OFFENDED

Being politically correct is something of an art form in its self. Thanks to Neal Boortz and Herman Whatshisname at WBS, it has become a way of life and I am sick of it already. When was it taboo to say precisely what you mean? What do YOU think?

A friend of mine, a former employer who never minced words, sent me an email recently in which he related what I believe to be his most insensitive ideas and remarks. I do not know if they are original or not, but I have memorized them all in hopes their eventual use will become my sincerest New Year’s wish.

My good wife, without whom I could not exist, has often said such thoughts are unworthy of me, and I am better than that. It may well be as she thinks. But . . .

I hope I someday have occasion (and the nerve) to use them all.

An aspiring writer once said at a seminar I conducted, “I am thinking of writing a novel. Tell me how to go about it.”

I told him, “A novel is very complex and difficult to write. Maybe you should start out with a short story or a blog.”

The novice thought about it and said, “But you were only a teenager when you wrote your first book.”

I nodded in the affirmative. “True,” I said, “But I did not have to ask how.”

I came out of a Subway shop with a huge 12 - incher of meats, cheeses, tomatoes, lettuce, mayo, and tons of relishes and garnishes. I had a chicken and potato potpie, large chips and a 16 - ounce Coke. A bedraggled and downtrodden homeless guy sat on the curb and said, “Help me, brother. I have not eaten in two days.”

I looked him square the eye and said, “I wish I had your will power.”

I took a biology exam online last week, and I was asked to name two things commonly found in cells. I got an F on the test. Obviously, Mexicans and blacks were not the answer they were looking for.

A big, fat, slob of a girl served me in McDonald’s the other day, and she said, “Sorry about the wait.”

I looked up and replied, “Do not worry, sweetheart. You will find a way to eventually lose it.”

I walked quickly by a black kid as I darted into a Wells Fargo branch with a big check in hand. When I came out, the kid had the audacity to ask, “Any change, mister?”

I looked at him carefully. “Nope,” I said. “You are still black.”

Heavy rain was in the forecast, and the weather gal on TV said, “I am expecting 8 inches tonight.” I thought to myself, fat chance, with a face like that.

A young kid was standing on the corner crying, and being the sensitive person I am, I stopped and asked, “What is wrong, kid?”

He wiped his eye said sobbed. “Nuthin, mister. Except my mom died this morning.”

I shook my head. “Too bad,” I said. “You want I should call Father O’Shaunessy?”

The kid drew back in terror. “No way!” he screamed. “Sex is the least thing on my mind right now!”

Years ago, I remember reading that an apple a day will keep the doctor away. Judging by my insurance company’s directory of providers, I think a ham sandwich would work better today.

I hate this terrorist stuff. I remember the day if you spotted an unattended suitcase in a terminal or airport, you could say, “If that thing is still there in five minutes, it is all mine!”

A guy was floating over Western New York in a hot air balloon. He looked down, spotted a farmer tilling his acreage, and shouted, “Where in God’s name am I?” The farmer looked up and shouted back, “Far as I can see, in that there basket!” What I yelled back is unprintable, even here.

There is a saloon called “Montana’s” on Johnson Ferry Road, and one night a week they have Trivia For Everybody! I was well in the lead with over 1,000 points when the question was “where do women have the curliest hair in the world?”

How the hell was I supposed to know they wanted the name of a country!

Since I am just a loser, anyway, so much for political correctness.

From now on — no more Mr. Nice Guy!


Copyright©2913 by Robert A. Mills, all rights reserved