America Needs an Enema
Well, it's official. America is gay and it's only a matter of time before the big, aggressive manly countries just come up and give it to us like the sissified bitches that we are. We are so hyper-sensitive and pussified that we have no chance of survival in the world beyond another few decades, and our national vagina is so huge that we could stuff Jupiter into it and still have room for an import sedan and a handful of flightless birds. Seriously. It's over. America is done.
I realize you're probably wondering where the hell that came from - and that the weaker or fragile minded of you are probably offended, which really just proves my point, but whatever ... quick, run from words - but, for those who recognize a warning sign when you see one, check this nightmare out:
So my kid gets home from school the other day and tells me, "Dad, I got sent home with a warning today."
Me, I'm like, "WTF did you do this time, it's only the third day of school?" I confess that I was prejudging the situation; I'm a realistic parent and I'm pretty much always siding with the discipline of the school no matter how much I love my kids and hate to see them whine.
So he says, "It was my shirt. They said it's inappropriate."
So I'm all, "How so? What shirt did you wear?" I was looking at him, and he was wearing this lame Star Wars shirt with a picture of Boba Fett on it (that's the bounty hunter guy that really has almost no importance at all in the original series really and only marginal value in the newer ones). Obviously he'd changed out of the bad one, so I demanded to see what he'd worn that day.
Turns out he was still wearing the offending shirt.
"WTF do you mean that shirt is offensive?" I say in good, non-profane parenting because I would never drink or cuss in front of my kids because children are too weak and stupid to experience the reality of their world.
"The blaster is against the rules," he says to me.
"Yeah, the blaster is against the rules. It looks like a gun."
"What? It's a frickin' laser; he's shooting a goddamn laser. It's Star Wars for fuck's sake."
"Yeah. Still, they said I can't wear it."
Well, a fly flew into my mouth I left it open so long and I had to spit it out before I could say, "Serious?" in absolute incredulity.
"Yeah," he said.
So there I was thinking, "Oh my god, this school district... this country has no balls. We are like... we've turned into that lady at church who is still offended by the Wonder Bra because it lifts and separates and makes boobies more pronounced."
So, I was tempted to say something, or write something or... call someone... it was so stupid I could hardly breathe, but I figured, ok, it is technically a gun, and, well, we're not the kind of society that deals with issues head-on anymore, so, rather than deal with gangs and violence in reality, we'll have the nice timid kids not wear T-shirts with pictures of Boba Fett instead. That will surely cure gang violence. So, happy to see that our tax dollars are being put to good use and funding excellent ideas like this, I let it go.
Two days later I find out that my son has been given another warning for his inappropriate clothes.
"What?" I say. "Did you wear that gangsta Boba Fett shirt with the scary, threatening sci-fi blaster that hasn't been invented yet but that elicits violent psychology in anyone who views it again?"
"No," he says, "I didn't."
"Well, what now then?"
He goes and gets the shirt.
I want you to spend two minutes staring at this shirt and try to fathom the offensive element.
Did you figure it out?
Yeah you guessed it. The sword.
Ok, seriously, when was the last time a kid took over a school and killed people with a sword? When was the last time ANYONE killed anyone with a sword?
And which gang is it that is using swords now, anyway? The Bloods or the Crips? Or is it the Templars? I admit, I get them all confused, but apparently, one of them is running around the suburbs going all "Medieval" for real and these images are just too tempting for our youth to resist. And here I thought that was metaphoric language when old Samuel L. Jackson said it in Pulp Fiction, a commentary on mindset and fanaticism and cruelty, not actual weapons. I had no idea the whole fencing thing had come back round as a real issue again. Charlemagne and the Samurai masters would be so happy if they knew.
"Ok," I say, being the mature and dignified parent that I am, "Well, I guess Star Wars and Zelda are horribly corrupting stories and, despite that whole good versus evil thing they propagate, I'm sure the school district is right in assuming that heroic characters championing good and virtue are actually horrific examples that impart violent tendencies in weak-minded children who will immediately take up steak knives and threaten the very stability of our culture. Thank god your school is on guard against you!!! Don't wear those shirts anymore."
My son looks at me and only yawns once before asking if he can go.
So, that's fine. There can be no T-shirts in school that have weapons of any kind in them, even if they are fantasy weapons that don't exist or weapons that have been out of use for centuries, and regardless of the intention or nobility of the characters wielding them. Alright, I can accept that... I mean, it's really, really sad and speaks volumes about why we can't commit to winning wars that last longer than a week anymore, but hey, I get it: the Sixties were good and all that awesome drug-induced philosophy won in the end. I nod to the cultural victors and tell my kid, "Ok, well, don't wear that Star Wars T-shirt or the cartoon video game shirt anymore. You're scaring people with your violent nature and stuff. People are timid and frightened now and don't believe they are safe from cartoon dangers anymore."
So, ok, everything is fine. I get my son some Care Bear T-shirts and a skirt and send him off to school. ...
The next day I find out my other son has been given a warning for his offensive clothes now too.
Are you F-ing kidding me?
Alright, listen, we live in California.
When someone says, "California," what do you think of? Seriously, I want you to say the first five things you think of when you hear the word "California" out loud and Arnold Schwarzenegger doesn't count. Go! Do it!
There, you see: Hollywood and beaches. Surfing and, ok, probably San Francisco and the birthplace of gay marriage. Maybe good wine. But that's it.
That's what you thought. I'm right, and you know it. And BEACHES are like answer number two for Pete's sake.
Are you honestly going to tell me that a chick surfing is offensive? Are you freaking kidding me? In this day of fat-ass, super-sized pig people rolling out of McDonalds like jabba-the-hut passed out at the Kamikazi bar, this woman is offensive? I mean F-ing seriously... are we actually discouraging athletic images now? "No, no, do not embrace images of an active lifestyle, that would be unrealistic. Much better to work on accepting yourself for who you are with three Krispy Kreams jammed in your hole than valuing an image of movement and outdoor activity."
Oh ..... My ............. God.
Seriously, America just needs to drop a fucking nuke on itself. Just, just send the planes up, drop bombs on all the major cities and end it. We are done. We are too lame to go on. When a nation becomes this pussified it's time to start over. A clean slate. Let the Chinese or the Iranians or someone come over, take the vacant land and just give the whole thing a fresh start. Let them have it. We've clearly failed.
No creature in the natural world could survive with our attitude... I mean... seriously... imagine the principal at a lion school in the Serengeti telling the baby lions, "Ok guys, listen up now, listen up... you need to stop with all the growling and baring of teeth, it's... Simba, Simba, stop, be quiet, look at me... look at me, eyes forward... ok, so listen, everyone come over to this rock over here and grind off the points of your teeth. Yeah, that's it, grind them off. Your sharp teeth are offensive to the gazelle. Yeah, that's right, good job. Now you're totally lame and unthreatening."
I mean, my god. So, anyway... I am so pissed off. I'm writing a letter to Obama to drop the nukes. He's not a big nukes fan, but I'm pretty sure I can convince him anyway; I write pretty good. Plus, he's young and thinks outside of the box, always looking for a new solution. I'm just going to make the argument that a society this weak, this emotionally fragile, this easily offended is too pathetic to carry on; it deserves to die. It should die. Nature would wipe weakness of this magnitude out in an instant (and still might at that). It's pathetic, it's embarrassing and, frankly, it explains why this nation is in the mess it's in. Grow some balls, America. For god's sake, what ever happened to "sticks and stones could break my bones, but names will never hurt me?" Now we're like, "Sticks and stones can break my bones but names and Boba Fett T-shirts and pretty girls in bikinis can cause me so much stress and threaten me and, ohh, someone might complain and, wow, that could be uncomfortable so, yeah, I'm going to cry and whine and be offended and go hide from the world because in fairytale land nobody ever feels bad." God. This country needs an enema.
It's much better for everyone to feel happy and pretend that everyone else matters and is contributing to their fullest ability than it is to hold people accountable for what they really do. Enforce the T-shirts and ignore the lack of effort going in to fixing the real problem. Good call, America. Way to doom yourselves. I hope you like Chinese food and surfer chicks in burkhas.
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