It took me no more than 5 seconds to utter my truculent, exasperated words to kindly Big Bruce at the gym early yesterday morning. And then immediately rue them for the rest of the day’s remaining 86,395 seconds.
Bruce’s colorful beach-ball face gazed back at me solemnly. “You don’t have to be mean,” he retorted.
Hmm… I wasn’t really intending to be. Then again neither does a crocodile. It’s just that when the volatile mix of being piqued-off crashes like high bloody waves against my self-absorbed cliffs, my emotions get instinctively primitive.
I know, I know… And I thought I was being nice. Especially for moi. Then again: All cruel people describe themselves as paragons of frankness.
Hmm… How profound.
It’s not that I don’t usually mean to say what I say. But there should rarely – how about, never — be a time to deliver words that are nothing more than mean. Or have them interpreted, or misinterpreted that way. For, no matter which way they appear, it is still tantamount to being disrespectful, egotistical, narcissistic, petulant, brutish… In other words: Downright rude.
Okay, I am certain some of my exes would brazenly assert – when they aren’t squatting and pissing about ‘he-never’ or, ‘he-always’ or, ‘their alimony’ – that I can be crass, contemptuous, crude, obstreperous, obnoxious, rambunctiously raw and simply, an imbecile.
Hey, get over it, babes. You knew from the onset that I was never here to write user-friendly software. I am here to amuse, abuse, afflict and comfort. And you licked it up like Alpo over corn pone.
Hmm… remind me to never again engage in a battle of wits with a woman armed with razor-sharp, French-tipped fingernails. And I always thought women were supposed to be the masters of saying things that were both gentle and deep. Where did all this acrimony come from?
Anyway, as often stated: it isn’t what you say, but how you say it. And I really gotta remember not only to say the right thing in the right place, but far more difficult still, is to leave unsaid the absolutely wrong thing at that tempting moment.
And, I am getting much better.
I mean, a couple of days previous to this lament with Bruce, a former overnight guest barked an angry: F-U! It arrived in a text message posted when she misunderstood and thought I was patronizing. She miss-figured that I called her something on the order of a female canine. I only said that I’d only get married again when I met a woman who would greet me at the front door like my dog.
So I texted her back: “If you really meant to direct an F-U at moi, it does sound absolutely divine… Again? Say when?”
Of course that was like waving tah-tah in your rearview mirror instead of giving the proverbial finger to the madly-impatient-southern-end-of-a northbound-ass blasting the horn heatedly behind you.
But it worked… Turned Carleen’s disposition back to delicious.
See, I am learning. So, who says an old dog can’t do nothing but lick himself? Obviously I am a recovering from a past life of a crime-in-progress. So why are folks still taken by surprise at any new demonstration of my reborn common sense?
After all it got Miss Carleen to return to my Kasbah … where the conversation turned doggedly to style, and a bunch of utter stuff that got us to munching on more than our words.
Hmm… Delightful. Not to mention, tasty.
And between my lament with Bruce and this latest amorous turn-around, I got to thinking: Perhaps this is something we should promote in our international conversations.
You know, as in: Bark less, wag more.
Like those talks being opened with the I-ah-told-you-once-I-ah-told your-twice meshugga Iranians. Or with Syria’s chemically imbalanced President el-Assad who insists the only gas he smelled wasn’t cooked up in ‘his’ kitchen. And with Russia’s Putin who wants everyone to swallow truth serum – except his soon-to-be future ex wife.
Instead of all this macho, mean, tough talk that never seems to work, we should act…how should I put this?… less mean, rude and harsh. You know, like some horny guy on the barstool pawing and cooing over just about everything, at 2 A.M. when everybody looks beautiful.
Sounds somewhat constructive, doesn’t it?
I know we want our President to be macho, posture more like John Wayne stipulating: “You cross that Red Line and I’ll have to shoot you, Pilgrim.”
But as I proposed a couple of years ago for our dealings with Afghanistan and Iraq and all the rest of those places where they stone their wives and sleep with their camels: We oughtta send in scantily clad Playmates and buff, erotic male-dancing Chippendales. Throw in a few cross-dressing platoons of LGBT, as well.
It would desecrate their entire culture of misogyny, xenophobia and homophobia – as well as any other intolerance and bestiality. Desire is the cause of all action. There is no action without desire. So we’ll make the indigents ‘stiff’ with desire. And have their women, like that classic Greek comedy, cross their front legs, withholding sexual privileges until they ended that Peloponnesian War. (Never forget, as I have often noted: Marriage is the only war where you sleep with the enemy.)
It’ll create a new world order. A whole lot of banging going on. And not one fatality. Sales of Viagra and Cialis will go vertical. Vitamin E as well. No more treating their women and children like their dogs, camels, goats and anything else handy for abuse.
Hey! You never let a serious crisis go to waste. And what I mean by that is it’s an opportunity to do things you think you could not do before. Or hadn’t tried before. After all, politicians are employees. We hire and over pay them to do the job bigger, better, cheaper and more triumphantly than they and their predecessors have miserable failed at before.
Remember, there is nothing new in the world except the history we do not know. And our politicians not only lack historical perspective, but the talent to create a better world order, as well. They obviously don’t know what to do. And, like fools, they feel they have to say something, even when they don’t have something to say.
Sometimes I wonder, as a great lady once pondered, if we shall ever grow up in our politics and say — and more importantly DO — definite things which mean something… or whether we shall always go on using generalities to which everyone can subscribe, and which mean very little.
And now that it is officially Autumn, it seems appropriate to shed our clothes –and run naked through the world.
Well, why not. We’ve tried everything else: bombing, nuking, bayoneting, machine gunning, choking, cannon balling, fire, tanks, knives, spears, swords, sniping, missiles, nukes, stealth, gas… even monstrous massacres like in Nanking, My Lai, Rwanda, Auschwitz …
If there is something we haven’t tried, then by all means, stir it into the witches’ brew.
Sadly, you can’t say civilization hasn’t advanced… in every war we kill in a new way. It doesn’t stop. I mean, more folks are being slaughtered in ‘conquered’ Iraq now than when we first jumped on those ethereal WMDs. And look what those vile jerks have done in that shopping mall in Kenya. Like that mother and daughter slain in front of their wounded son. And when the young son asked, why?, the savage piece of dung snorted: Because they weren’t wearing their full burkas.
Let us pause to scream, insanely in this asylum!
Doesn’t it seem a tad absurd to keep cajoling, praying, joking, talking and killing the old fashion way. In order to conquer the unconquerable.
Try something new – try humiliation… enlightenment begins with disillusionment. And by now we should be very disillusioned with the repetition, redundancy and the concussions.
We have been duped, brainwashed — as seen on TV — to think life should be like football – a bloodless sort of war where we bang, push and shove folks around while the cheerleaders shake their booties. We think we can simply solve problems by running over and smashing them.
Why don’t we at least try ballet – where we dance and leap into one another’s arms. Toughness isn’t being a bully. It’s having a backbone. Our character is the calluses of our sweat equity.
I know, I know… A person with a new idea is a crank until the idea succeeds. The difficulty rests not so much in developing new ideas, as in escaping from old ones.
The Arab Spring was fomented over social media. My idea is to make virtual reality, real — bad breath, tits, ass and all. Send them a message that if you kill one of our naked women or buff men then you are truly a dung-eating barbarian. And we will nuke you and your deserts into glass that will glare under the naked sun.
Just remember that no pessimist ever discovered the secret of the stars, or sailed to an uncharted land, or opened a new doorway for the human spirit. It’s time to stop thinking mean thoughts and start getting naked. A barking dog may bite. But laughing men rarely shoot. And when we’re all stripped naked, everything is a laughing matter.
I cannot say whether things will get better if we change; what I can say is they must change if they are to get better. What perplexes me is that I can’t understand why people are frightened of new ideas; I’m frightened of the old ones.
Then again, one’s destination is never a place but rather a new way of looking at things.
And dats yDrewIS on dis penal colony…