okay, he sells ‘Chikin’ sandwiches and doesn’t have a PhD in Metaphysics. But he didn’t sin.
There is a difference, you know, with being politically correct versus morally correct.
Yeah, being politically correct means always having to say you are sorry.
The fact remains that nothing can be politically correct that is morally wrong. First, I guess, we have to go out and rediscover our morals. It’ll take more than a seeing-eye dog.
Furthermore, free speech carries with it some freedom to listen. And no one is more deaf than those who won’t listen. This includes our politicians, courts, corporations, liberals and especially our trade unions.
Look, without unions we would never have had stuff we take for granted. Like sick leave, health care, weekends off, a middle class, minimum wage, child labor laws, and a plethora of other good stuff.
But things got bad. And, bad unions are the result of bad management. If we had good management, there obviously would never have been a need for unions.
However, while this country may have been built upon the backs of the working man, it was also built upon the backs of dumb animals. So back up on that old insufferable saw. It took folks with enterprise and brains to put us all to work. And right now some of duh unions are acting like a bunch of deaf and dumb blunt instruments.
In Philadelphia, for instance. There’s a bunch of thug trade unions beating up on some young developers who will have none-of-it. The two brothers have already opened up their books and demonstrated they use only union laborers on ‘everything’ strategic, but can’t also employ union guys for pick-up-sticks work or “we’ll run 50 percent over budget.”
A precise case in point is another high-rise building project 20 blocks west. There they use all union laborers. And guess what? The project had to apply to the state for an emergency fund because it is already $12 million OVER budget.
And while the country of developers is awaiting the outcome of these projects, the mayor of Philadelphia and his fellow pusillanimous politicians ain’t doing nothing – except trying to kick outta town those who speak out — like Chick-fil-A.
Hmm… Just when I get to thinking that we can’t possibly do anything dumber we go and do something else to redeem ourselves.
Look, some things we can’t see for what they are. We worry so much about this monster of political correctness we have sunk into the cesspool of idiotic, amoral indignation.
Like I’ve said many times: I may not know the key to success. But I do know the key to failure is trying to please everybody. We act like a nickel trying to catch up to a dollar.
We lit the fuse on our nose hairs over the USA’s Olympic pageantry apparel. Designed by Ralph Lauren, he had it sewn and stitched in communist China.
Hey, even I know we are the only country in the world that doesn’t trade with communist Cuba.
What would we have preferred? Hiring a non-union seamstress like Betsy Ross? Or, better yet, act like the early Greek Olympians (no, silly, I am not talking about non-missionary sex acts) and play these sports absolutely naked?
Where would we pin our corporate logos?
Hmm… Indeed, we are a confederacy of dunces. There is so much we absolutely don’t know. And yet we are bellowing with incomplete and misinformation that makes us dig in even deeper than an Alabama tick. Sadly, it always seems to be easier to fix the blame than it is to fix the problem.
Damn fools that we be.
As my favorite pastor and rabbi both espouse: Oy-vey! Where is a nice Jewish boy like Jesus when we need him?!
No doubt walking on water with Michael Phelps.
I know that my old friend Frank has often found me painful to listen to. And he, likewise, has often pained my repaired heart. But I drive way too fast to worry about my high cholesterol or Frank’s need, indeed, of a mental enema.
I am not politically correct. And I never intend to be. I am all about speaking openly, honestly, forthrightly and jokingly. I do scream ‘theater’ in a ‘fire.’
But I apply myself even more assiduously to listening. As I often told my kids: If you’re talking, you ain’t listening. If you ain’t listening, you ain’t learning. And if you ain’t learning there can never be any peace.
For I may come in peace — just don’t peee-cccssse me off! Because there ain’t enuff lamb’s blood to spread on your doorposts….
And dats yDrewIS on DIS penal colony…