With Eloquence: Booker T. Washington

Remember when we as a people wrote and spoke with informed eloquence?

Yeah, me neither…

But I was reminded such a fairy-tale time did, in fact, exist when watching former senator and Secretary of Defense William Cohen introduce retire Marine Corps General James “Mad Dog” Mattis to the Senate Armed Services Committee prior to its hearing regarding the general’s selection to be President-elect Trump’s Secretary of Defense. At the end of his introduction, which was eloquent in its own right, Cohen quoted from the famous 1884 Memorial Day Address delivered by the renowned law scholar, author, and orator Supreme Court Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.

Continue reading “With Eloquence: Booker T. Washington”

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Putting the X back in Xmas

santa

Thanks be to X that Megyn Kelly got pissed off at Shutterfly or I never would have thought to merrily mention this:

Xmas is a common abbreviation of the word Christmas. It is sometimes pronounced /ˈɛksməs/, but Xmas, and variants such as Xtemass, originated as handwriting abbreviations for the typical pronunciation /ˈkrɪsməs/. The “X” comes from the Greek letter Chi, which is the first letter of the Greek word Χριστός, which in English is “Christ”. The “-mas” part is from the Latin-derived Old English word for Mass.

There is a common belief that the word Xmas stems from a secular attempt to remove the religious tradition from Christmas by taking the “Christ” out of “Christmas”, but its use dates back to the 16th century.

Ho ho ho ha HA HA!

Merry Xmas Happy Holidays*, y’all!


*See this.

I and Me Confusing You and Yours

Still confused about the whole “me” or “I” thing, I see.

Listen, just slapping “I” in every sentence where there is a need for a pronoun for you isn’t going to make you seem smarter, my friend.

It will make you seem just the opposite to those who know the rules…

So what is the rule when it comes to “me” versus “I” usage?

Grammatically speaking, when you are the subject of a sentence, use “I.” When you are the object of a sentence, use “me.”

Yeah, I know… so what that means for you and me in plain English/American:

Simply take out the other name(s), noun(s), or pronoun(s) listed in the sentence with you and use whichever pronoun for you (I or me) you would normally use in the same sentence without them.

For instance:

A copy was given to Rick, Steve, and (me/I).

Copy is the subject. The people are the objects.

Without Rick and Steve in the sentence we would easily know to say:

A copy was given to me.

So, the correct sentence would read:

A copy was given to Rick, Steve, and me.

Another example:

Betty, Jane, and (me/I) are going to the library.

The three people are the subjects.

Without Betty and Jane, we of course would say:

I am going to the library.

So, the correct sentence would read:

Betty, Jane, and I are going to the library.

Piece of cake, right?

Of course it is. But that means you’ll have think (to do the grammar math) first before you speak so that may continue to cause you/us some problems.

Anyway…

Follow this simple grammar hack and you and me will get along just fine, my friend.

;)

 
 

me

MY VIEW – A Women’s Issues Feature

When DotedOn submitted her essay My View to the Relating to Humans Women’s Issues feature, I could immediately feel its power and its truth, and the life lived as written, raw and exposed.

When submitted, DotedOn initially addressed it to me. I wrote to her soon after and asked if I could take out the address as I felt it may be distracting from the essay’s message. She wrote me back and, kindly, as she always is, said it was fine for me to make the edits and, since English is not her first language, she asked that I make any other edits that I felt may be necessary. I was pleased when she wrote this because there were, in fact, some grammar adjustments that I had wanted to make.

And, with haste, I made the adjustments.

However, after I read her essay with my edits, I found that something had happened. It seemed its power had somehow been diminished. I immediately restored the essay back to its original version, which, in turn, restored its power.

I spent the rest of the day reflecting on what had happened. The edits I made were almost insignificant, really; however, the impact of the edits was wholly significant. The impact was devastating to the overall feel and effect of the essay.

Perhaps, then, our words draw their strength not so much from our language and its form, but from our voice and our uniquely individual inflections and tones as only we can speak them…


 

My View

by DotedOn
 

I’m a single mom. I have five kids. I escaped an abusive relationship because I got to the point where nothing could be worse than staying one more second in that house. I exchanged comfort for unknown. I feel guilt every single day of my life. I know I took the right decision. I still don’t understand why my kids don’t see it and keep asking me why I don’t go back to daddy. They were there, they should know why.

Some people admire me… I still don’t get why. What’s to admire? That I left 5 kids without a dad? That I tolerate abuse for so long? That I’m alone and lost in another country miles away from every person dear to me?

I get questions like: How can you manage alone with 5 kids? I rub my eyes. I have everything. My question is: How could a widow 80 years ago manage 11 kids and no washing machine or fridge or disposable diapers or Nintendo’s to keep the kids quiet for a while.

Who should I please? Why I get judged? Why if I chose to be happy I feel this guilt all the time?
 

dotedon.wordpress.com

English is for Everyone

or

In Defense of Hoarders

The past week or so, I have been pretending to be a computer repairman (I guess in this gender-sensitive age it’s okay for me to say repairman instead of something vanilla (is it okay for me to say vanilla? does it matter that I’m white?) like repair person or repair representative, since I am, in fact, despite all the chemo’s and other drugs’s long-lasting emasculating attempts, a man). It’s funny how, no matter how useless they become, old computers, along with old video games, and old phones, and old power packs, and old chargers, and don’t even get me started on unidentifiable old CDs, kind of just hang around in a corner of the basement as if it were a technological sarcophagus — lifeless computers stacked forlornly, purposeless cables and chords twisted madly into an untwistable balled bunch… Yeah.

Anyway, the past week or so I have been Dr. Frankengeek: attempting to restore ancient operating systems, rooting around in old files, deleting an old this, saving an old that.

So, so much stuff tucked away within those old computers. Who really knows how much stuff is really on them? Of course we never should throw them away until the day a gadget is made that possesses unlimited memory and a magical ability to instantaneously copy old files onto it without any user prompting, whatsoever. And not just any old file, no, certainly not those intransigent .dll files or any other annoying and undeletable ones like them, only important old files. And not to worry, this gadget will know what’s what, believe me. Oh, and of course the gadget will be cordless and will have an infinite battery life.

Coming soon to an Amazon store near you…

Until I can get my hands one of those suckers, I promise all my old computers will stay unneatly stacked in my basement and conveniently out of your landfill.

Most of the past week or so has certainly been less than fun. It’s a good thing I’m jobless and have a lot of time on my hands because most of the past week or so has been nothing more than an intimate study of the Ctrl, Alt, Del keys.

If this is what the world is coming to, then I say, go ahead and let the geeks inherit it.

Geek salvation…boring.

However, every once in a while I did dig my way into a stash of old photos, or old school papers, or some other ancient gem that reminded me of how cool it has been to live with my wife and kids these past twenty-five years or so.

Take, for instance, the picture found at the beginning of this rambling post. I found it in a folder of old English lessons.

Back in the last century, I used to live in Japan, and for a time when I lived in Japan, I used to teach English on the side to some very wonderful Japanese folks. To find and attract those wonderful Japanese folks, I used to advertise my lessons as “English is for Everyone.” Quaint, ain’t it?

Those of you who know my family, know how talented my children are. My daughter is an especially talented artist. She always has been, as is evident by the drawing she made when she was, oh, I don’t know…ten? twelve?…and which is found at the top of this rambling post, and which became the logo for those old lessons. I believe we even made iron-ons out of that logo and pressed them on to tee-shirts. At any rate, we truly made a good time out of it, that’s for sure.

Within that old stash, I also found many of my old English lessons, and old worksheets, and old handouts. They all bring back fond and funny and fortunate memories. I miss all my — I hesitate to call them students because it seemed as if I ended up learning more from them than they did from me, so I’ll simply say, I miss all my friends from that period of my life.

What follows is a copy of one of the old handouts I put together to, well, handout to my friends during those old English lessons. It is a list of heteronyms (thank god for google (is that redundant?)) that exemplifies just how crazy and fun the English language is.

Come to think of it, this might be a stretch, but, English is kind of like my old computers… It’s a communication system and storage system and retrieval system, all coded and operated by a language that rarely deletes anything but continually accumulates and assumes bits and bytes of other languages into its own as it constantly and forever evolves and adapts its system to the demands of the times.

Yeah, I said it was a bit of a stretch, but still…

No wonder the English language is so difficult to learn

We polish the Polish furniture.
He could be in the lead if he would just get the lead out.
A farm can produce produce.
The dump was so full it had to refuse refuse.
The soldier decided to desert in the desert.
The present is a good time to present the present.
At the Army base, a bass fish was painted on the head of a bass drum.
The dove dove into the bushes.
I did not object to the object.
The insurance for the invalid was invalid.
The bandage was wound around the wound.
There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row.
They were too close to the door to close it.
The buck does funny things when the does are present.
They sent a sewer down to stitch the tear in the sewer line.
To help with planting, the farmer taught his fat sow to sow the seeds.
The wind was too strong to wind the sail.
After a number of Novocaine injections, my jaw became number.
I shed a tear when I saw the tear in my pants.
I had to subject the subject to a series of tests.
How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?
I spent last evening evening out a pile of dirt.

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED JULY 2012

トウモロコシの枯れ野だの

The lovely and loving Megi at Happynest In America always has the most lovely and loving photography and inspirational words for us. I wish this were a better translation, but it even sounds beautiful when google says it:

Green foxtail’s the pampas grass
but the oak twig bird’s the hill beyond the sunset’s
the madder, field that is dyed in sepia also a good

HappyNest in America

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エノコログサだの

ススキだの

カシの小枝の小鳥だの

丘の向こうの日暮れだの

茜、セピアに染まる野に

ひとりたたずむ

秋の宵

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Onomatopoeia Flu

Blah!

A sniffle a snort
A wheeze and a sneeze
A belch a burp and a moan.

A slurp a sigh
A hiss and a buzz
A babble a wow and a groan.

An utter a sputter
A mumble and a grumble
A barf a spit and a spew.

A cough a hack
A hum and a yawn
A sheesh then finally…a whew!

There are flues that can make smoke float up,
And there are flues that can make folks lie down.
But the Onomatopoeia Flu is the only flu
That can make you make really weird sounds.

 
From Poem Man

 
 

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Amazon.uk.co just emailed me to let me know that my order of “Hands of Evil” by author Melissa Barker-Simpson has been “dispatched”

Dispatched.

How cool is that?

I mean, you Brits are so awesome with your English all proper-like…

It’s like getting a little bit of Downton Abbey delivered right to my inbox.

Speaking of Downton Abbey, what’s up with that show? I mean, is it some secret Brit MI6 diversion of a programme encoded with mind altering signals that make us fixate like drooling subservient servants on this most unlikely of a stuffy hit so they can go about putting their Empire of Old back in order without our realizing it?

I mean, I cannot get enough of this show…

And I’m not even sure why.

But I am sure of the massive irony in it all, all us oh so democratic and ultra egalitarian Americans lusting over one of the most autocratic and subservient ways of existence.

Well, lusting after the “upstairs” lifestyle, anyway.

Why would we want to lust after the “downstairs” way of life? It’s pretty much how most of us are already living.

No, we want to be lords and ladies…

Strike that.

We want to be kings and queens

Come on. Admit it.

You’d wear that crown in a royal heartbeat.

I mean who wouldn’t want to be king and/or queen of his or/and her castle. And I’m not only speaking metaphorically here either.

All bow down before King Kurt!

Has a nice ring to it…

Just yesterday I was checking out the wonderful site of author M-R, and she has a beautiful post that shows a black-and-white photo of castle ruins somewhere in France as a representation of an expression of abandonment. It’s just a short post but it moved me and got me to thinking about how much more wonderful a place the US would be if we had our own ancient castles and castle ruins.

Man…

Anyway…

Heck, I don’t even know what Amazon US says when it “dispatches” an order to me…

Obviously, if I can’t recall it, it’s nothing as noteworthy and awesome as “dispatched.”

Probably something like, “Hey pal, did you just order something from us? Yeah, well, see here’s the thing. It just got shipped out…”

I don’t know…

I mean, I love my land and my people and all, but sometimes we can be a little rough around the edges, if you know what I mean.

Yeah…

Dispatched…

Royal awesomeness.

 

King Kurt

 
 

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庭のルパート王子さまのお話

Yes, I really want to share this beautiful article with you posted by the most lovely site HappyNest In America (Translation here.)

But I also kinda wanted to sneak in some more Toad Spam, aka, Buddha Reincarnate… :)

HappyNest in America

 土曜日の夜のことです。
 前夜、12時過ぎに床に就きベッドでぐっすりと眠っていた丑三つ時に、猫に飛び乗られて目が覚めてしまい、3時間の睡眠で仕事に出かけ、夜遅くに帰宅し食事の支度をし、暖炉にくべられた薪がパチパチと心地よい音を立てて燃えているのを眺めながら、寛ごうとしてソファに寝そべろうとした時のことでした。
 
 ごろりと横になろうと思ってソファに近づいて行き、暖炉のマントルの上をふと見ると、私が友人にプレゼントされた油絵の額縁の中の風景画が外されているのに気が付きました。
 暖炉の明かりだけの薄暗がりのリビングルームで、マントルに近づいてよく見てみると、私のお気に入りの無名のアーティストの風景が描かれたキャンバスが外された額縁の中には、入れ替えるならこれしかないと思っていたゴッホの「星月夜」のレプリカではなく、夫が携帯電話で撮り私が拡大コピーをしてプレゼントしたばかりの、彼の「お友達」のカエルの写真が飾られていました。
 
 9月の末に、夫がプールのスキマーの掃除をしている最中に、蓋の下のバスケットの中にたまった葉っぱの上に一匹のカエルが座り込んでいるのを発見して救出してから、彼は、そのカエルを「プリンス・ルパート(ルパート王子:Prince Rupert)」と呼んで庭で遊ばせていたのですが、ルパート王子さまは、2日ほど庭のプールの周辺で眠ったり飛び跳ねたりして仲間と遊んだりした後、すっと姿を隠してしまってしまっていました。
 
 ところが、2,3日前、プールの水面にぷかぷか浮いている枯葉の掃除の最中に、再び夫がスキマーの蓋を開けてみると、行方が分からなくなってしまっていたルパート王子さまが、バスケットにたまった赤や黄色の葉っぱの上で、あたかも誰かがその蓋を開けて救出してくれるのを待ちわびているかのような姿で、辛坊強く鎮座していたというではありませんか。
 
 さまざまな神様が飾られた我が家の ‐ 夫曰く「ブツダン(参照:クリスマスの飾りをしまおう!)」- には、またしても私が居ぬ間に夫が移動させた「学業成就」のお札や、妹からの贈り物の安産のお守りや、鎌倉で購入したダイブツ様や、大黒様に見えなくもない木像のほかに、どうやら、庭の神様も仲間入りしたようです。
 秋深まる裏庭の落葉さながら、秋をよそおうルパート王子さまの笑顔は、今日も我が家のリビングルームの暖炉のマントルの上で、西陣織の帯のようにキラキラと輝いています。

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木漏れ日

Komorebi

I, by all means, am not a speaker of Japanese; however, I do appreciate the beauty of the language. I especially love how some of its words can be, at the same time, both simple and profoundly complex.

Many of the most moving and spiritual words are nearly impossible to translate properly into English because they convey more a feeling than a thought.

“Komorebi” is one such word that, to truly understand it, one must experience it, feel it. This morning, as I was sitting in the shade in my backyard, I looked up to see the sun shining through the trees and I felt it…

I love my backyard.

今日も良い日になあれ!

If you are inspired by country living and pleasing pictures of our Mother Nature in action, you will enjoy HappyNest in America. Don’t worry if you can’t read the Japanese because the beautiful photography speaks all languages.

Follow, share, and enjoy!

HappyNest in America

 遅ればせながら、ご報告です。ブログのアドレスが変わり、これから、こちらのページで記事の更新をしていきますので、今後ともどうぞよろしくお願いいたします。

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 皆様、すばらしい週末をお過ごしくださいね!

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It’s FTW! Because We Love to Win! – part 2

FFFFFUUUUORNICATE!

Not the word I really wanted to say but it has somewhat of the same meaning and impact I was looking for.

Although, it surely does not nearly have the versatility of usage and universal appeal like the word I wanted to use does.

I guess I could have used COITUS! instead of FORNICATE! to try to express my frustration, but COITUS! has even less of an impact I was looking for than even the replacement word of FORNICATE! has, not to mention its even less raunchy meaning. For, as I am sure you know, COITUS! only means sexual intercourse in general, whereas FORNICATE! means sexual intercourse with someone whom you are not married to.

Sexual intercourse with someone whom you are not married to—now that’s raunchy with impact.

And I just had to say something raunchy and with impact right now because I want you to know right from the get go exactly what direction this post is headed.

So, if you are not in the mood for a pissed off raunchy post (Another one?), you may just want to back click yourself slowly away from the site right now before you or anyone else gets hurt.

Okay. That seemed to do the trick. It looks like all of the sissies have now departed.

It also looks like the site is now pretty much empty.

And that means that all of us who are still here, the one or two of my three regular readers, one of whom is me, are here with the foreknowledge that it just might get ugly up in here.

So, would you like to know what it is that has me so burning mad that I felt the need to entitle this madness (mad-mess?) of a post with a less-than-satisfying, makeshift expletive?

No, it’s not the fact that some liberal Brit of a nutjob recently tried to cream our proud Aussie-American Rupert Murdoch right in the pie hole with a shaving-cream-filled-pie.

That certainly made me mad, don’t get me wrong, someone attacking such an defenseless upstanding ruperty Robber of an All global corporate Baron AMERICAN WINNER! like that.

But, as mad as that attack made me, it didn’t quite make me cussing and burning mad.

What does have me cussing and burning mad is the attack that recently happened in Norway.

But it is not just the fact that Norway, one of my most favorite and one of the most idyllic and previously-unscathed-by-all-the-madness places in the world, was just brutally victimized by a senseless act of terrorism that has me burning mad.

I am more saddened and hurt about that than I am mad right now—though, again, don’t get me wrong, I certainly am also mad—that the great and beautiful country of Norway, a country I once was honored and fortunate enough to visit for two blissful weeks, although not in a terrorist capacity—I MEAN TOURIST!—not in a tourist capacity, but in an official, (and occasionally a wee little drunken, but merrily so), navy capacity during an extended two-week port of call, was ruthlessly attacked and that all of the great and beautiful Norwegians whom I love dearly are now suffering so from the attack.

My heart and prayers truly do go out for all Norwegians, for I truly do love them and their beautiful country.

What has me cussing and burning mad about the attack, though, is how it made me instinctively and without a doubt think, just like I always do whenever a First World country (We had a little First World discussion going on on my facebook page (FOLLOW ME!) the other day and it got me to thinking. And upon conclusion of the thinking that it had gotten me into, I concluded that the term “First World” has such a superior, almost racist ring to it, no? Sure it does. Because someone from the First World probably came up with it. Some circa 1950yish or 60yish, poli-sci, internationally relating, racist without even trying, media, spankin’-and-wankin’-the- wonker, wonk, probably. But hey, don’t blame me for using it. I am not the word genius who comes up with these catchy terms. I am just a lazy First World slug who repeatedly parrots whatever he hears on FOX (I just want to publicly (because the Lord knows we all know that He sure could use the publicity) give thanks to God right now for giving us FOX…and, by extension, Rupert Murdoch; for, without FOX, or Rupert, what else and who else out there is there that is so readily and rightly available for me to use in this type of an example for this type of a poorly penned (I would have used the word “typed,” seeing that is exactly what I am doing to this fornicated up blog post of mine—typing up this fornicated up blog post of mine, not penning it up, that is—but I had just used the word “type” twice now, one only four words ago and the other, not quite as only, ten words ago (counting back from the word “penned” located directly before this parenthetical expression, not the word “ago” that is somewhere (I’m not exactly sure where because I am starting to get confused) within this parenthetical expression, that is, and, although “type” in both of those two instances are used with the same meaning, they are used with a different meaning than the word “typed” would have had had I had used it (Huh? Holy cow! I’m not sure if you had noticed, but there sure are a lot of hads back there. I just used three, nearly consecutive, hads and, although I’m no English major—Crap. Come to think of it, yes, I am an English major…or, at least, was one once a long time ago, so long ago, in fact, that the major now has less than minor impact on my memory—anyway, despite my apparent waste of an English-as-a-First-Language degree, as far as I can tell, I think I used all of those nearly consecutive hads all correctly…and completely unconsciously. I bet if I had tried to come up with a sentence that had had three, nearly consecutive, hads, I would have had a hell of a time doing so. And had I had done so, I am not so sure I would have had been able to do so without having had used the hads incorrectly. (Such crazy kooky English we speak.)) instead of “penned,” had I had used “typed” instead of “penned” then there is a chance that I may have seemed and sounded rather redundant, and I certainly do not want to be accused of being a redundant blogger who repeats himself; besides, “penned” seems to have more of a broader context in meaning, one that has the connotation of, not just the act of penning, but also the act of conceptualizing the ideas and ideals behind what is being penned, than does the more specific sounding “typed,” which only connotes images of some dork like me with, like a dork, both of his pointer fingers sticking out while they hover over the keyboard in search of innocent and vulnerable letters to repeatedly poke and victimize in a slow, tortuous—tortuous as in Chinese Water Torture tortuous, only instead of using slow, dripping water to torture the innocent and vulnerable letters, I use both of my dorky-looking pointer fingers—repetitive ritual. And, if you hadn’t noticed, I kinda have a p-thing going on.) politically postured pretentious parody of a post?) or reads (mostly just the well-crafted, and by well-crafted I mean overly sensationalized, headlines) on Drudge.) gets attacked, that the attack was really somehow directed at America, which, by extension, means that the attack was also somehow directed at me, because I am, after all, an American, aren’t I? And I think all of this immediately upon hearing the news of the attack and without knowing who perpetrated it and why.

And it is that, that immediate and reactive and wholly unwanted and unwelcomed thought of mine, which has me cussing and burning mad.

Why?

Because I (And by I I also mean America, because, like I all ready said, we, America and I, that is, are both one and the same, right?) am so very sick and tired of not only feeling responsible for all of the mesmerizing mounds of BS that are piling up all over the globe, I am also, and even more so, very sick and tired of being blamed for creating them.

So much more so that I am cussing and burning mad about it.

But what is a broken boy like me (I know, I know. I’m pathetic.) to do about this cussing and burning madness?

The only option I see available for this broken boy like me is to parody—I mean pronounce!—the only option for him is to pronounce, as loudly as he can, in a public forum for all to hear if he is so able, so that he can, at least therapeutically, anyway, and perhaps, somewhat metaphysically even, relieve and release himself of this madness (mad-mess?).

And, just by coincidence, here we all are, right smack-dab in the middle of my public forum.

So, on with my parod—pronouncement!

The way I see it, we get the hate and blame for all of the global mounds of BS for one reason. And it is the same reason that McDonalds gets so much of the blame, or, better yet, that FOX, meaning Rupert Murdock, gets so much of it as well. We are hated and blamed for all of the global mounds of BS, not because of any specific crime or injustice committed by us, per se, but simply because of jealousy.

The rest of the world is jealous of us.

We are hated and blamed by the rest of the world for all of the global mounds of BS just because we are so good at being successful, just because we are Winners!

And because we are such winners, all the Losers in the world hate us for it.

Period.

End of story.

End of that story, maybe, but not this one that I have going on right now.

This one continues…and continues…and continues…I know, I know.

Heck, it is the people and organizations and countries like Rupert Murdoch, like FOX, like America, that put the FIRST in First World to begin with.

In fact, the First World has been so completely successful in all that it does, that we do not even use the term Second World anymore. We kicked the ass of those second place Second World losers so thoroughly and completely that we knocked the Second World term right off of the metaphorical geopoliticalmediamarketing map and when referring to any other world other than the dominant First World, we jump right down to those poor, helpless Third Worlders, because we First Worlders certainly do not want to be accused of being insensitive to their needs and dependencies.

And, heck again, we use these genius word terms (just because the smart people use them , which means these terms must really have some import and gravitas so we, us notsosmart people, had better use them, too) even if we don’t really know what they mean, or meant and now have come to mean.

Is it my fault that the First World (So what in the blasted Christmas Christ do these “World” terms really mean anyway? While I do not know what they are meant to mean to you, I know what they are meant to mean to me when I use them now, and that is for the First World term to mean and to embody all of the successful, industrialized countries like, like as in they want to be like, America, which is, a Winner!. Nobody uses and cares about the Second World term anymore. And the Third World term is reserved for all of the rest of the world’s hapless Loser! countries. But, if my drug-induced fog of a memory (I know, I know. I’m pathetic.) serves me correctly, which is highly doubtful (Of course, I do have google (garbage) (at my) disposal) that I could endlessly use for free of charge (except for the slight cost of chronic and irreparable brain cell atrophy from neglect) if I really wanted to check for accuracy. But I don’t really want to check because I am lazy; plus I rather like having my drug-induced fog of a memory (Pathetic, I know.) to fall back on and blame in case and when that I am wrong, I am almost pretty sure that the original meanings of the Ordered World terms were slightly different, tasting less of a sweet, economic corporanational success story flavor and more of a bitter, geopolitical alignment, East-Coast-Bloc-West-Coast-Bloc-I’m-gonna-bomb-on-their-sucker-punk-ass flavor, where the First Worlders were the countries that, right after World War II, a REAL war, aligned themselves with America because America is a Winner!, and its democratic principle and values in its principled fight against evil wherever it may reside. Second Worlders, back before the Second Worlders got their asses waxed all over the geopolitical map and it was still a valid term, were the countries that, right after World War II, a REAL war, aligned themselves with the Soviet Union, back when some, mostly useful liberal idiot Losers!, still regarded the Soviet Union as a Winner!, and its evil principles and values in its principled fight against what it regarded as evil, meaning, of course, America and the rest of the First World countries. And then there were the hapless Third Worlders who couldn’t make their minds up as to what principled -ism they should believe in right after World War II, a REAL war, or which Worlders, First or Second, they should align themselves with, so they remained unaligned and forever stamped as indecisive Losers! And of course, once one (be it a person or a country) is labeled and that label is stuck like glue right across one’s forehead for all to see and to respond to accordingly, then sooner or later the labeled one eventually will also begin to respond accordingly to what the label promotes him or her or it to be. Once that has happened, the label is no longer a label, it has now become a self-fulfilling prophecy. So, keep your chins up Third Worlders, you all are frikkin’ prophets! How cool is that? But all of that is old news. All that is what those World terms used to mean, at least as far as my drug-infested mind can tell. All I got to say about that, and then some, is thank God we don’t have to worry about all that “what used to be” crap anymore. We only have the First and Third Worlders left, and we only know them as the respective economic Winners! and Losers! that they have come to be, and to which lively, yet somewhat redundant (Damn it! I hate being a redundant blogger who repeats himself.) discussion we return…) in general and America in particular won the Cold War and became the only remaining, to coin the catchy phrase from the recent navy marketing geniuses, “Global Force for Good” (Whoa boy…that’s a dandy. Way to go navy.) and sole Super Power? It certainly isn’t my fault that’s for certain. You know whose fault it is? It’s all of the global losers out there who let us wax their asses all over the geopolitical map who are at fault and who must now abide by and put up with our, our as in America and the rest of the America-wannabe-First-Worlders, many United Nations-filtered dictates and orders, orders and dictates similar to the ones our, our as in America’s, compulsive and stressed-out and somewhat done-in from being over-debted and under-appreciated parents (read: First Worlders), our single or double or traditional or non-traditional-bordering-on-the-verge-of-perverse parents who, often and with (lack of) purpose proudly yet prudishly pronounces (what’s with all Ps today?) to their confounded and uncooperative sparkle(s) in their eyes (read: Third Worlders) something that sounds something like this out-of-tune-because-of-overuse ditty of a dictate: “Do as we Winners! say you little Losers!, not as we Winners! do.”

So don’t blame me, meaning America, meaning the First Worlders, meaning all of the Global Winners! for all of the mesmerizing mounds of BS that are piling up all over the globe, blame them, meaning the jealous America haters, meaning the Third Worlders, meaning all of the Global Losers! because the impetuous Loser! bastards did not do what I told them to do, they went ahead and did what I did, instead.

*

Okay, so looking back on this pig of a post, I guess there really wasn’t as much cussing as there could have been.

And there certainly wasn’t any raunchiness—well, perhaps the post is a little raunchy in the pornographic exploitative FOX news sense, but it certainly is not raunchy in the “Oh yeah! Kurt’s about to share some hardcore skin videos with us!” sense.

No, it is not raunchy in that sense at all.

And if that is what your expectations were when you plunged into this not-quite-a-cesspool-but-certainly-not-spring-watery-pure-either of a post, I apologize for overselling you with my blatant attempt at hooking you and drawing you in with promises of much cussing and raunchiness.

So, in an effort to make up for the error(s) of my way(s), I offer you the following video, a little something that may just satisfy those unfulfilled desires and expectations of yours that drew you into this mad-mess of a post to begin with.

But please be warned.

This politically pornographic video may just do damage to your sensitivities…all of them, every single last one of them…especially if you are an American.

Therefore, if you do not want your sensitivities damaged, and especially if your sensitivities are of the sort that are easily damaged, do not watch this video.

And even if your sensitivities are of the sort that are not easily damaged, please seriously consider not watching this video because it, my friend, is a serious heavy hitter, one that is looking to specifically target your sensitivities, especially those that are easily damaged, and especially those that are American.

But, then again, if that is the case, if you are an American with overly sensitive sensitivities who becomes hurt whenever the error(s) of your, and by your I also mean America’s, way(s), regardless of how good and well-intentioned this way(s) was and is or how much money you spent or spend on it, just like a good Christian (country) should, to ensure it reaches its intended destination, which is the helpless and poor Third World recipient who should be ever so appreciative of your benevolence but who probably isn’t because he or she does not yet understand the current market value of Christian (country) values, are pointed out to you, then perhaps maybe you should go ahead and watch the video after all.

But do not say I did not warn you.

May God bless us all, especially our Norwegian friends who are hurt and suffering, and whose idyllic innocence has been forever taken away, at least it has been forever taken away from my heavy heart and sallow mind.

The Bliss of Ignorance

One nice thing about visiting or living in a foreign country: not understanding the language.

When visiting or living in a foreign country where I don’t understand the language, public chatter becomes white noise that I can very easily tune out whenever I want. The beauty of that is, unlike when living in the States or visiting other English-speaking countries, I don’t have to listen to all of the stupid, idiotic, moronic, and embarrassing BS that people think it is necessary to say in public.

Ignorance truly can be a blissfully beautiful thing, indeed.

And why does it seems that those who do feel it necessary to say such stupid, idiotic, moronic, and embarrassing BS in public also seem to feel it necessary to do so in such an excessively loud and abrasive way?