Why We Suck_ A Feel Good Guide to Staying Fat, Loud, Lazy and Stupid - Denis Leary [31]
Hey Dinzo.
Yeah, Dad?
The next time your brother-or anyone else for that matter-calls you a faggot?
Yeah.
And you look up to see that your brother-or anyone else for that matter-is shooting an arrow at your precious, pink little Irish face?
Yeah.
You know what I want you to do?
What?
Duck, goddammit-duck!
It was always your own fault-you were supposed to learn how to survive no matter what the situation was. Boys will be boys will be boys-we were expected to shoot arrows and throw rocks and God help us if we ever got our hands on REAL guns because every stick or twig or baseball bat we could get our mitts on became a PRETEND gun in very short order.
My son Jack had a friend in grade school-nice kid. His parents were very politically correct and had made up their minds not to preordain any kind of stereotypes onto their daughter or son by buying her dolls or him trucks-you get the idea. So one Christmas-which wasn't really Christmas in their house, it was Christmas and Kwanzaa and Hanukkah and some other bullshit holiday all combined into a two-week celebration that might as well have been based on Seinfeld's fictional Festivus-Jack's buddy asked for one of those giant air-pumped water guns that looks like a plastic AK-47 on steroids. Instead, they sat him down and had a long discussion about nonviolence and the life's work of Gandhi and Martin Luther King and blah blah blah and on Xmas/Kwanzaa/ Festivus morning the poor kid woke up to find an incredibly expensive and intricate balsa wood creative design workshop his parents had imported from Denmark. When I dropped Jack off with HIS air-pumped AK-47 plastic water gun on steroids, both kids looked extremely disappointed. But to their credit-they had a great time that afternoon. Because the first thing Jack's friend made with his Danish balsa wood design center was the biggest, badass balsa wood AK-47 you have ever laid your eyes on. They pretend-shot at each other and the kid's environmentally overconcerned, tiny carbon footprint-pushing, organically soaped-up and shampooed parents all day long.
These half-wit parents today think they can legislate every single tiny dangerous detail out of the protected lives of their dainty little children. What they can't manage to keep away from the kids on their own they will beseech the rest of society to outlaw, banish and reform.
Bad language on TV shows, Janet Jackson's left nipple during the Super Bowl-bullies, mean girls, brawlers and all the other badasses need to disappear.
Personally-seeing Janet Jackson's left nipple on TV wasn't anywhere near as offensive to me as the four million ads for Viagra and Cialis and all the other "how to get a hard-on" pills that rolled out every other minute during the same game OR Janet's co-star Justin Timberlake and his next-day "I didn't know nothing" protect-his-own-skinny-ass-and-leave-the-girl-hanging defense. Chivalry? He not only never heard of it-I doubt he even knows how to spell the word.
One brown tit sent everyone running for moral cover while the phrase "an erection lasting longer than four hours" was pummeled into the formative brains of our tiny, little children.
I love tits. Real tits. Big tits, small tits, perky tits, floppy tits-I don't think it's possible for American kids to see ENOUGH tits. And what are we afraid will happen if they do? One of the first things our kids ever saw-after the birth canal and the face of the doctor who delivered them-were two juicy, chock full of mother's milk tits. Tits that brought them nothing more than comfort and pleasure and nourishment and fun. As far as kids are concerned-tits are the best. Tits and candy. As a matter of fact-before they discover cupcakes and other sources of man-made sugar-tits ARE candy. Never mind all the cartoon violence and cutesy, idiotic Teletubbies-there should be a channel on TV that is all tits all the time-TIT TV. In France, Africa-half of the goddam planet, for God's sake-women