I say it’s a good thing. We all could use some mental Novocaine. If we go around all day looking for something to take offense to, we’ll find it and find ourselves in horrible moods. The healthiest choice is to shrug it off or, better yet, join the fun.
We have become an overly sensitive society, which can’t tell the difference between hate and humor. Generalities—whether concerning gender, race, religion, age, height, weight, or hair color—are usually funny, not harmful, and we all know the difference between the two. When some group gets uppity and demands an apology, the accused should ignore the plea of the humorless and continue.
An African American and a Guido went to Palm Desert this weekend for a change of scenery. Both of these fellows have what’s called “a sense of humor” and delight in their diversity.
Example:
The bar, for some odd reason, is showing Star Wars on the TVs. Three lovely Mexican women parade through the front door, all wearing similar black outfits.
The AA comments, “Hey Guido, check it out. Here come the ewoks.”
“Damn!”
“Arggurgle, aye aye, grrrr.”
“What the fuck is that? Did you just have a seizure?”
“That’s the noise them ewoks make, ain’t it?”
“That’s Chewbacca, you dope.”
“Oh, shit. You’re right. What noise do ewoks make?”
Tap, tap, tapping on the wood table, “Housekeeping?”
If someone took offense to that, I’d have to point out the obvious: Most maids are of Mexican descent. If the truth offends you, that’s a sign you’ve lost your sense of humor.
The night continued and, as is typical in most nightclubs, the later it got the freakier the attendees became. A group of three AA men came in wearing Public Enemy t-shirts, gold chains, and pants strapped just above the knees.
“Your team isn’t having a good showing tonight,” remarked Guido.
“Oh man.”
“I just had a Black to the Future moment.”
“I’m going to have to call a team meeting.”
Then, as usually happens, whitey let the other team back in the game. A pasty, pudgy fellow cruised by wearing a Kobe Bryant jersey.
“Really?” remarked AA.
“Christ. That’s a blown save right there.”
“If Kobe were here he’d hand stumpy a thousand dollars and a Lebron jersey.”
“No kidding. You just know he modeled that jersey in front of the mirror before he left his trailer and said, ‘Damn, I look good.’”
This fun went on all night. That’s what we do. Sure, we pointed out the usual (shapely boobs and butts), but the most fun was enjoyed with a pinch of racism.
We have become an overly sensitive society, which can’t tell the difference between hate and humor. Generalities—whether concerning gender, race, religion, age, height, weight, or hair color—are usually funny, not harmful, and we all know the difference between the two. When some group gets uppity and demands an apology, the accused should ignore the plea of the humorless and continue.
An African American and a Guido went to Palm Desert this weekend for a change of scenery. Both of these fellows have what’s called “a sense of humor” and delight in their diversity.
Example:
The bar, for some odd reason, is showing Star Wars on the TVs. Three lovely Mexican women parade through the front door, all wearing similar black outfits.
The AA comments, “Hey Guido, check it out. Here come the ewoks.”
“Damn!”
“Arggurgle, aye aye, grrrr.”
“What the fuck is that? Did you just have a seizure?”
“That’s the noise them ewoks make, ain’t it?”
“That’s Chewbacca, you dope.”
“Oh, shit. You’re right. What noise do ewoks make?”
Tap, tap, tapping on the wood table, “Housekeeping?”
If someone took offense to that, I’d have to point out the obvious: Most maids are of Mexican descent. If the truth offends you, that’s a sign you’ve lost your sense of humor.
The night continued and, as is typical in most nightclubs, the later it got the freakier the attendees became. A group of three AA men came in wearing Public Enemy t-shirts, gold chains, and pants strapped just above the knees.
“Your team isn’t having a good showing tonight,” remarked Guido.
“Oh man.”
“I just had a Black to the Future moment.”
“I’m going to have to call a team meeting.”
Then, as usually happens, whitey let the other team back in the game. A pasty, pudgy fellow cruised by wearing a Kobe Bryant jersey.
“Really?” remarked AA.
“Christ. That’s a blown save right there.”
“If Kobe were here he’d hand stumpy a thousand dollars and a Lebron jersey.”
“No kidding. You just know he modeled that jersey in front of the mirror before he left his trailer and said, ‘Damn, I look good.’”
This fun went on all night. That’s what we do. Sure, we pointed out the usual (shapely boobs and butts), but the most fun was enjoyed with a pinch of racism.
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