A little fellow of wide acquaintance this year received his Christmas gift early. A whole two weeks ahead of time. Being the timid sort, and not given to bragging about his power to set bombs bursting in air, the little guy modestly put his thing behind him, then went into his usual end of year hibernation. Now lest I be misunderstood by the more barefaced apostles of Onan (whose favorite pastime is to emit their issue all over the public toilet known as Facebook), I hasten to offer assurance that nothing I’ve so far stated can fairly be related to lust. Better to keep in mind the “one or two serial rapists still in our midst.”
As I was saying before that small but necessary digression, the earlier mentioned lucky gift recipient had more or less suffered alone for almost three years the slings and arrows of the notorious red tribe. Even after their firepower had been drastically reduced by the removal of their Great White Dope (okay, their not so great half-white dope!) some continued to take aim at the timid one’s behind. All because he had said out loud what internet users the world over had long ago determined was stale news. It is not as if the timid one never apologized. So many times did he say he was sorry, at least one resident of Aquarius Crossing threatened legal action if the timid one didn’t quit polluting the air with his constant repetition of the S-word. Last week Mr. Timid appeared before a local Settler of Tiny Disputes (otherwise known as STD) to swear never again to utter what countless thousands before him had uttered with impunity. He also assured the STD he was clean out of sorries but was willing to go down in remorse before his tormentors if they so pleased. Better to kiss three wise asses than be forced to fork out cash from his meager Christmas stash. As they say, life goes on. The timid one has put all his troubles behind him while he hibernates.
Meanwhile, certain documents have been served the former Great White Dope (all right, all right all right; the no longer great half-white dope!). But not a word, not a word, not a word on that from the timid one’s cowered colleagues. No polls, nada. Not even from the Facebook onanists. Suddenly everyone’s forgotten about the Constitution, free speech, free association and all that other good stuff. In the age of Fakebook, post-facts and fabrications blatantly masquerading as gospel, here’s my own concern: what’s a media professional to do if his listeners and viewers can’t tell when he’s talking harmless gibberish from when he’s carefully holding back what he knows is truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, in the best interests of his behind?
As I say, there are lessons to be learned here, chief among them that your friends remain friends for only as long as you flatter them, whether on air or on Fakebook. Truth and reality no longer have meaning, folks. Take a peep at your lexicon. Or check Google for the bon mot recently declared Word of the Year. Bet your ass it ain’t “role,” as in “Mistah Speakah, since when dat’s your role to tell me how to read kontracks?” Speaking of which: All of a sudden the nation’s most famous poodle spews only pearls of wisdom. Seems like yesterday when he had but to exhale and our leading best brains would be all over him; I mean, like white on rice.
Even when he can’t be seen with the naked eye, the once blessed half-white dope insists on pretending he’s just another house mouse among cats. Come next month will it still be silent night, unholy night? Or will we finally get to hear the untold story of who got whom hooked on a certain Jack’s oily ass? And then there’s that other Guy who recently landed a nice hilarious role in the UK. But that’s for another show. For now, Merry Christmas, y’all!