If you read this blog at all you know how much I detest political correctness. I come by that honestly due in part to a man who assisted me in setting up my first blog many years ago. His ideas and writings on political correctness are exactly the same as mine. He is what you might call my “blog father” and his name was Rob “Acidman” Smith. Unfortunately for us all he passed away on June 26th 2006. He’s been missed by me and many others and his blog remains online, maintained by his family. It will always hold a place of honor on my Favorites List. I visit him there on a regular basis to read his old postings because they’re still as pertinent to the discussion today as they were back then. If you’re interested, his blog is called gutrumbles.com, check it out. You are missed Rob.
Acidman
As you are well aware there are many bright people in this world who see the dangers of political correctness and the ongoing damage that it’s causing within the society. It’s become so ingrained in our society that it’s now the norm rather than the exception. My main question, can it be reversed? Seems to me correcting political correctness will be a long-term and difficult process. As anyone can see it’s taken a few decades to drag us down to this level and very well may take a few more decades to correct it.
It seems to me that the fault belongs primarily with academia. Public education systems in this country are being run by a liberally biased group of academics whose whole purpose is to brainwash each upcoming generation to embrace political correctness and to revile those who don’t. The amount of power wielded by the teachers unions across the country has made it virtually impossible to root out these individuals and to reclaim control over our education system.
There you have it folks, responsibility for correcting political correctness is once again in the hands of the parents. I think it’s time that PTA groups across this country become better organized so they’re able to rein in the administrators and not rubber-stamp every stupid and ignorant idea being shoved down their throats by school committees. Lazy parents concede control over school subject matter and then blame everyone but themselves for the results. Stand up, be heard, and take back control of your children’s schools. I’m all for turning the kids into productive citizens and not just people who worship social causes, the environment, and poo poo personal responsibility.
I’ve been giving serious thought to topics normally considered women’s issues. In actuality all women’s issues are really men’s issues too. If the women’s issues are addressed, approved, and implemented, we men are affected as well. I’m really not writing about women’s issues per se but more about the woman’s movement in particular.
Most people in this country think the women’s movement started in the U.S. in the sixties with bra-burning (my personal favorite), free love (another favorite), and the birth of feminism (not so much). The truth of the matter is that that the women’s movement started many decades ago in countries around the world and is still alive and well. Places like Afghanistan, needless to say, are lagging behind by a few centuries. During those centuries women were pushed into the background, dominated by men, and we’re required to be barefoot and pregnant as often as possible. Arranged marriages were common in many cultures making a woman’s choice of just about anything impossible. Women kept inching their way forward, one step at a time, three steps forward and then two steps back. They will never stop regardless of the price they have to pay.
In the United States women’s suffrage came to a head in Utah where men hoped by giving women the right to vote they could dispose of the Mormon tradition of polygamy. As soon as polygamy was voted out the male-dominated Congress of the United States turned around and disenfranchised those same women. It wasn’t until the end of the nineteenth century that Idaho, Colorado, Utah, and Wyoming again enfranchised women after diligent efforts by the suffragette movements at state level.
So here we are in the 21st century and probably within twenty years of seeing the first woman president of the United States. I hope I’m alive to see it. I’ve been impressed with a few women over the years who I would have voted for in an instant if given the chance. Margaret Thatcher for one (unfortunately wrong country), Jean Kirkpatrick, former UN Ambassador, and Condoleezza Rice as well. But never Hilary Clinton, OMG NEVER! We’ve now had our first black president and I’m certain no woman I know could do as bad a job as he and Biden have done and are doing.
I have a great deal of admiration for the women who came before. They paved the way for our modern women with their blood, sweat, and tears. At the same time I thumb my nose to Gloria Steinem and her ilk who turned the woman’s rights movement into radical feminism and used that organization for their own liberal political agenda. I began blogging seriously 11 years ago and during that time I’ve read and communicated with a host of women of all ages. I’ve been impressed with what I’ve read and also with the written conversations I’ve had with many of you. Women will continue to make even greater strides in the coming decades and all of you young ladies out there should remember your history and continue the good fight.
Today I’m concentrating on hair. Not the lack of it but the overall abundance of it. I discovered as I aged with the help of certain women that hair is almost as important to them as penis size. The trends these days for men seem to be the metrosexual look, the less hair the better except of course for the hair on the head.
As I began to lose my hair a few years back I was actually traumatized by it for a while. As the hair slowly faded away a strange thing happened, I felt an odd freedom. I swore then and there I would never become that guy with a bald head and a fringe around the bottom. When the time came I didn’t hesitate to rid myself of all my head hair once and for all. No more freaking haircuts, no more hair products, and no more competing with other men for style points. I thought I was home free from hair issues but once again I was wrong.
This isn’t me . . just so you know.
Soon I met and fell head-over-heels for Miss Right. After dating for months she informed me in no uncertain terms that I had way too much hair everywhere on my body. Trust me, I’m not a very hairy guy and I thought at first she was just messing with me. I found out later she wasn’t. My ear hair was found to be too untidy and too long. My eyebrows were too bushy and too unkempt. Hair on my chest and arms needed constant trimming and I wouldn’t even mention the pubic hair discussions we had.
It became a day-to-day battle between us because the constant inspections were making my hands all sweaty. I felt like I was back in the Army. Then came the night of too much drinking, too much laughing, and too much schnapps. While under the influence of alcohol I agreed to certain hair removal requests and told her I would take care of the hair maintenance issues in the morning. And then went to bed and fell into what was a deep alcohol-induced dream-state. Upon waking in the morning I discovered that while I was dreaming she had been clipping. I was brought into the 21st century, hairless, with a whimper and not a bang.
The battle continues to this day and I have long since regrown most of the missing hair she removed that night. I did manage one act of defiance in an attempt to regain possession of my testicles. I grew a mustache and beard just to mess with her. The daily inspections continue and I guess I’ve adjusted to them as best I can. Her inspection routine was recently updated and now includes the beard and mustache, so I guess I really haven’t made much headway in the hair wars after all.
And neither is this.
I was shopping recently and observed a rather lovely young lady with three times as much hair on her arms and legs as I have. She was also showing some little dark puffs peeking out from her armpits. Maybe I’ll finally be safe if the current trends are shifting back to the 1800’s. Then my better-half will be buying me gallons and gallons of Rogaine to spread all over my long and beautiful body. I can’t wait.
I think it’s time for a serious rant about this wonderful but addictive society we’re all members of. For years we’ve been slowly retrained to believe that every bad thing we do isn’t our fault. It’s the fault of our parents, our teachers, our bad friends, and last but not least, because of our genetic predisposition for addiction. What it’s finally come down to in this country is the fact that we are not permitted to like anything too much.
When I was growing up we had addictions but in my opinion they were the real deal, drugs and alcohol. It wasn’t until the liberals and courts opened Pandora’s Box and decided that those addictions were really just serious medical conditions. That’s when our real problems began. Those terrible addictions were first declared a sickness, then an excuse for a disability check, and now it’s become the rationale for every bit of bad behavior you can think of. If you like candy too much, you’re addicted to candy. If you like scratching your ass, you’re labeled an addictive ass scratcher. It’s the current trend to label any activity someone likes a little too much as an addiction.
It’s not our fault that we drink too much, take illicit drugs, steal, murder, rape, and assault our children. We can’t help it, it’s a medical issue. We should never be prosecuted or jailed for our bad behavior, just cut us a government disability check because we’re addicted. We’ve become a society that just can’t or won’t deal with personal responsibility.
Government and courts are as responsible as anyone for this. You can commit heinous crimes against society but before you can be convicted you’re required to meet with lawyers, therapists, counselors, priests, nuns, and every once in a while an actual member of law enforcement. You can meet with law enforcement but the Miranda ruling forbids you from talking to them without an attorney present.
The nanny state has made it impossible to deter crime by consistently attempting to remove all of the tools available to law enforcement. If the liberals have their way they would abolish the death penalty and take away all rights from the citizenry to own and carry weapons for their own protection. That will put us all at the mercy of the criminal element who will be armed and dangerous and preying on us at will.
I could easily list three hundred addictions currently available for people to help them escape responsibility. I won’t list them all because most right-thinking people already know how big the list is and what’s on it.
I’ve had my own set of terribly dangerous addictions that I’m forced to deal with everyday. I love eating good food, drinking good wine, watching beautiful women, playing video games, and many others. I’m sure it won’t be long before I’ll also be able to collect a big fat disability check for these terrible addictions.
Maybe under the Biden Administration I can find the help that I obviously need. Maybe I should just turn myself in to the authorities before I’m forced by my medical conditions to commit a crime of some sort. Then I’ll be eligible for free therapy sessions (court-mandated) that will cost the taxpayers thousands of dollars. I’ll get a free court appointed attorney who’ll take me by the hand and lead me to the promised land of free money, free food, and freedom from prosecution due to my medical difficulties. Isn’t America wonderful? Land of the free, not hardly, and home of the brave, not hardly. The only bravery I see these days is from those citizens who’ve volunteered to serve their country by wearing the uniform of our military.
It’s the dream of every American to own their own home. Owning a home has always been an important symbol of a person’s independence and financial stability. In these somewhat precarious times home ownership has become something much different. It’s a new pandemic economy.
That being said it’s still better to own a home than to rent. I’ve owned a number of homes over the years and not only were they a financial plus, I just really enjoyed maintaining them and improving them. I’ve always taken a lot of pride in any home that I’ve owned and that’s why I’m so particular about what I allow on my property.
I’ve had good neighbors, bad neighbors, and neighbors who I’ve desperately tried to forget. My father always told me that “good fences make for good neighbors”, and it’s still true to this day. I’m a firm believer in maintaining minimal contact with neighbors except in cases of emergency where they may need help or assistance. I’m a big proponent of the Neighborhood Watch concept which accomplishes important tasks for the protection of the neighborhood and its children. It’s only when you begin to socialize with your neighbors that trouble is sure to begin. Being my neighbor doesn’t make you my best friend, only an accidental acquaintance brought about by my purchase of my home.
So with some humor and a little seriousness here’s my list of ten things I never want to find in my yard. This list has been compiled over the years and includes information about past and present neighbors.
Phony and disturbing faux-sculptures made by neighbors from a collection of junk.
There’s nothing like waking up every morning to a large pile of lamely connected garbage which has been anointed as “fine art” by my neighbor. Where’s that stick of dynamite when you need it?
Dogs and their ever-present droppings.
What’s better than taking a walk around your yard after a summer rain and stepping into a pile deposited by the neighbors dog. Don’t you just love the smell of “dog shit” in the morning.
Tire tracks.
Finding these early on Sunday mornings mean empty beer cans somewhere nearby.
Salesman and their line of BS.
Invest in a mean and nasty dog or a really fine looking “NO SOLICITING SIGN“.
Jehovah’s Witnesses, your attitude and literature.
This is a particular favorite of mine. I love inviting them in for some bad language and inappropriate stories.
Mother Nature’s Little Friends.
Feeding birds and squirrels are one thing but all of the deer, skunks, and other garden eating critters place their lives at risk by entering my garden.
Nosey neighbors and their endless curiosity.
This is when a fence would come in handy.
Mailbox crushing snow plows.
This has cost me four mailboxes in six years and the town takes no responsibility. This is called “Government doing it to the people”.
In-laws and other unfriendly family members.
Keep the bed hard, the food bad, and always be short of beer and liquor.
Outlaws and other criminal types.
Buy a gun or two and lots of ammo. Once you enter my home uninvited it becomes what us former military men call “a free fire zone”. Don’t even think about it.
* * *
I’ve had a menagerie of neighbors over the years and could tell you stories you wouldn’t believe. I’ve had some I’ve liked, some I have loved (literally and figuratively), some that I’ve hated, and many others I’ve never gotten to know at all. Overall I was always considered by most of them to be a better-than-average neighbor.
Have you ever had a nickname? Is it a nice nickname or was it a name given to you by others that was mean and nasty like Ass-Wipe, Shit-for-Brains, or Dick-Face. For some reason I was never cool enough to have a nice nickname, I was always just plain John or worse. I’ve been called just about everything at one time or another but I never could get that cool nickname like the other kids always seem to have.
I had a friend whose nickname was Chiseled-Chin and he was really proud of that name claiming it to be a complement to his genetic heritage. His whole damn family had chin’s you can hang your hat on. I guess that tells me your nickname is what you make of it. Although, if you’ve got a really nasty one (Doggy Breath, Jeannie Jaws, No-Tits) it’s damn near impossible to turn it into something positive.
Even celebrities have nicknames and we seem to buy into them immediately without question. All Sean Combs needs to do to get a new nickname is to call a press conference and proclaim it to the world, “From this day forward I’m going to be called Puff Daddy”, and then a few months later it’s P-Diddy, and God knows what his next reincarnation will bring.
Really famous Hollywood types change their names to whatever the hell they please because their actual names just doesn’t look good “up in lights”. **AND STARRING TONIGHT **, Cheryl Sarkisian and Paul Rubenfeld. That’s actually Cher and Pee Wee Herman.
Richard Nixon was Tricky-Dicky and Terry Gene Bollette is Hulk Hogan. Would you buy a rap album from someone named Earl Simmons or do you throw your money at some badass guy named DMX. Would you get excited watching Frances Grumm dancing and singing her way down the yellow brick road to meet the wizard? Not likely.
I have to admit I’ve given out my share of nicknames to people, some good and some bad. The good ones can be flattering and I use them for many of the women I’ve dated, loved, and married. Beautiful, Sexy, Slim, or Gorgeous. The bad ones were mainly for people I disliked or those who had already tagged me with some sort of insulting nickname. Fair is fair after all. I’m offering all of you who’ve never had a real nickname to visit this website: namegeneratorfun.com. You enter your name and sex and it will create a list of potential nicknames that you can choose from. My final list of possible nicknames was Square Jaw, Johnski, Spanky, and Johnzy. I think I’ll choose SPANKY because it has such multiple interesting meanings. It’s like the program knows me personally or heard about me from someone else, it’s freaking amazing. (Sarcasm off)
So this is Spanky signing off for today. I hope each of you can find that perfect nickname to make your life complete.
SINCE KEVORKIAN PASSED AWAY, DR. DEATH IS UP FOR GRABS
As most of you are aware I am a lover of all things trivial and historical. I love all history but especially my own. Now it’s time for me to take you on a little trip down memory lane back to 1960. I’m going to introduce you to someone in my life who left me with vivid memories of school and a few emotional and geographical scars.
The lady in question was my eighth grade geography teacher. She was obsessed with geography to a fault. She was one of the meanest teachers I’ve ever had but also absolutely unforgettable (and not in a good way). On the first day of classes she told our group that half of our grade for the entire year would be based on our ability to memorize all the countries of the United Nations in alphabetical order and to recite it in front of the class. We spent many a day standing in front of the classroom and reciting as best we could as many of the countries as possible. Did I learn the countries, you bet I did, and at that time there were 82 of them.
All of us students agreed that she was an absolute lunatic and that was never disproven. She passed away many years ago and I actually sat in a bar that night with a close friend, another of her students, and toasted the old girl with a few stiff drinks. I didn’t attend her funeral but I was tempted to because I wanted to make sure she was really gone. This post is a something of a memorial and tribute to miss Mabel Milldollar, one of the most unforgettable persons I’ve ever met. This list of trivia items would have been something she would have loved but only if she could have used the information to create one of her memorable pop quizzes. They were brutal. Let’s get this started….
The part of the United States that the sun shines on first is the top of Mount Cadillac in Maine.
The state of Hawaii is composed of 132 Islands.
25% of the State of California is made up of deserts.
The southernmost tip of Africa is the Cape of Agulhas.
The northernmost point in the United States is the city of Point Barrow, Alaska.
The city of Timbuktu is located in Mali in Western Africa.
The Sahara desert in North Africa has an area of 3,250,000 square miles.
Western South Dakota marks the geographical center of the United States since the addition of Hawaii and Alaska.
Piccadilly Circus in London got its name from collars, called picadillo’s, that were made by a tailor name Robert Baker who created them in the area.
The highest uninterrupted waterfall in the world is Angel Falls in Venezuela. It has a 3212 foot drop.
The lowest point of dry land on the earth is the shore of the Dead Sea, between Jordan and Israel, which is approximately 1300 feet below sea level.
I hope you’re smiling up at me Miss Milldollar because you couldn’t possibly be looking down on me. Your evil brainwashing techniques would have certainly qualified you for special duty at Club Gitmo. No terrorist in the world could have stood up to that “evil eye” you were famous for. I hope you’re sitting in the corner of wherever you happen to be with a pointy dunce cap on your head and having your hand smacked with a big ass ruler.
In the past I’ve written a few things on cursing and swearing. As I’ve often said, “proper cursing is a true art form”, but not really properly acknowledged or appreciated by the mainstream academics. It is the cherry on top of the English language sundae. Everyone knows that a sundae is so much tastier with the addition of a bright red cherry on top. That’s how I see cursing.
A few weeks ago as my better-half and I were spending some quality time at Walmart, I spotted two young gentlemen in their early teens in the Book Department. Young man #1 reached over and grabbed the book from young man #2, and stated “give me that focking book”(the actual word has been purposely misspelled to protect what few innocent ears are left). Young man #2 not to be outdone immediately replied, “it’s my book you focking asshole”. They argued back and forth for a while, dropped the book on the bench, and sped off to find their parents.
I started cursing and f-bombing at a young age too because that was how people in my neighborhood and family spoke. I came by cursing honestly and made a point of refining it as best I could. I’ve always been an overachiever and this was just another challenge to overcome. Listening to those two kids tells me that f-bombing and cursing is alive and well in focking Maine.
I’ve always found the word “fock” an amazing and versatile tool. It can be used as either a verb, adverb, adjective, imperative, interjection, or a noun.
“I got focked by a scam artist”, “My computer is focked.”, “You’re a fock or a focker”. A fock may be an act of sex or just a person who is an ass. The verb, to fock, may be used transitively or intransitive. It can be compounded as “Fock off“, “Fock you“, “Fock up“, and “Don’t fock with me”. A phrase such as “Don’t give a fock.”, makes the word an equivalent of damn. If something is very abnormal or annoying, “This is focked up.” may be used.
I think the word fock should be adopted by all Americans and used in the same fashion as aloha and shalom are used in Hawaii and Israel. It can mean just about anything we want and we should make it our official greeting and our official farewell. When foreign dignitaries and tourists arrive on our shores we should give them a peck on the cheek and a big “Fock you and welcome to America”. When they leave give them a pat on the ass and tell him to “Get the fockout”. They all think we’re a bunch of mouth-breathers anyway, so what’s the harm.
Being the ultimate diplomat was never my intent but I’m willing to step up and do what needs to be done. I’ll be more than happy to testify before any focking Congressional committees and attempt to convince them as focking Americans we need this immediately. Maybe they’ll focking listen but I don’t hold much hope for that. I’d probably just be wasting my focking breath.
I hear people talking all the time about how a certain song takes them back. I’ve had that experience on many occasions myself and it’s enjoyable and comforting for just an instant. Music can be a trigger to the past for some but I find that my sense of smell works better for me. A certain smell can capture me and move me to a different time and place. It can be so vivid to a specific incident that I can close my eyes and see the exact spot, smell the exact smells, and see the people who were there. It’s an amazing transition and it usually happens when I least expect it.
If I pick up a baseball glove in Walmart, the smell of the leather sends me back in 1955 as I was driving with my father to my first Little League practice. Interestingly enough Elvis Pressley was singing Heartbreak Hotel on the radio at the time.
Over the years I’ve frequently spent time on shooting ranges to stay proficient with my pistol. On certain wet and rainy days coupled with the smell of gunpowder, takes me immediately back to the summer of 1968 and my time in the Korean DMZ for the Army. I still break out in a cold sweat because it seems so damn real.
There’s one other memory I’d like to recall but I do so cautiously. My father was something of a farting professional. He enjoyed nothing better than to take me food shopping with him which was always a bit embarrassing for me. He was a phantom farter who would leave SBD’s in an aisle and then walk to an adjacent aisle to enjoy the reactions. I can’t tell you on how many occasions I was blamed for being the culprit as he hid laughing hilariously nearby. Still after all these years if I smell a fart in any food store I automatically think of my Dad.
How about the smell of Jean Nate. My first real tongue-on-tongue kiss was done to the smell of Jean Nate. It was 1961 and we were at the Friday night dance at St. Ladislaus Church. We kissed briefly in the alley behind the church and believe me it was memorable. Unfortunately for me my mother came to love Jean Nate a year of so later which created a lot of confusion for me. That smell still takes me back to that alley for that incredible kiss but I keep thinking my mother’s sneaking around somewhere and will unexpectedly show up. It’s a little disconcerting and a major distraction to a wonderful memory. By the way Kathy G., it still remains a wonderful kiss.
So for those of you who are moved by music, and those of us who are moved by smell, we’re the lucky ones. I fear there are many people out there who aren’t moved by much of anything. Links to their past are either too painful to relive and they’ve blocked them or they just don’t care at all.
One of my favorite things is examining the human condition since we’re all filled with dozens of phobias and fears that have been deeply ingrained from childhood. Most human beings have a few things that scare the bejesus out of them but they hesitate to speak of them. Most people are somewhat embarrassed by their fears and don’t understand why they have them at all. Many times they haven’t a clue as to what created the fears in the first place and just don’t want to look for those answers. I’m not about to try and explain the reasons but I would like to look at the fears themselves.
The following is a sample list of ten fears. Most people have a few fears in common but each persons list is specific to that individual. Read the items closely and you can almost picture in your mind what this fictional list maker looks like and how they’d probably act. To me this list brings to mind the person in high school who had no social skills, no close friends, and always dressed in black. A person afraid of everyone and everything.
I guess it’s time for me to put up or shut up. Here are my two lists. One is for my early life and the second from my so-called Golden Years. The differences are blatantly obvious.
So there it is. Baring my soul for all to see with almost no fear of embarrassment. My early list changed dramatically as I aged from fears of how to live, to the later list of fears about death and dying. Is it depressing? For me it is but so what. Every person ever born on this planet has had the same fears as they grew older. They all handled it, sometimes well and sometimes not, and so will I. And so will you.
I always remember this quote from Socrates, “the unexamined life is not worth living.” Spend a few minutes and make your own lists.
everyuselessthing.com 