There is a fallacious, salacious and slightly audacious rumor afloat that I can be a tad politically incorrect at times. Moi? Knock me over with a (organically-grown) goose feather.
I’ll have you know that some of my best friends are (fill in the blank) and (fill in the blank), not to mention (fill in the blank.) On rare occasions, I have even been seen in public with (fill in the blank.)
Where this tale may have gotten started was when I took a swipe recently at the Socialist Republic of California and even my own beloved state of Georgia (who says I’m not fair?) over their approach to education – assuming either state has an approach to education.
Some gay supporters in Atlanta thought I was picking on them and let me know they were displeased. One even called me an “old fool.” I found that comment libelous and talked to my attorney about suing her. He suggested that before I did, I should look in a mirror and let him know if I didn’t see an old fool staring back at me. Dang. I hate legal technicalities.
Truth in advertising requires me to say that I got more mail from readers – including gays – who thought the column was a hoot than I did from fussbudgets, proving that a sense of humor knows no race, creed, color or sexual orientation. If it is any solace to my gay friends, the Bible thumpers are on my case now and they have a near-monopoly on humor-impairment, but don’t give up.
By the way, if I lived in Atlanta, aka Malfunction Junction, I think I would be more concerned with why the sewers don’t work and neither does the city government than with the snarky comments of a smart-aleck columnist.
Still, I have received a stern lecture from the Woman Who Shares My Name about being kinder and gentler. She, I will listen to. She controls the broccoli distribution in our house and wields that power ruthlessly.
If I do become more politically-correct, about the only subject I will have left without upsetting some special interest group will be the state Legislature. Thank goodness we live in a world where nobody cares what the Legislature thinks.
Excuse me a moment. Somebody is tugging at my sleeve. Yes? Who are you? You are a member of the politically correct police? (Whisper! Whisper!) What? I am being politically incorrect when I pick on our intrepid public servants? (Whisper! Whisper!) You say that the Legislature is composed of men and women, blacks and whites, straights and gays, left-handers and even some Baptists? Many are humor-impaired, particularly the ones who don’t pay their taxes? Bummer.
Well, what can I write about that won’t offend the politically correct police? (Whisper! Whisper!) Old white men? (Whisper! Whisper!) Republicans? Aren’t they the same thing? (Whisper! Whisper!) Oh, that’s right, I forgot Sarah Palin. Anybody else? (Whisper! Whisper!) The Fox Network? (Whisper! Whisper!) I’m sorry but I don’t know much about the Fox Network except the only people I ever see on their programs are old white men, Republicans, Sarah Palin and her good friend, Paul Revere.
How about Southerners? Can I tease Southerners and not get the politically correct zealots on my case? (Whisper! Whisper!) That’s terrific. I agree with you that Southerners are the one group on earth that don’t give a rats-behind about political correctness. May You-Know-Who bless them now and forever more.
That reminds me of a story. Five guys from Ambrose – that’s in Coffee County – called President Obama and said they were planning to declare war on the United States. The president reminded them that he had a million troops to their five and that they had better think twice about that. They said they would discuss the matter further among themselves and would call him the next day and let him know of their decision.
When they called the president back, they said they had decided not to declare war. Mr. Obama told them they had made a wise decision but asked what had changed their minds. They said they realized that they didn’t have any place in Ambrose to keep a million prisoners.
(Whisper! Whisper!) What do you mean that is not a politically-correct story? You say that the joke trivializes war and that it will offend the Socialist Republic of California? That everybody in Berkeley will break out in hives and throw up their canola oil? And we care what California thinks about anything? Well, I’ll be a primate’s uncle!
Yarbrough can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org or P.O. Box 725373, Atlanta, Ga. 31139.