I’m gonna do it anyway. Being as I’m just a West Virginia boy, and mostly barefoot, and don’t have much sense, a lot of folk say, maybe I shouldn’t be explaining the world. But the world don’t make even as much sense as I do, so guess I’ll stick my fork in.
Sometimes I go up the holler here to see my old school teacher, whose name is Entropy McWilliams, and we look at stuff on his internet. For a while it’s been mostly about people with their innards in a uproar in Minneapolis, which I think is in either California or Alaska.
It’s hard to figure. We saw all these people busting up store windows because they want Social Justice, which I guess they keep in stores in Minneapolis. If they did that here they could find social justice real fast. It’s what a rope is for. But they was whooping and hollering like it was the Reverend McBilly Osfeiser’s Last Best Jesus Revival and Donut Social that comes every year to get Granny’s Social Security. Anyway, the people busting store windows say that ruining stores will help black folks who live there. Well, maybe, but I figure noddy but a damn fool is going to bring back a store to get looted again. So where’s the black folks going to buy stuff? Everybody that’s got money or the brains that god give a retard possum is going to go somewhere else to live. And then these dim lights want to get rid of the po-lice, so thieving rascals can look easier in stores for that social justice. It looks to me like they can’t tell the difference between social justice and a TV set.
I reckon about one feller with a twelve gauge could cure the whole mess in five minutes or ten rounds, whichever ran out first, but can’t nobody understand flatlanders.
Next I found this mush-headed sounding woman, or sort of woman, you can’t tell these days, with one of them double-barrel names, I think it was Ophelia Lagrangian-Peritonitis or something. Anyway, she was squalling about Cultural Appropriation. I get nervous around big words like that, but Mr. McWilliams explained it to me. It sounds better, he said, than appropriating a TV set out of somebody else’s store. Still, it makes as much sense as lug nuts on a birthday cake.
It means if it’s Halloween and you go as a red injun, maybe with a tomahawk and some plastic scalps from the Dollar Store, you hate injuns and want to rob them and stomp them down and I don’t know what all. How much sense does that make? I bet if you went as Bugs Bunny, some goddam rabbit lobby would sue, probably with Ms. Lagrangian-Peritonitis honking on about it. You can’t do anything that any other kind of people has done before without you have to listen to these scoundrels.
If some people can’t go as Bugs Bunny, then nobody can’t go as anything. Fair is fair. So if you little sister goes as Aunt Jemima that makes pancakes, the BLM bandits will try to lynch her.
I reckon black folks ought to be a little quieter. Since they didn’t invent writing, or reading, or ‘rithmetic or electricity or clothes or pretty much anything, then any time they use them things they’re doing Cultural Appropriation. It’s just common sense.
Of course, I guess a Chinaman could say whites do it too when they use paper and gunpowder, without the which we couldn’t have bombs and rockets and federal forms nine pages long that no one since Adam can figure out.
Now, what I think is, charging blacks and injuns and all for every white invention they use, one at a time would be a motimgator long job and use more paper than eating a McDonald’s hamburger. It could lead to enough of what that Wall Street newspaper calls crossed licensing, Mr. McWilliams said, and he knows everything, to keep a whole rat pack of lawyers in business forever instead of drowning them, that would be better. I mean, you could charge a nickel every time Lateesha or Deewan or Lasagna read a book, which might bring in twelve dollars a year, or used a Smith and Wesson, for whole boxcars of dollars. Probably the easy thing would be to rent the whole damn civilization with only one license, like driving a car.
I reckon we’d haul in enough money to buy enough rockets to blow up a thousand weddings and little children in Afghanistan and Eye-ran and maybe some kindergartner kids in Venezuela, wherever that is. Then they’d all have American values and love us.
But we got other news to gnaw on. I keep reading about this gal Rachel Tension and how she’s causing all kinds of bile along with Oprah. I don’t know about Rachel but Oprah’s gone all skinny on us and I reckon it makes her want to make more fuss about whatever she’s thinking about. Oprah used to be all porked up and looked like three hundred pounds of fatback with legs and if you’d had a oil well you wanted to shut down you could have used her for a plug. I hear there’s less Oprah now, though. Which is about how much I can use.
Anyhow, she’s running on these days about how white people is criminals and brutes and they need to get in touch with what they’re feeling, that might mean their girlfriend or I don’t know what, but she don’t like them. White people, I mean. Well, I guess. But I figure when she’s yowling into a microphone that probably Abraham Lincoln or Moses or somebody invented, it’s that Cultural Appropriation again and she owes money. I mean, without that microphone shed have to go back to smoke signals or drums.
Anyway, women are taking over everything, most of them crazy. Along with Rachel Tension and Oprah, we’ve got that Clinton woman that’s even older than Ann Coulter and probably sleeps all day in some cave, hanging by her toes, and Elizabeth Warren, that used to be a Injun but cured it with a shot of DNA. And now we’ve got Joe Biden, who ain’t nothing but a titless Hillary on days when he can remember who he is, and pretty much nothing at all the rest of the time. Which might be a good reason to vote for him. We’ve had a long string of Presidents who did know who they were, and it ain’t been real satisfactory.
Finally the world‘ s gone soft in the head, like Aunt Minnie that granddad used to keep in the attic. I just saw where Walt Disney, that I thought was dead but anyway, he’s going to make a movie about Peter Pan and he want’s Mike Tyson to be Tinker Belle. She´s kind of like a lightening bug in a little green dress and throws sparks everywhere. Now if I remember right, Tyson weighs about two-forty buck nekkid and holding a helium balloon so it’s hard to imagine him twinkling around in the air and flashing like a fifty cent flashlight with a loose switch, but I don’t know much about movies. Anyway there was this woman, I think her name was Lupita Marimacha or anyway some Meskin thing, that talked for Mr. Disney, that I thought was dead. She said these times are progressive, which I think means soft in the head, and we can’t be heteronormative or chromapejorative and we had to be gender fluid. I saw it in the newspaper or I couldn’t spell it. I wasn’t sure what kind of gender fluid she meant but I knew I didn’t want to think about it. I guess it means we´ll have to watch Mike Tyson flying around in some kind of girly clothes, which is all right on a girl but I worry about them on Mike, and maybe it worries him too.
Well, that’s about all the news I can stand in one day. I’m gonna get my girlfriend Jiffy Lube, that’s real name is Jennifer Imidazole Fergweiler but we call her Jiffy Lube because, well, she’s real friendly, and we’ll get a Mason jar of that busthead shine Uncle Hant makes back in the mountains and just lie on our back and watch the buzzards looking for something dead.
Write Fred at [email protected] . Put the letters pdq anywhere in the subject line so Google don’t disappear your letter.
Amazon review: “Essays on America, life, politics, and just about everything. The author chronicles among other adventures an aging stripper in Austin, dressed in a paper-mache horse, who had with her a cobra and a tarantula like a yak-hair pillow with legs and alternately charmed and terrified a room full of cowboys sucking down Bud and…. Fred was an apostle of the long-haul thumb during the Sixties and saw…many things. He tells of standing by the big roads across the desert, rockin in the wind blast of the heavy rigs roaring by and the whine of tires and dropping into an arroyo at night with a bottle of cheap red and watching the stars and perhaps smoking things not approved by the government. He tells of..well, that’s what the book is for. Join him.”