Sick of Political Correctness


When I was a child, life seemed simpler than it does today. The reason is, I never concerned myself with being politically correct. Today, it is not only a way of life, but it’s even mandated. Just think over the past few years the absurdity that surrounds us.

One former NBA basketball player actually dyed his hair different colors weekly to raise awareness for different social causes. How ridiculous! If one of his causes happens to be the over population of stray dogs, do you think seeing his head fuchsia would actually prompt me to run out and neuter my pet?

In recent years I have seen a litany of awards programs on television. Each time, stars wear a different ribbon for their favorite cause. It has almost come to the point where a person has to have some button, pin, ribbon, sticker, hairdo, hat or bumper sticker, to prove to the world they care. I wonder what could be next, a fundraiser by the Hell’s Angels? It could be called Tattoo for Tots where a percentage of their skin art goes to potty training awareness.

I long for times past when I could go anywhere, lodge anywhere, or picnic anywhere without worrying about offending someone. Now I’m bucking peer pressure to visit a restaurant because it is the official sponsor of the US Olympic team. I stay only in motels that are designated “Green”, and give a percentage of my cost to worthwhile projects with slogans like, ” If you’ll stay with us, we’ll ensure that tree sap is around for future generations.” Now I’m relegated to eating in my pickup truck because my favorite picnic area is off-limits because it’s home of an endangered species the Double Knuckled Newt.

It isn’t enough that we walk a fine line between politically correct and personal choice, but I thought peer pressure was supposed to lessen the moment you got out of high school. I now can’t eat a tuna sandwich in front of my children unless the can states that dolphins were spared, I can’t buy a flannel shirt unless I have guarantees it wasn’t made by a sweatshop worker in Ho Chi Minh City, I can’t eat off plastic plates because I’m wasting the earth’s valuable resources and I can’t watch the Three Stooges because it glorifies violence.

I have a better suggestion for anyone who wonders if they are being politically correct. Live the Golden Rule then you don’t have to worry about what people think of you. Then trade in that meaningless politically correct button the star’s wear for a sticker that says, “I Gave Blood Today”. Nobody can ever fault you for that!

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A Message to My Readers


My blog reach keeps growing, we have had a few readers log in from Laos, Thailand, Great Britain, Norway, Russia, and Australia in the past few weeks. Please share this blog if you like it. It would be nice if we could add a bit more to our readership numbers.

My highest count for a day was 61 readers. I Post Monday, Wednesday, and Fridays. As a side note, don’t miss Wednesday’s humorous look at political correctness.

Enjoy your day and remember to smile. Thanks for spending time with me each week. ๐Ÿ™‚ John

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Auto Correct My Life?


Have you ever wanted a do-over? You know, you’re playing a game and you mess up so bad at the beginning that you just tear up the score card and say, “Okay, let’s start over again.”

A friend of mine recently had concluded a seminar and was headed home to Missouri from Louisville, KY. He was told the interstate was only a few miles away. They said as soon as you merge onto it, it’ll be smooth sailing home. He found the highway and in the dark of night, promptly drove 120 miles in the opposite direction. It was only as he saw signs for a new state that he realized his error. His name has been spared mention to maintain his dignity.
This would be one of those life moments when a do-over would be most welcome.

A group of scientific brains gathered around a conference table one day and reached a joint consensus. Why not (from a technical standpoint) fix a problem for an individual without the person’s worrying about it? Thus for computer lovers and cell phone texters, auto-correct was born. The hope of these techies was that you could write a letter or text, hit a button, and instantaneously the words would be rearranged when misspelled. Awesome invention when it works as promised.

I sent a text of apology to an individual and I wrote, “I offer you my humbleness.” My apology sounded less than contrite when the recipient was instead offered my bumble bees.

While the auto correct glitches have been relegated mostly to my cell phone, I am content knowing that it is working flawlessly as I write this post. But for those of us with cell phones, we all need to remember that the auto correct feature can still be a texture’s worse enema.

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I’m the Goober King for a Day


I had a humbling epiphany about myself this morning when I went to make myself a sandwich. I made a faux pax, the kind that makes you want to wear a paper crown from Burger King that boldly states, I am a goober!

We just purchased some deli sliced cheese and my taste buds were salivating. I whipped open the package and found the cheese was remarkably easy to separate. I pulled off the first slice with ease, placed it in my bread with a healthy dollop of mustard and fixings and promptly took a bite. Something wasn’t right the moment I started to chew. It was then I realized why. Each slice had a thin layer of paper between the cheese slices. No wonder it was so easy to prepare my sandwich. Like a cow chewing with its’ jaws moving side to side, I realized I was chomping on cheese and paper. I’d like to tell you that retrieving the paper was done with dignity. It wasn’t! I had all the grace of a Great White feeding off a chum bucket. Needless to say I had to spit out the piece and start over again.

As foolish as it was for me to make a paper sandwich, I gladly abdicated my goober crown today. This week the news talked about a contest. Not just any contest, but one that gives participants the bragging rights to eating the most cockroaches. A 32-year-old Florida man who had earlier in the day entered a worm eating contest, indulged his adrenalin further by sitting down to a bowl of Madagascar Roaches. The major drawback to his desire to grab attention was that he promptly dropped dead after he won the event. A psychologist commenting in the news article said, “People are always looking for things to make life more interesting, at a certain level we’re all looking for things to break up the monotony” Ahem, excuse me, but I choose monotony.

What was the grand prize for this repugnant event? Surely it had to be something huge; tickets to Walt Disney World, a new motorcycle, groceries for a year? Nope, the prize, was a small green snake.

Though the autopsy report will probably say the cause of death was a bug. (no pun intended) I think it had something to do with deficient brain matter and being a real goober! Anyone want to take the crown next?

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