Posts Tagged ‘political correctness’

Trouble in Brooklyn, A One-Act Play

Friday, December 12th, 2008

Scene I. Saturday. Kerryman’s Tavern.

[Inside a seedy Irish Bar, two rough and tumble Irishmen, Declan and Mark, sit at the bar discussin' their disdain for the situation in Brooklyn with Mark’s son Paddy.]

Mark: I don’t like what’s goin’ on with the Big Wop. My son was suppose ta get a bigger piece of the action in Brooklyn.

Declan: Problem is, it’s all blood with them Italians. Giuseppe’s son is runnin’ Brooklyn and there’s no way to get through to Sonny about Paddy. He don’t listen to Paddy. He won’t listen to us.

Mark: Then we’ll see Don Giuseppe himself. We’ll tell him that Paddy will leave the Organization if he can’t get a bigger piece. We’ll give him a list of demands.

Bartender: You guys better watch your asses. Giuseppe doesn’t take kindly to outsiders telling him how to run his organization.You might wind up with that list shoved right up your kiesters while you take a proverbial celestial dirt nap.

Declan: The Big Wop isn’t so big anymore. He’s been in the hospital. He’s had surgery. His people are never happy with him. This must be the right time, before the Festival of St. Anthony. He’ll have lots of shit on his mind. He needs Paddy. He’ll recognize the folly of his ways. We’ll arrange a meeting. We’ll give him our list. We’ll threaten him that Paddy will leave the organization.

[The bartender crosses himself.]

Scene II. Monday. Don Giuseppe’s office in Brooklyn.

[Guiseppe sits at the huge, intimidating desk with Lieutenant Guido at his side. Declan, Mark, and Paddy are patted down by a couple of large men in silk suits, as they enter the office.]

Don Giuseppe: Guido, fix my guests a drink. There’s some Old Bushmill’s over there. I had it flown in from Ireland. Then please leave and close the door behind you.

Giuseppe [to the Irishmen]: Please sit down. Why do you come to see the Godfather?

Mark: It is about my son Paddy, Godfather. He works for Sonny. When he joined the organization, he was promised a major piece of Brooklyn. But Sonny chose the black guy. Now, Paddy must sit and wait. I’ve brought with me a list of issues we have with Sonny.

[Mark presents list to Don Giuseppe.]

Giuseppe: This is my son you speak of. You have issues with my son that cannot be addressed between him and Paddy, so the three of you come to my office. We talk about business here. Family is off the table. Your list means nothing. What do you have to say for yourself, Paddy?

Paddy: I was a star in my neighborhood. I came here to make the big time. I’m not gettin’ anywhere, Godfather. I want more of Brooklyn.

Giuseppe: My guests, the ways of this organization are time honored and immutable. You Micks know what immutable means? I didn’t t’ink so. It means things work the way they do, and you don’t question them. You know how many neighborhood stars we get here? They’re a dime a dozen. Nobody becomes a made man on prior reputation. Paddy will get his share of Brooklyn when he earns it.

Paddy: That’s not what I was hopin’ for. If you don’t fix it, I’ll leave.

Giuseppe: My young Irish friend, no one man is bigger than the organization. What I am saying is that they ain’t no “I” in “team.” Capisce? I now will make you an offer you cannot refuse. Listen to me carefully. If you work with Sonny and make him happy, it is possible that you could have a bigger piece of Brooklyn by 2010. In the meanwhile, you must do as you are told.

Paddy: Then I must leave the organization. I can’t wait that long.

Giuseppe: That is your decision to make. Once you leave, there is no return. Tell me, Paddy, do you wish to stay to participate in St. Anthony’s Festival? It is the biggest event of the year.

Paddy: [Looking at Mark] I’ll think about it and let you know.

Giuseppe: Then it is done. What you have learned in this organization must never leave. The principle of omerta applies. Do not divulge what you know or the consequences to you and your family will be severe.

[Enter Guido]

Giuseppe: Let everybody know that Paddy will be leaving the organization and that we wish him well. Show these people the door.

Guido: Si, Godfather!

[Guido and the three Irishmen leave. Don Giuseppe gets on the phone with wife Susanna.]

Giuseppe: The needs of business delay me, mi amore. I shall attend to them and return shortly. Please have Sonny call me.

[Later, phone rings.]

Giuseppi: My son, we have a problem. The little Mick is getting too big for his pants. He wants to leave the organization. But he knows too much. On Wednesday, you will handle this for me.

Sonny [on phone]: Yes, Godfather. I will handle it.

Giuseppi: There is one thing, my son. There is a list. It is a list of issues brought by the Irishmen. I will give it to you. Do what you must do to send a message to discourage this kind of thing.

[Hangs up.]

Scene III. Wednesday. A parking lot in Brooklyn.

Jay (I mean Sonny): Paddy, have you decided whether you wish to participate in the Festival of St. Anthony?

Paddy: I’m thinkin’ about it.

Sonny: The Godfather wishes your decision now.

Paddy: I said, I’m thinkin’ about it.

[Sonny opens the back door of a large, black Town Car limo and two big goons get out. Each grabs one of Paddy’s arms. Sonny proceeds to rip off Paddy’s pants and insert the rolled up list of issues rectally.]

Sonny [pushing Paddy into the back of the limo]: I have a message from my father. He says, “Enjoy your last ride.”

The rest is silence.

[Exeunt]

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Back Home in Native-Americanana

Wednesday, November 12th, 2008

Let’s be politically correct, shall we? There is no way we can keep on using the I-word in a state name. No, man. Not in this day and age. It is horrible hate speech, shamefully directed at the dusky skinned, colorfully named billionaires who own all those casinos. Pure wealth envy. This Turkey will not stand for it. Henceforth, we shall refer to the state located between Ohio and Illinois as Native-Americanana. I know you’ll be happy about that.

You see, the #8 Penn State Nittany Lions (9-1, 5-1 Big Ten) will host the Native-Americanana Hoosiers (3-7, 1-5 Big Ten) on Saturday at high noon. Many Lions fans wonder why this game should be played. They’re pissed off over the Iowa loss and they’re bored with the prospect of playing a vastly inferior opponent. Of course, these are the same people who looked past the Hawkeyes all the way to Miami on January 8.

Beware the ‘Eye games. That’s Buckeye, Hawkeye, and Eye-word. OK, that’s a stretch, but I’m in a silly-ass mood again. You see what that brought us when I wrote the Iowa preview in semi-Ebonic mode. So I guess I’ll shitcan the frivolity. Or not.

I really don’t want to write about Ind—oops, I mean Native-Americanana. Let my ennui provide something constructive, in any case. Do you know what a Hoosier is? I didn’t think so. Well, here’s something I shamelessly stole about the origin of the word.

The origins of Hoosier are rather obscure, but the most likely possibility is that the term is an alteration of hoozer, an English dialect word recorded in Cumberland, a former county of northwest England, in the late 19th century and used to refer to anything unusually large. The transition between hoozer and Hoosier is not clear. The first recorded instance of Hoosier meaning “[Native-Americanana] resident” is dated 1826; however, it seems possible that senses of the word recorded later in the Dictionary of Americanisms, including “a big, burly, uncouth specimen or individual; a frontiersman, countryman, rustic,” reflect the kind of use this word had before it settled down in [there's that I-word again]. As a nickname, Hoosier was but one of a variety of disparaging terms arising in the early 19th century for the inhabitants of particular states. For example, Texans were called Beetheads, Alabamans were Lizards, Nebraskans were Bug-eaters, South Carolinians were Weasels, and Pennsylvanians were Leatherheads. People in Missouri might have had it worst of all—they were called Pukes. Originally, these names were probably taken up by people living in neighboring states, but belittled residents adopted them in a spirit of defiant pride, much as American colonists turned the derisive term Yankee into a moniker for their spirit of rebellion. Today, most of these frontier nicknames have disappeared from the landscape. A few like Okie still exist with much of their original animus. Others survive as nicknames for the sports teams of state universities—the North Carolina Tarheels, the Ohio [State] Buckeyes, and so on—fighting words only on the playing field or court.

How’s that for filler material? The PSU Leatherheads will be playing the big, burly, uncouth Hoosiers during this purported bye week. Good thing we won’t be seeing the Pukes.

I used that as a spacer so it wouldn’t look like I was too lazy to write about the game. Frankly, I’m bored with this game and don’t really want to write about it. How many times must I say that before you believe me? I’d rather be planning our hiking excursion tomorrow. The team and its coaches better not be feeling similar apathy and detachment.

The foregoing bit of snottiness leads us to the half-hearted Official Turkey Poop Prediction for the week. I really screwed up last week, predicting a big, 31-7 win over Iowa. This week is accordingly problematical. The Nitty Kitties could come out completely flat, passionless, and apathetic, or they could come out frustrated, angry, and ready to kick ass. It’s anyone’s guess. The gambling line is a bit ridiculous, with Penn State favored by 37 and an over/under of 57. This suggests a 47-10 outcome. You know what’s coming. Let’s not overthink this—I have to charge up my GPS batteries and get the bug spray out. Leatherheads 47, Hoosiers 10.

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I Didn’t Get Your Kwanzaa Card Yet!

Sunday, December 16th, 2007

It’s the Turkey’s favorite time of the year, a time during which the rum-laced eggnog flows free, healthy, young trees are chopped down for symbolic decoration, materialism abounds, and thanks to the idiotic political correctness movement, people are maximally confused about how they should greet each other to convey the best of the season. We also have the invented me-too, in yo’ face pseudo-holidays such as Kwanzaa. Yes, dear readers: It is the time for Christmas psychosis.

Somehow, in the 231 years since the founding fathers of our great country declared and fought for independence from the Limey mother ship, one of the primary guarantees they sought has been misinterpreted or just plain perverted by the PC gang. Our founding fathers, devout Christians themselves, sought freedom of religion through constitutional guarantees in the new nation. In the past 30 years or so — the heyday of the PC sanitization movement — revisionists including those who set curricula for our public schools and even universities have misstated the founding fathers’ goals as freedom from religion instead of freedom of religion. Yes, that’s right, folks. Our founding fathers did not wish to suppress the public practice of religion or quash religion completely. Quite the contrary. They wanted — demanded — the freedom to practice their religion.

I really don’t give a damn about the ACLU and its self-serving agenda. That’s yet another passe organization whose useful life was exhausted in the 1970s. But I digress.

It is ridiculous to deny that Christmas is the reason for trees, office parties, gift giving, school vacations, and greeting cards at this time every year. A couple of years ago, I wrote about the lame-brained politically correct movement gravitating us toward saying “Happy Holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas”. The PC hangers-on went way too far with that one, creating resentment and outrage instead of furthering their homogenization aims. Fortunately, this Turkey has observed somewhat of a rebound effect this year. More people are saying Merry Christmas; fewer are walking on eggs uttering a feeble Happy Holidays. Let us hope for the sake of the future that this trend continues.

When did we become a nation of inconsequential splinter groups trying to become consequential? Why do we have to pander to every religion, pseudo-religion, race, creed, former nationality, future nationality, and physical deformity? Why do we have to treat people as if they were the way we want them to be instead of the way they are? Why do we go along with this nonsense instead of chopping the legs out from under these whining, subversive, inimical individuals and organizations that have become far too powerful and pervasive in their quest for whitewashing (excuse the expression) our society? When did it become so offensive to greet people pleasantly with a sincere Merry Christmas? The political correctness movement responsible for this is empowered by our ennui; they have only become relevant because we’ve let them.

This Turkey is Jewish. Hanukkah is a relatively minor holiday whose status was elevated primarily in this country in an attempt to give it equal footing with Christmas. This is stupid, although I admire the capitalistic spirit of the greeting card companies. I light candles and say Happy Hanukkah to fellow Jews, but I have no trouble differentiating our little holiday from Christmas. I do not regard it as the “consolation winter holiday” for Jews who do not celebrate Christmas. Furthermore, I am not offended in the slightest if someone wishes me a Merry Christmas. I do not correct them; there is no need for that. I sincerely wish them a Merry Christmas in return. This does not make me any less a Jew. I do not wish to be offended by proxy, either. For some non-Jew to be offended “for me” when someone “inconsiderately” wishes me a Merry Christmas is ludicrous. You want to become a Jew? Convert. We don’t push for it and we don’t make it easy, but there are ways. If you’d rather just speak for me, then shut your mouth. I don’t need or want you representation, especially if your initials are A.C.L.U.

Last, but certainly least on the list of Christmas sub-psychoses, there’s Kwanzaa. This contrived non-holiday was concocted in 1967 so that the oppressed so-called African-American minority, most of them gladly far removed from and blithely unconcerned about the Dark Continent, would have something to celebrate as an alternative to Christmas, the annual winter celebration of the prevailing culture. (Oops. At that time the accepted euphemism was “Afro-American,” but I digress once again.) Kwanzaa, taken from the Swahili word “kwanza” but with an extra “a” added just for the hell of it, was a blatant “protest holiday” back in the era of the civil rights movement; however, it is now passe, except perhaps in the greeting card industry. Why do we need it? Instead of finding ways to differentiate components of our multi-cultural society, we should be seeking ways to bring them together. The divisive protests of the civil rights era were aimed at achieving equality among the races. We’ve come a long way since then, but the alphabet soup organizations such as the aforementioned ACLU and the NAACP would prefer to heed the call of the past and drive the wedge deeper. Besides, Kwanzaa never really caught on.

Perhaps we should invent yet another pseudo-holiday and call it Bonzaa, in honor of the self-serving morons who brought us to where we are with this thing. (That’s taken from the Turkese word “bonzo,” with the “o” replaced by “aa” just for the hell of it.) Everybody could dance around a giant statue of Hillary Clinton or something.

Does Christmas offend Buddhists? I doubt it. Does it offend Muslims? Yeah, probably, but the mere existence of Christians, Jews, and other assorted “infidels” inflames many Muslims. So, what they think is unimportant to me. Religion of peace, my ass.

I’ll eat great quantities of Christmas cookies, I’ll give people Christmas presents as I see fit, and I’ll conclude this excoriation by wishing you all a very Merry Christmas.

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Silly Little Fairy!

Thursday, June 15th, 2006

The title of this post is a line that is—or was—in a Dodge Caliber commercial that has been hitting the airwaves for a couple of months. Apparently, the tiny but vocal “gay lobby” and their much more extensive knee-jerk contingent once again have been offended by “hateful words,” prompting at least one network to air a censored version of the commercial with the spoken line “silly little fairy” chopped out of it. While on the surface it might appear that they have a point, in context this phrase is innocuous. Let me describe the uncut commercial first, after which I’ll add some bombast about how it was chopped, why it was chopped, and how I feel about the butchery.

(more…)

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