You know what chaps my ass? People who have forgotten how to laugh or people who couldn’t find the humor in a given situation without a GPS. Laughter can cure a variety of ills including something that seems to have infected a number of people in the last ten years or so — false morality.
I look around me and see various people impaled by proverbial sticks in the ass. While I don’t mind that Howard Stern was booted off a few radio stations, I don’t believe he has ever said anything offensive or remotely pornographic.
Just so we’re on the same page here, pornography is defined as follows:
por·nog·ra·phy (pôr-ngr-f) n.
1. Sexually explicit pictures, writing, or other material whose primary purpose is to cause sexual arousal.
2. The presentation or production of this material.
3. Lurid or sensational material.
I’m not sure about you, but the few times I’ve been able to listen to Stern, I’ve never been aroused. Hell, I can’t even say that what he does is funny but I know that it is done in the spirit of comedy. Now, watching a woman force a large dildo into various orifices would constitute pornography… howard stern talking about some woman I can’t see, shoving a Derek Jeter bobble-head, up her snatch, while not exactly funny, is definitely not something I find arousing.
I think somewhere along the line we became a collective of false sensitivity. We became so inured to the idea of causing someone duress by our words or actions, that we’ve become afraid to say anything at all much less find levity in the act of being human.
Personally, I don’t mind being made fun of. When I was growing up, anyone within earshot would call me Tattoo. You know, the midget from Fantasy Island? Well, I picked up that name because someone noted that I was short, spoke with a funny voice and was hispanic. Did I cry? No. Did I find it offensive? No.
Not because I possess a well-developed sense of self (although I’m sure that helped) but because I honestly didn’t care. Most people knew that I always beat them to a punchline, especially if it had to do with me. But the thing was, I was (hell, still am) ruthless in my pursuit of equilibrium in social situations. I could dish it out infinitely worse than anyone. I found being named after the diminutive hero of a popular television program far from insulting. And allowing this to happen gave me carte blanche to poke fun at anyone who felt comfortable enough to call me Tattoo. A fair trade in my opinion.
I’m not particulary offended by the terms: Beaner, Beaneater, Frijole, Bandito, Spic, Wetback or any of the various derogatory terms for Mexican. It has always been my belief that to react negatively to a word is to give power to the word and the the person who wields that word like a bludgeon with the intention of causing you harm.
I hate living in a society that is filled with the politically correct. It isn’t as if the fact that I’m surrounded by people who are too cowardly to be who they are in public prevents me from speaking my mind, but it does get tiresome explaining to others that their sensitivities and false morality are not my concern.
Can’t deal with a mean person? Cry me a river. Get upset by a bare breast on TV? It’s a tit, not a eviscerated kitten on a pike! One of these days, the pendulum will swing back in my direction and what will happen to all those overly sensitive people? I hope they have a good therapist.