Language, Theories and Silliness

          Another sacred American institution is under siege. This time, of all things, the English language. Yessir, our native tongue is being dissected like a grasshopper in a biology class. Ripped apart, torn asunder, mutilated beyond recognition.
          Tis a sad day, my fellow Americans, when we commoners can no longer understand the lingo which for all our days has been so familiar.
          I might as well be on the streets of Shanghai tryin’ to figure out what a screamin’ mob of Chinamen are communicating to their brethern standing on the opposite sidewalk. Or in Rome listenin’ to ancient Latin.
          The jargon heard in America today is as undecipherable to me as are those strange clicking sounds made by dolphins. Ladies and gentlemen, I’m seriously considering blasting off to Mars and try to break down the contact barriers between ourselves and THEM ( in this particular instance, THEM may well be closely akin to insects. Then again, Martians may well be a hissing reptilian form of life ). Whatever…the chirping of crickets or the hissing of vipers. No more mysterious than this puzzling new language of my native land.
          This latest injustice to “apple-pie America” is equal in magnitude to Sittin’ Bull and his warriors runnin roughshod over Yellowhair Custer and his doomed legions way out yonder on the western plains. George and his lads were sure enough massacred in brutal fashion…English is gittin’ massacred today!
          This savage butchery is coming from quarters least suspected. Listen here neighbor, these baby-boomer politicians are the culprits responsible for the wholesale murder of our spoken word. Shocking to say the least. These dudes, almost without exception, are outta’ Harvard, Yale and other prestigious institutes of learning. Man, these fella’s even sail the Atlantic to merry olde England to study at Oxford ( the quota system being much in vogue today, I’m wondering why more gobbling turkeys from VPI ain’t offered high-echelon positions in the White House. Them thar Ivy-leaguers seem to have the inside track on the route to Washington. Blacksburg oughta’ bring out their pickets and placards to mount a strong protest ).
Regardless of where these folks furthered their education, none of ‘em majored in English. Evidently their courses were narrowed to the field of politics, pig Latin, Greek, the wildly unintelligible tongue spoken by Gypsies, pidgin English, and the singing of whales. A volatile combination…double-talking politicians and their weird ways of communicating the spoken word.
          Pilgrim, you and I are gonna’ hafta’ git ourselves “ retrained.” It’s a new world…”change” is the order of the day in this sparkling era ( The thickness of yer wallet will be the most noticeable change. Pardon…thiness instead of thickness ). From this day forward your billfold will seem to have gone on a crash diet.
          “Process”…we’ve heard it far too many times. Gaining in popularity, this word is being described ( by modern-day gurus ) as “out on the cutting edge.” Moving up rapidly on the charts is “level playing field.”
          Commencing next week we morons are goin’ back to school. Maybe a fairly decent grade in English will enable us to understand what them thar intellectual nitwits in Washington are sayin.’
          I’m sorta’ anxious to know…

          “Shh, quiet in the classroom. We’re here to learn 1990’s English as spoken in our nation’s Capitol. A tremendous workload indeed, one that will require our undivided attention. Git back there to yer seats, sit down and keep them big mouths shut. Don’t think of pullin’ a pistol in class today, else I’ll saturate you with ink from this here bottle. If’n that don’t keep order I’ll blister yer palms with my trusty ruler.”
          The above might be considered brutal by today’s standards , because we live in “the age of sensitivity” ( meaning you’d better not tell the truth. Leave every person standing at his imagined 8 foot height…don’t dare suggest he/she is only 6 foot tall.). But such was the scene 50 years ago in classrooms all across America. Teachers were given authority to keep order, and did not hesitate to exercise said authority.
          My, my, my how things have changed! No person is allowed to do his or her job today…no one. Teachers, cops, doctors…they’re all runnin’scared! ( lawsuits ).
          The reason why every window and door in America are covered with steel bars. The reason for drive-by shootings. The reason why dope has us on our knees. The reason why Presidents appear on “Larry King Live” and tell us how rosy things are. The very next night Mr. King has a trio of gang leaders on his show. One gloating individual peers out into a TV audience of millions and states in a nonchalant manner: “ I’ve killed 38 humans.”
          His fellow henchman stares into a camera and chimes in: “You’re only 7 ahead of me in that department.”
          And so it goes. Larry ends the night’s festivities by shaking hands all around and proclaiming: “ Great to have you guys on. Take care, and I hope to have you back real soon.”
          These outlaws ain’t headed fer the penitentiary…they’ve been invited back for an encore performance on “ Larry King Live” !!
          Insanity running amok, pure madness destroying America. We should offer heartfelt thanks to the ultra-liberal Hollywood crowd and others of the Larry King mold. Barbara Streisand, Jane Fonda, Liz Taylor, Madonna, Michael Jackson. Great Americans these, absolutely super citizens…pillars of our society ( the fact that such people have easy access to the White House is truly frightening. And by the way, would an expert in the field please step forward and tell me…is the Jackson lad human, or something made of wax? ).
          Yessir boys, this here hi-tech age is really sumpthin.”
          The English language…and PC’s. No, no, not personal computers! “Political correctness!” Definition:…sugar coating the spoken word. An unwillingness to tell it like it is.
          For example, BALD. As in the human male. Let’s suppose Uncle John has grown bald. No doubt about it, Mom’s brother is baldheaded. Don’t dare say that, or even that it’s thinning somewhat.
          Use tact, diplomacy…be politically correct! Tell Uncle John he’s “hair disadvantaged.”
`        Next chapter we embark on a soul-searching mission, the start of an earnest attempt to decipher those puzzling phrases emanating from Washington.
          I’ll need a truckload of dictionaries, 40 sets of encyclopedias. And I’ll hafta’ hire dozens of skilled linguists. I very much want to be a responsible citizen. To achieve this noble goal I must further educate myself.
          I gotta’ re-learn the lingo of my government…

          Down with reality, on with silliness and buffoonery. The only guaranteed way of survival in a world that once knew sanity, but is rapidly becoming one of fantasy. Call it “Dreamscape,” an imaginary place existing only in the minds of politicians and swooning daydreamers. The do-gooders with that touchy warm-glow feeling inside.
          We’re lookin’ at a trade-off that’s epic in scale. Our tax dollars in exchange for promises, promises, promises. The moon, sun, and stars above. Every man, woman and child is scheduled to get six of each…gift wrapped and postage pre-paid! A glittering combination of Eden and Utopia. Good news folks! We’re almost there ( anyone who believes this is about to happen, now or anytime in the future, is a prime candidate for the nuthouse.) It was 60 years ago that I began hearing these promises. I immediately commenced making plans for collecting my set of planetary bodies. To date that set is rather incomplete. As a matter of fact, I have as yet received nuthin.’ Not even a 2 pound chunk of a wayward asteroid. Nary an ounce of cosmic dust for my cosmic collection.
          When was the last time a politician gazed out into TV land, looked the American people square vin the eye and said: “Listen here, y’all gonna’ hafta’ work fer a living.” Maybe it’s happened before. If so , my television set wasn’t on.
          Talk about disinformation ! Man, we’re getting’ buried with the stuff. I’ve long believed a giant conspiracy exists between a government grown far too big and the computer industry. Make no mistake, they’re in cahoots and have formed an unholy alliance. A foul plot indeed, one designed to gobble up all information and deprive us poor souls of it’s use. The ultimate goal is sinister beyond comprehension…to create a “hive mentality” among the general populace. We’re being groomed and conditioned to have ourselves driven like a herd of bawling cattle. Flocks of sheep in the meadow, chickens in the henhouse, goats grazing on steep hillsides.
          No more individualism, the source of thinking and thought. Do away with private incentive and innovation. Replace ‘em with blank-eyed clones and cold, unfeeling robots.
          Tinker with the genetic code and DNA bit, the building blocks of life…liken and exalt ourselves to that lofty tier where the Gods themselves sit! Pilgrim, that’s exactly where we are. Moving with blinding speed into areas where angels fear to tread!!
          You think Frankenstein and Dracula were frightening monsters? Well stick around for just a short while. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!
          Control, ladies and gentlemen, “control.” That’s the name of this here game. If you and I are reduced to the lowly rank of bees in a hive, then so be it.
          Our theme for these next few chapters will focus on “political correctness,” a term given us by one Mrs. Donna Shalala, the head of Health and Human Services.
          Honest and blunt truth ain’t chic in these modern times, but is greatly frowned upon. Therefore we can’t say our leaders are liars. But we can turn the tables on this seamy crowd and use their weapons against them. “Political correctness” forces me to say that our officials are a “disingenuous” lot…

          No matter the cost, the “language smokescreen” blowing from Washington must be cleared away. A billowing blanket of the stuff now covers the entire nation, and is playing havoc with the ability of our ordinary citizens to communicate with the elitists camped out up yonder along the Potomac.
          Just last week I journeyed from our Atlantic coastal regions to the broad Pacific shores. Pilgrim, I wuz ill-prepared for the strange dialects reaching my auditory organs. What I heard wasn’t foreign languages, but a rendition of English only vaguely familiar. Basically, the words sounded the same, but have taken on a drastically different meaning.
          In no part of the land could I understand the uttered word. Thought I’d been caught up in a space-time continuum and deposited back to medieval times , or possibly an alien realm.
          Apples now mean tangerines, order grapefruit and ya’ git navel oranges. Denim is silk, cashews have undergone a dramatic metamorphosis to become pecans. And of course taxes are now donations, contributions, etc.
          We must rid our atmosphere of “political correctness.” Whatever is needed, the machinery to achieve that objective should be moved in immediately. Electric fans and a varied assortment of blowers, vacuum cleaners, bulldozers, brooms, rakes, shovels, elite police units and all available fire-departments. Use ‘em all!!
          Rain does a dandy job doing away with smog…oughta’ be equally effective clearin’out smoke caused by political correctness. Serious consideration should be given to bringing in Indian rainmakersand using their valuable services. In tandem with the efforts of dancin’ redmen tryin’ to cause a downpour, a “seeding of clouds” by high-flying aircraft might really send down torrents from the skies.
          Whole squadrons of B-52’s oughta’ be flown in, along with every Stealth bomber in our arsenal. The Stealths can sneak in close to that colossal smokescreen laid down by the “politically correct” idiots and deliver the coup-de-grace before their presence is known. Injuns dancin’ on the ground, screaming jets dropping tons of tinfoil from 30,000 feet. These combined actions should get our desired results…rain pourin’ down by the bucketfuls!!
          There is a song entitled “I Can See Clearly Now.” Well pal, these morons who practice political correctness don’t have a clear view. Their eyesight is terribly obscured, dimmed, and in many cases completely failing. Those optical apparatus located neath eyebrows are sending scrambled perceptional messages to their feeble brains…soft and smooth pastel colors become a deep purple. Steep mountain ranges are suddenly “gently rolling hills,” a peaceful trout stream is transferred into a mighty Mississippi.
          How delightfully entertaining…having every day filled with optical illusions!!
          Careful though. Political correctness is a form of medicine, illusory in nature and might have debilitating side-effects. An enemy can easily creep in and may even now be sitting astride your shoulders. A “politically correct” perception will keep you totally unaware of his close proximity. Impaired political vision might perceive that sworn foe as an angel. Then the fatal blow comes.
          Hallucination, daydreaming. optical illusions, mirages, fantasyland, non-reality…”political correctness.”
          All one and the same…

          Ours is a resilient world, capable of besting everything thrown at it down through the millenia. Just look at the “Ages”we’ve had. The Stone Age, Ice Age, Iron Age. Those had little or no effect on this planetary orb we call home. Earth didn’t catch a common cold, suffered not a slight headache, didn’t even burp.
          Earthquakes, volcano eruptions, tidal waves, wars from the beginning till now. Old Earth endured ‘em all and remains, for everyone to see, relatively unscathed. As a matter of fact this giant earthen spaceship orbiting the sun, on which we’re all passengers, just looked at those minor mishaps and grinned. She’s laughed for millions of years, and is still bursting her sides with mirth. What this suggests is quite simple…planet Earth has never shed a tear over the puny efforts of man or Mother Nature!
          The above statements are contrary to what those environmental quacks are saying. EPA freaks, doomsdayers, the “politically correct” crowd…peas from the same pod. “Cut one more tree,” these loonies shout, “and human life on Earth will cease to exist. One more felled piece of timber and the world’s oxygen supply is zero.” ( Paper products come from trees. Wonder what they’ll say when their bathroom supply of toilet tissue is depleted? Or when the “printout” material for their ravenous computers is no longer on the store shelves. Folks, lumberjacks ain’t buryin’ us. Computerists are burying us! ).
          I’ve been quite busy for the 24 hour timeframe just past…yesterday. My original intent was to thin the jungle growth that flourishes around my humble abode. Applying a chainsaw blade to a few unwanted locust and maple seedlings, prune some bushes, clip a few shrubs, trim two rows of hedge.
          Those plans changed abruptly after an environmental group appeared on C-SPAN and warned of the devastating consequences such actions might bring about. I don’t want it on my conscience that my seemingly innocent work habits caused a shortage of oxygen in the atmosphere, thereby bringing agonizing suffocation to millions. Knowing multitudes of my fellowmen had smothered because of some landscape improvements on my property, I couldn’t go on living…this ugly thicket around my hom0e will continue to grow.
          A quandary has been dumped in my lap, a dilemma I can’t begin to fathom.     Too many governing bodies, with too many conflicting rules and regulations. The Feds strongly advise against choppin’ down trees and other green foliage ( mow one blade of grass, the EPA says, and civilization ends! ).
On the other hand, Narrows officials have directed my attention to a town ordinance and issued a strong warning: “ Keep your property well maintained or face stiff penalties.”
          Therein is my problem…what to do? The decision wuzn’t really hard. After all, we’re talkin’ life and death. I want no role in cuttin’ a sapling tree, thereby depriving half of humanity the needed oxygen to breathe comfortably and remain alive. I refuse to play a part in anything that brings about the end of the world!
          Wanting very much to be “politically correct,” I’ll let the brush grow. Then mosey downtown to City Hall and pay a fine for not complying with town ordinances…

          Zillions of indicators point to one indisputable fact; “political correctness” is gaining in popularity and seems the wave of the future.
          A horrible mindset that began in mid-ocean several months ago, slammed hard into our shores and now the whole land is awash in the durn stuff.
          Just what in heck is political correctness? Well now, the answer is really very simple, quite elementary. It’s when power hungry authoritarian figures look at we commoners and say: “You feeble-minded morons aren’t capable of making decisions. We’ll take you by those crippled hands and lead you lame-brains along life’s hazardous trails by deciding what’s best for you. Always, of course, with your best interests in mind. Just follow our cues in WHAT to say, WHEN those utterances should escape your mouth, and HOW to say them.”
          There you have it folks …political correctness. Manipulation, indoctrination, brain-washing, mind-control…zombieland!!
          A frightening scenario presents itself here. Hordes of Mom’s and Dad’s will no doubt desire to rear their youngsters in this manner, which means additional numbers of zombies added to the already considerable numbers shuffling about through the countryside. Man, these nearly lifeless, non-thinking creatures are gonna’ be meandering down every street and avenue in America! Our once beautiful boulevards will find themselves inundated with politically correct entities, all alleys filled with overwhelming numbers of the cussed things. They’ll hang from every nail and tree limb…they’ll come oozing from yer woodwork. No longer will closets be home to extensive wardrobes, but instead filled to capacity with these mindless robots.
          Blackbirds and sparrows won’t be seen perching on overhead wires, nor among the treetops. Those lofty spaces normally reserved for our feathered friends will be occupied by politically correct individuals. Robin Redbreast won’t land on solid ground either in his never-ending search for worms. Every square foot is completely hidden by human machines, standing wall-to-wall, shoulder-to-shoulder.
          I suppose those poor birds are doomed to remain aloft forever, or until they plummet downward from the heavens because of starvation and sheer exhaustion.
          But wait a minute! From every evil a tad of good can come. Possibly such is true here. Maybe billions of wearied starlings conking the politically correct on their thick skulls will revive ‘em from that trance-like coma and snap ‘em back to a state of sensibility. Perhaps, truth be known, they yearn for transformation to their former status…that of being a normal flesh-and-blood human.
          With that most desirable of all talents, the ability to think for themselves. Restored to an individual, capable of thought and reason.
          A return to reality, instead of residing in that gray world where groping clones dwell…

          Let’s suppose a young married couple brings new life into this troubled world. Having pre-selected a name many months ago, the doting parents gaze adoringly at the kicking ball of energy in it’s cradle and get right to the serious business of making long-range plans. What, Mom and Dad ask themselves, do we wish our bundle of joy to become on reaching adulthood?
          As is the sky above, the options are truly limitless ( but only if their tyke remains free of the cocaine crowd. Runnin’ with the dopeheads greatly narrows the list of options. Puiffin pot in smoke-filled dens of iniquity populated by the runny-nosed, bleary-eyed and the despairing. Shells…lost pieces of incoherent humanity ).
          Maybe that youngster will serve in a policeman’s role. Chasin’ bad guys down alleys before placing them under arrest, helping school children across intersections to prevent their being flattened by hot-rodders, or suffering the same fate by bank robbers making a hasty retreat from the scene of their latest heist. His duties will include offering aid to newcomers to town in their efforts to find Main Street ( I’ve always wondered why municipalities don’t keep a supply of maps on hand. Every city town, village and hamlet oughta’ have a batch of ‘em at City Hall. Give one to each new citizen and he could find Main Street without askin’ stupid questions ).
          Perhaps Johnny will serve as a fireman. Nothin’ wrong with that choice. Runnin’ to and fro with sirens blaring, directing steady streams of water on brushfires, climbin’ high ladders, tryin’ to avoid burns and smoke inhalation at the next fiery blaze. And helping young lads and gals aboard his firetruck for a ride on the Fourth of July ( even if he becomes exasperated with those hordes of rambunctious youngsters, the fireman must carry thru with this important public-relations duty. The department’s annual fund drive begins next week. His best strategic ploy…though seething inside, smile like you’re enjoying the brats ).
Mary will no doubt go into training to become a nurse. A wise choice…steady work is always available. A lifetime of plunging painful needles into arms and buttocks. Taking great delight in hearing “ouch” repeated thousands of times during her long and illustrious career ( does this make her a sadist? Probably not. But yet…). She must be upbeat, always exuding the positive. A nurse must tell kinfolk the patient is making great strides, even though he/she is deathly ill and might succumb within the hour.
          And now for the darkside. Suppose, God forbid, your youngster reaches adulthood and chooses to join Baroness Donna Shalala and her legions in the back-stabbing world inhabited by the politically correct.
          Mom, break this devastating news gently to Dad: “Hon, Tommy wants to join ranks with the politically correct.”
          “Holy Hannah, may the Good Lord be merciful with us,” cries the household head. “My little boy a zombie!”
          Steady there podnuh, steady on yer feet. You and I best sit down over yonder and have a little chat. Which we promptly did, and quickly reached an agreement.
          Ladies and gentlemen, the silliness remains with us and our future is filled with darkness and gloom. You see…politicians and their hocus-pocus are an evil we must learn to endure. They’ll never go away.

The End

M. L. Wilkinson

June, 2008