Category Archives: Language Police

International Women’s Day–An Ancient Reprint

Before the turn of the millennium a friend and I wrote for a website called  Yes, the formal URL was and we were impressed that they could actually register a domain name with an obscenity as well as offer an email address of .  We had to write for them, so we did.  This of course was in days before Perl:  You had to code html yourself, or if you were leading edge, use an ancient plugin to Word that would generate half-assed semi-formed html as a starting point, then shine the turd from there. There was no WordPress, Facebook, Instagram, Twitter or whatever the hell is this hour’s hot app.

Our first missive was a little blotchy, but we did a few more.  By the time June 2000 rolled around we found our voice.  Imagine Kim Carnes with Joe Cocker’s larynx after she had been punched in the throat and was speaking through a corrugated metal dryer vent was our approximation.  Eventually this morphed into roaddave, which you can read about here

When we got up this morning, we noticed it was International Women’s Day, a United Nations sanctioned day to honour and celebrate 51% of the population.  Being that rare and delicate outlier subset of Men, (meaning white, middle-class, employed, intelligent, evolved and heterosexual) we considered writing something profound and important to mark IWD.  We struggled trying to find the right tone, the right sensitivity, the right sense of apologia and yet positive encouragement to the other half of the population, regardless of their socioeconomic and geopolitical status. 

Then we said, screw it.  It’s Sunday morning and the “Spring Ahead” time change has us mentally rowing with one oar around Lake Stupid in an under-inflated rubber dinghy with no keel.  Herewith, originally from, with Rob S, is 25 Things We Like About Women    

Since Cosmopolitan Magazine can do articles like “25 things your Man should do” we decided to return the favour. Some of them are mutually exclusive and some are either contradictory or just plain silly. We don’t care. We’ re going to catch shit from all directions on this, but we have no fear, so here we go:

25 Things We like about Women:

1: Curves. Kate Moss would be a terrible boink. If I wanted a bruised pelvis, I’d hump a garden shed. Women were designed to have a little extra padding. Nature said so. Don’t starve yourself to look like a twelve-year-old boy: Women are supposed to have curves.

2: Brains. Most women outrank men in this department anyway, but so few of them show it. Ladies, don’t be afraid to speak up when your man is trying to see into the gas tank with a lighter. We rely on you to keep us from being really, really stupid.

3: Class. There is nothing as wonderful as a woman in The Perfect Little Black Dress gliding down a flight of stairs. Hair done, makeup, tiny little purse and she wants to go out with YOU.

4: No Class. There is nothing as wonderful as a woman with a mouth on her like a trucker with Tourette’s Syndrome who could cuss the paint off your car at forty paces and she dares you to go out with HER.

5: Singing. The contented sound of a woman, humming or singing to herself while she works. Even if she couldn’t carry a tune in a box with a string handle, a woman idly singing for her own pleasure is a joy.

6: Strength. We don’t mean the ability to bench press 300 lbs., although that’s fine. We mean the ability to grab ahold of an ugly job and just plain do it. Moving 10 cubic yards of topsoil around with you in the yard, or taking the base of the ladder while you climb up to fix the burnt out light bulb in the foyer. The pale, frond-like beauty of Victorian times has no place in the year 2000.

7: Sparkle. This is so hard to define, but here we go. If your friends are envious of you because your significant other is just so damn much fun to be around, then she’s got sparkle.

8: Balls. Not in the literal sense, as that could be a bit off-putting. But if she takes no crap from anyone. An example: Her car breaks down and the mechanic tries to talk her into a complete overhaul of everything except the cigarette lighter and the antenna. If she says: “Oh, OK, whatever you say, Mister Mechanic.” she ain’t got balls.

Watch how she complains to a government department, or a counter person. If the phrase “I’ll cut off your head and shit down your neck.” comes out of her mouth, she’s got a big set and they rumble when she walks.

9: Demureness. If she blushes when you compliment her on how nice she looks (see #3) then she’s got the right amount of demureness. This is good. Making a woman blush is the first stage to winning her heart.

10: Cleavage. Be it bosomy cleavage in that blouse that is cut just right, wearing the lucky bra that hold Thelma and Louise just so, or at the top of the crack of her ass when she wears that bathing suit, cleavage is old fashioned and wonderfully erotic.

11: Common Sense. “Hon, if you have a snake tattoo on your face and more piercings that a voodoo doll, you are kinda restricting your career options, aren’t you?”

12: No Sense At All. “Let’s go skinny dipping in the neighbour’s pool at 3 am!”

13: Romantic. If she buys YOU flowers, or gives YOU an engagement ring.

14: Forgiveness. You come home at 3 a.m. from a buddy’s going away party, smelling like a brewery and have a stripper’s g-string around your neck, she simply asks if you had a good time with no heat or sense of “I’m going to kill you.” If you do this more than once a year, you should see the second paragraph of #8. Expect your life to be threatened. And you will deserve it.

15: Waxing/Shaving. Women should not have more pit hair than their man. Same goes for legs and upper lips. And Ladies, please do some weeding and pruning of your Secret Garden. A well-trimmed plot is a delight and occasionally going bald south of the equator is a saucy surprise. Going to the dentist for a shave is not enjoyable, nor is that “aaaaccccccck” sound we make when we cough up a hairball.

16: Smell. Women smell nice. There is something indefinably intoxicating about that soft tang of a woman’s natural scent on a hot day. We can’t explain it. To quote Garrison Keillor: “There’s nothing like the smell of a hot woman when some of the sweat on her, is yours.”

17: Perfume. Find a perfume that you like, use it sparingly and strategically. Drenching yourself with Eau Du Civet just makes you smell like the perfume counter at Woolworth’s, or that stripper from #14.

18: Passion. Believe in something. It doesn’t have to be the same things that your man believes in. In fact, you get some good vibrant discussions going with your man by taking a contrary view and backing it up with sense, logic and a passion about the subject.

19: Horniness. Once in a while whisper something really lewd in his ear when you drive home from a party. Ask him to drive to Lover’s Lane RIGHT NOW so you can make out like minks in heat across the hood of the car. A quick, spontaneous knee-trembler is fun for all concerned.

20: Self-Esteem. To quote Roy Blount Jr., “This is what I got, I can shake it, I can bake it. If you don’t like lookin’ at it, who asked you?” If you whine about your lack to this, or too big that, it just makes you look weak.

21: Humour. No, ladies, you don’t have to like The Three Stooges (most women don’t anyway) but if you can tell a joke, or laugh at one your man has told before, then you get points.

22: Snuggling. Men will never admit it, but most of us do like to snuggle. Be it spoon-style or butt to butt. Doesn’t matter how, just the close physical connectedness of being near is comforting.

23: Affection. So many people don’t show affection toward each other. A gentle caress, or a squeeze of the hand means a lot. Most men could be tortured for weeks by the Iraqi Secret Police and would never confess, but we will. Knowing you are on our side means the world to us.

24: Trashiness. If you go to a costume party with your man, dress up as Sister Roxanne, the Slutty Nun, who smokes, drinks and carries on like a whore in a habit. That’s fun trashiness. So are five-inch Fuck Me Pumps once in a while, or those stockings with the seam up the back and no panties.

25: Understanding. The Battle of the Sexes is over. Women won a long time ago, but the rules keep changing. Men try and keep up as best we can. We’ re not perfect and we occasionally forget the difference between the G, H, I, and J spots. Let us know and let us make up for it in our own way.


Depending on which side of the political divide you live on (the last centrist was euthanized in 1996 by order of the Reform Party) there are always wing nuts.  There are those who bemoan the growing of sod, as it removes spotted owl habitat, or those who think that the only good (state name of minority group here) is the one in the ashtray. 

Either end of the political spectrum is inhabited with loons.  Neither end of the spectrum will change their minds, or change the subject, depending on the state of their medication.  Being a media junkie, we watch both ends of the parade, as it shows exactly how each extremity spins reality for their own aims.

For example this headline “Town Tags Homeless with GPS trackers…” courtesy of the Drudge Report.  If you’re of one particular political bent, this speaks to 24/7 monitoring of dangerous, drug-addled homeless hate-filled maniacs who want to lower your property values, invade your home and make you buy another shotgun for self-defense of your property and family members. Grrrrr!  Tag’em all with a .303!

Or, if you actually click on the link and read the story from United Press International, (Danish town outfits homeless with GPS trackers) the story is about a town in Denmark who have asked for 20 volunteers to carry a tracker in their pocket for a week so they can see where the homeless go to provide services and social workers where the homeless actually are. 

Perhaps this might even be somewhat enlightened and intelligent, in that if you don’t know where these folks hang out, you can’t put things and people in place to help them not be homeless.

We’re not saying Drudge has a particular bent, but they know their audience, leaving out the little info-nugget about it being a town in Denmark and the aim of the project being to actually help the homeless.

Which is where media literacy comes into play.  Being bombarded with all kinds of media from that firehose of an internet, we have turned off actual media literacy from overuse.  When there were actual newspapers and television stations, we could take the time to digest and reflect on what was presented to us as news, then make up our minds as to what our take on the item would warrant.

Today what passes for news consists of a local outrage or two, the newest diet secrets of the stars and why (name of any product) will either kill you in a week, or is the salvation of all your ills.  Weather, some sports, giggle a bit for the camera and gone. 

There are some outlets that actually have news that tries to explain things, or at least act as some kind of first-draft of history.  The BBC and the CBC both take their journalism with a modicum of seriousness. 

Newspapers have devolved into distant wire stories edited with all the skill of a moron with ADHD and the frantic reporting of a 12 year old on their fifth can of Red Bull covering the cops, the courts, city hall and the arts for both print, podcasts and video blogs at the same time.  You get more content reading the government nutrition label on bottle of water.

News consuming has devolved to  “Am I in imminent peril of being swallowed by an alien invader?”  “Do these pants make my ass look fat?” And, “Should I bring an umbrella/parka/sunscreen with me today?”   

Which explains why we’ve turned off the media-literacy modules in our brain:  It can’t cope with the mouse-droppings that pass for mass consumer news from the usual content sources, so we barely scan headlines and fall into the trap of thinking that is the whole story.

The hed is rarely the whole story.  Take the time to dig a bit.  Reinvigorate your media literacy and question why a media outlet would spin a story that way.  If three reputable sources report more or less the same thing, then it’s probably close enough to have an element of truthiness about it and you can choose to ignore it, or investigate it some more.

Maybe we need a World Media Literacy Day?

Rob Ford, The Sad Late-Night Hero

The hits just keep on coming with Toronto Mayor Rob Ford and for those of you who don’t watch late night US television, the hosts have made significant hay at his expense.  We won’t bother listing the jokes, but we will point you to this clip from Comedy Central.  It’s the funniest and yet most scathingly honest 6:30 you’ll ever spend out of your lifespan.  We’ll wait…

Told you.  Now, what to do about it?  Of course, no question, Rob Ford should resign, immediately and check into some kind of facility that prohibits the media, or microphones from being anywhere near him for the next several weeks.  But that won’t happen.

We have an observation:  This is what goes on in the mind of high school bullies who grow up and discover they actually are the decayed husk of a human soul dressed in a flashy suit.  They can do the kind of mental gymnastics that Olga Korbut only dreamed about performing during the floor exercises at the 1972 Munich Olympics.  They gloss and slip and slide around their behaviours, rendering excuses from here to the Ross Ice Shelf as a way to explain, rationalize or change the subject when caught, in their relentless pursuit of self-aggrandizement, self-denial and near-feral self-defense of their fragile self-image.

Rarely do we get to see someone, especially a public figure, caught this hard and this tightly in their own mess.  Ford has made his office into a sideshow spectacle that Toronto will not be able to dig out of for the next decade, but as we laugh ourselves damp in the undergarments, we are also watching another human’s last few days of existence before his ego immolates completely.

That is sad.  Nobody should have to go through it with an audience of millions.

An Offensive Team?

The Nepean Redskins are in a mess of trouble because of their name and we’re going to deal with it in our usual straightforward manner.  For those too lazy to follow the link, the Nepean Redskins are a tackle football team for kids in the National Capital Amateur Football Association with various divisions for players age 8 to 19 around our hometown of Ottawa.  The beef is with the name “Redskins”

Some consider the name Redskins, unless you are referring to peanuts or potatoes to be racist.  Considering the Nepean Redskins logo is a stylized First Nations caricature, we’re fairly certain they’re not conjuring up images of spuds.  Which brings us to the sticking point of the question.  Is the name offensive to First Nations or are we being over-sensitive? 

Looking through the other end of the telescope, would you consider the following mythical team names offensive?

Picton County Picaninnys

Jonestown Spics

Rockford Kikes

Chattanooga Fighting Chinks

Tampa Bay White Trash

Of course you would.  They’re offensive, conjuring up stereotypes of ethnic groups, using derisive terms that we have mostly abandoned from our regular speech.  Redskins is no different, in that it was a derisive term for North American aboriginal peoples that we commonly call First Nations.

Now before you get up on your back legs, consider these:  The Atlanta Braves.  The Chicago Black Hawks.  University of Illinois Fighting Illini.  Cleveland Indians.   

Again, a somewhat dicey use of stereotypes to describe a sporting team.  The University of Illinois Fighting Illini have had their share of grief, as recently as 2007, with Chief Illiniwek being the made-up, non-historical mascot of the University of Illinois.  “Illinois” itself is a Hobson-Jobson of irenew wa through Ojibwe and Ottawa dialects, into French, meaning “he speaks the regular way” from as early as 1670 in the current spelling of “Illinois”

For that matter, we find some offense with “Indians”  The only reason North American aboriginal peoples are called “Indians” is because of Christopher Columbus.  He was absolutely positive he landed in India in 1492, therefore anyone who was already there had to be Indian.  The name stuck but it’s horribly inaccurate.  We much prefer to use either First Nations or Aboriginal to describe those who met the boats.  At least Columbus didn’t call them what he likely said when he got off the Santa Maria:  We’d be swamped with hundreds of branches of the Fuckawyu tribes across our continent.

To simplify, as we should, one would not consider calling a sports team the Cuyahoga Chinamen.  Therefore would we consider calling another sports team the Redskins?  No. 

However, there is another side to being overly politically correct and that is historical accuracy.  We can’t rename the Negro Baseball League to the African American Baseball League as the Negro League was the actual, legal name.  There has to be an element of tolerance for what existed in the past, historically, no matter how inappropriate it is today.  For example, rooming houses in the 1800’s in New York City would have signs that said “No Blacks, No Jews, No Dogs, No Irish” proudly displayed out front.  That was the social reality of that time period and we can’t change that without forfeiting where we’ve come from.  Sanitizing history does not make the future better. 

At the same time, there are always exceptions. Kinky Friedman had a great band named Kinky Friedman the Texas Jewboys. Despite the offensive name, we’ll cut Friedman some slack as the whole operation was a hellacious satire:  There has to be some grey areas in there for outrageous fun.  Very little in our world is black or white. 

So what to do now?  The Nepean Redskins have been the Redskins since 1981 or so.  The Cleveland Indians were previously the Blues, Naps and Molly McGuires eventually coming to the Cleveland Indians in 1915. 

What we have to do is to be sensitive about it and still use common sense.  Nepean should look at changing the name of the team to something less fraught.  Not this afternoon, or even this season, but at least recognize that Redskins isn’t quite appropriate and work towards a new name sooner rather than later. 

We will respectfully suggest either the Nepean Sandstones or the Nepean Quarrymen, both associated with two common features of Nepean.  Both are tolerable names that are butch enough to be acceptable to a kid’s football team, or more correctly to the parents of the players.  Nobody wants a bumper sticker saying “My Kid Plays for the Nepean Cello Stringers” and the parents pay the shot.

And we’re certain someone will bitch about Quarrymen as it’s sexist.  Oh well.

Todd’s Tour Two

Funny how when you push a button, you get reactions that you never thought you’d get.  The previous post “Todd Akin’s Tour Of The Uterus” provoked a few thoughts and like any blog monkey, we’ll spray them all over you, the patient reader.

Stupidity and Hydrogen are two constants in the Universe and we’re not completely sure about Hydrogen.  Rep. Todd Akin has proven that he’s stupid and there’s no crime in being stupid.  We are all blessed with stupidity and the mere existence of this blog is proof enough.  No, where Akin goes over the metaphorical cliff is his worldview of issues of rape, abortion and the like.

In this article by William Saletan on, Saletan goes over Akin’s voting record since 1991 in the Missouri legislature and his terms in Congress.  What Saletan’s research shows is Akin has been a complete idiot for a number of years.  The article is worth a read and we’ll wait.  (We’ve punched ‘play’ on some obscure Kenny G track for four or five minutes while you go read it)

So what do you make of Rep Todd Akin?  Yep, an idiot and he has the right to be an idiot.  Even the voters of the great state of Missouri have the right to vote for an idiot too.  The conclusion we draw is a different one and it has to do with gender politics.

The behaviour of men towards women, males toward females has been fraught since the beginning.  The reason men have tried to control women either through social behaviour, legal constructs or theological argument, minimizing of the roles and rights of females of the species is this:  Little Boys are Afraid of Women.

Men readily accept that Women are our equals in every respect, aside from the obvious parts differences.  Many Men go so far as to think we’re not quite as evolved as Women are.  Little Boys are afraid they’ll get cooties. 

Men celebrate Women in all their facets, not only as givers of life, but as intellectuals, well-rounded humans, partners and good citizens.  Little Boys set up tree houses with the No Gurls Allowed sign.

Men recognise that women have been dealt the short end of the stick for a long time and try to do something about it.  Little Boys will never watch a Girl’s game as it’s just girls stupid games.

Men have confidence in their dealings with Women.  Little Boys snigger and point.

Men recognize and accept that Women can make their own choices about their own bodies without the benefit of legislation, just as Men wouldn’t accept Women legislating how Men make their choices.  Little Boys say girls smell funny.

Men can control themselves, recognizing that No Means No.  Little Boys are afraid that the glimpse of a naked ankle means their friends will laugh at them because they got a boner from a girl.

So tell me, is Rep Todd Akin a man, or a Little Boy?

We’re Just Askin’

The question “why” is a double-edged sword that can lead the wielder of the weapon into madness.  Small children sometimes become enamored of “why’ as a way to stave off bedtime, starting with the basic “Why is the sky blue?” and devolving rapidly into assessments of grammar, science and sociology that the harried parent is unable to satisfactorily answer.

As a grownup, at least on paper, “why” has always been a personal means to an end.  So much contemporary life is utter foolishness imposed upon us by well-meaning, but moronic, process-monkeys who haven’t had an original thought since 1974.  Asking “why” and getting the moron in charge to admit he or she has no earthy idea why, usually results in no tangible changes, but at least you both know and acknowledge that the system is irredeemably pooched.

To wit:

If you’re economically oppressed and marginalized by your society, why would you trash your own economically oppressed and marginalized neighbourhood?  Wouldn’t it make more sense to go to the rich part of town to trash their stores, homes and cars?  They’re the ones purportedly screwing you over, so taking revenge on the wealthy would only seem to make sense.  Besides, the rich have nicer stuff than your next door neighbour, who is just as economically oppressed and societally marginalized as you are.  London rioters, are you listening?

Deserts are by definition, lacking in water with a concomitant lack of arable land to support the production of food or support of any form of animal husbandry.  Why do people insist on living there and why do we in the Western world seem all astonished that there is a drought that is killing hundred of fellow humans every day?  Perhaps all the well-meaning charitable donations should be going to a very large school to teach humans to not live in deserts.  This would include Los Angeles, Phoenix, Las Vegas, a goodly piece of Texas, most of New Mexico and enough of Africa to make your eyes hurt.

If the rest of the market is offering 1% return on investment and some guy in a suit is promising you 12%, why do you think the guy in the suit knows more about things than five thousand other experts?  He’s either lying or selling heroin to kindergarten children.  Either scenario mean you are never going to see your money again, so don’t write the cheque in the first place.    If you have, take your lumps for being a dumb-ass and shut the hell up.  This would include those who decry the AAA ratings fall for the US and blame it on everyone except their own mindless greed.  It would seem that nobody on Wall Street is losing their job over it.  You can’t spend more money than you have and that applies to people, businesses and countries. 

When someone runs their shopping cart into your ankle, why do we apologize for being in their way?  They’re the ones being inattentive, boorish and stupid, while we’re hopping on one leg, trying to staunch the flow of arterial blood.  Perhaps they should be the ones apologizing for their own idiocy and we should be gracious enough to not call them the names we hear in our head.

Some would say I have a pleasant if lupine smile.  Why can I not smile during a passport or driver’s license photo?  I don’t normally look like I’ve just had someone forcefully insert an unlubricated 8-inch catadioptric telescope up my rear orifice, but that is the resulting photo.  However, with a little clever timing, one can game the transit pass photo process with a picture that actually resembles the bearer.

Our food is an endless series of questions.  How is a country half-way around the world able to grow, produce, pack, ship and distribute a simple allium, namely garlic, for less than half the price than a farm twelve kilometers away from my kitchen can produce it for?  They’re either growing it on a toxic waste dump, using prison camp labour, or a combination of all of the above, with mammoth government subsidies.  What possible political benefit can we possibly reap from putting our farmers out of work, aside from having to build more jails for their kids who will have no job prospects?  Why are we letting this stuff into our country?

Chocolately Coating.  At one time a chocolate bar contained chocolate.  Today, it is no longer a chocolate bar, it is ‘candy’ which means it can contain anything the manufacturer chooses.  If that means a combination of ski wax, Vaseline and corn husks, wrapped in Mylar, then that’s what we get.  The film of chocolately coating on a Crispy Crunch means you have to rinse your mouth with acetone to get rid of the taste.  Why do we let them get away with it, when we have the ability to exact fiscal revenge on the manufacturer by not buying their product?  If you can’t pronounce the first five ingredients of any packaged food and that includes chocolate bars, you are ill-advised to put your hard-earned money down on the counter, regardless of age.

As you can see, “why” is very powerful.  Remember to ask it. 




Money For Nothing

In a complete breakdown of common sense, the Canadian Radio and Television and Telecommunications Commission (CRTC, the approximate equivalent of the US FCC) has determined that the Dire Straits song “Money for Nothing” is unacceptable for play on Canadian radio stations.

Also known as the “I Want My MTV” song, the Canadian Broadcast Standards Council says the song contravenes the human rights clauses of the Canadian Association of Broadcasters’ Code of Ethics and Equitable Portrayal Code.  At contention is the word ‘faggot’.

For those who don’t know the song, or who are not fans of Dire Straits, we’ve excerpted the lines of contention:

…See the little faggot with the earring and the makeup
Yeah buddy that’s his own hair
That little faggot got his own jet airplane
That little faggot he’s a millionaire…

Lyrics are by Mark Knopfler ©1985

Yep, the word faggot is offensive.  Now consider this lyric:

Poppin, stoppin, hoppin like a rabbit
When I take the nina Ross ya know I gota ta have it
I lay back in the cut retain myself
Think about the shit, and I’m thinkin wealth
How can I makes my grip
And how should I make that nigga straight slip
Set trip, gotta get him for his grip
as i dip around the corner, now i’m on a-nother
mission, wishin, upon a star
Snoop Doggy Dogg with the caviar
In the back of the limo no demo, this is the real
Breakin niggaz down like Evander Holyfield, chill
to the next Episode
I make money, and I really don’t love hoes
Tell ya the truth, I swoop in the Coupe
I used to sell loot, I used to shoot hoops
But now I, make, hits, every single day
With, that nigga, the diggy Dr. Dre
So lay back in the cut, motherfucker ‘fore you get shot
It’s 1-8-7 on a motherfuckin cop
[Verse Two:]
Boy it’s gettin hot, yes indeed it is
Snoop Dogg on the mic i’m about as crazy as Biz
Markie, spark the, chronic bud real quick
And let me get into some fly gangsta shit
Yeah, I lay back, stay back in the cut
Niggaz try to play the D-O-G like a mutt
I got a little message, don’t try to see Snoop
I’m fin to fuck a bitch, what’s her name it’s Luke
You tried to see me, on the TV, youse a B.G.
D-O-double-G, yes I’ma O.G.
You can’t see my homey Dr. Dre
So what the fuck a nigga like you gotta say
Gotta take a trip to the MIA
And serve your ass with a motherfuckin AK
You, can’t, see, the D-O-double-G, cuz that be me
i’m servin um, swervin in the Coupe
The Lexus, flexes, from Long Beach to Texas
Sexist, hoes, they wanna get witht his
Cuz Snoop Dogg is the shit, beeeitch!

The Shiznit by Snoop Dogg © 1993

To summarize the potentially offensive things in Snoop Dogg’s song, we have, submitted for your approval:

Calling women ‘hoes’, a term of exceptional disrespect;

Using the N-word, frequently;

Plenty of swearing;

Inciting murder using a firearm, including inciting murder of a police officer;

Smoking ‘chronic’ a slang for marijuana;

Selling ‘loot’ a slang for stolen goods;

There really is no need to go on, is there?  Songs have had lyrics offensive to someone, since the beginning of recorded time.  We’re fairly certain there were Cro-Magnon minstrels who sang about the poor hunters and lousy gatherers the next village over and called them knuckle-draggers and turnip eaters.

Viewed through the narrowest, hypersensitive, most mean-spirited lens, there are very few things that cannot be taken as offensive by someone, be it language, behaviors, actions, words, deeds or even thoughts.  Even the Bible, in some chapters, can be taken as a violent, bloody, misogynist document that incites hatred.

How about this?  We agree that the following words, shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker and tits, shouldn’t commonly be used in the media.  Yes, it’s George Carlin’s list.  Let’s try to keep those words to a minimum, especially in media that is readily accessible to children.

How about this as a follow on?  We remember that we have complete control of our computers, televisions, radios and media players.  There are power switches on all of them:  We are not forced to listen to, read, watch, or participate in media that we find objectionable. 

Please remember there are no black-hooded squads of thugs that hold 80 year old Aunt Hazel down and force her to watch “All-Anal Amateurs” or “The Next Iron Chef”  Sorry to break that little bubble. 

Believe it or not, you can actually opt out of media.  That includes this blog by the way. 

If you have been offended by this post, hey, sucks to be you.


You too can mangle the language

Here’s sample of language police-actionable items.  Feel free to add your own.
"I am not personally knowledgeable about the information, but it has been reliably communicated to me that the basal temperature of the primary sexual organs of Innu human females is significantly lower than the median temperature of other human females."
"The conclusion of the event will commence after the vocal rendition of the generously proportioned female soloist"
And now the translations?  I will leave them up to you.

The Khaki Police

Soldiers are usually ill-equipped to do police work.  Soldiers are trained to kill people and blow up things, while police are, for the most part, trained to subdue and enforce with a minimum use of force, only escalating to a drawn weapon as a last resort.

Some soldier groups, noticeably Canadian forces, are trained from the beginning to be cops, or peacekeepers who can resort to calling in airstrikes and artillery as need be.  If you remember the Oka occupation by a group of very angry native Canadians, you remember the photo of a young Canadian Soldier going face to face and toe to toe with a masked Oka warrior.  The soldier never looked away and never blinked.  That was training as a peacekeeper and as a security force that helped that soldier keep his cool.

The US forces are trained as war fighters, which they do very, very well.  Peacekeeping is not their forte, but it is the Canadian skill.  Perhaps it is time for Jean Chretien to pull his head out of his ass and offer up our folks, renown as the best, most effective, fairest peacekeeping forces, to do our thing.

As a side note to all American Forces.  It is pronounced “Cash” and is spelled ‘cache’  It is not pronounced ‘cash-eh’.  The word is French and means box or container.  A Brazilian thong bathing suit is a ‘cache-sexe’ or literally translated, sex parts covering or box.  Remember it is pronounced: “cash”.  Thank You.


The term heroic has taken a beating in the last few years.  A hero is not someone who does their duty.  A hero, to use the contexts of the Congressional Medal of Honour and the Victoria Cross, is:  Someone who exhibits selfless disregard to protect, save or bring from harms way those who are not able to save themselves, at extraordinary personal risk.

Most often, those heroic deeds, warranting our highest honours, are recognized posthumously.  Posthumously means, they were killed doing the heroic thing. 

Airman Andrew Mynarski, in WWII pushed comrades out of a burning Lancaster bomber, as it plummeted to earth, shot down over occupied Europe.  Mynarski ran out of gap between the planet and the plane but made sure everyone else got out first, helping the injured and wounded to bail out.  The Lancaster hit the earth, probably around 400 miles per hour.  Mynarski was buried in a #10 Envelope in Holland.  He was also awarded the Victoria Cross for his gallantry. 

Today, everyone who fights in a war, wears a police uniform or rides a fire truck for work is now a Hero.  Yes, PFC Jessica Lynch is a soldier.  Yes, she did her duty and fought to the last bullet before she was captured.  Yes, she was seriously injured and it is a testament to the inherent gallantry of soldiers that nobody ever gave up on her, including her.  Is she heroic? 

Compared to Mynarski, by the information we have about her capture and rescue to date, no.  Are the people who flew in, snatched her up, along with the dead in that hospital and got her out, heroic?  Quite possibly, yes. 

Was Normal Schwartzkopf a hero of the Gulf War V 1.0?  No, but he was a highly skilled planner, manager and leader of soldiers, just like General Tommy Franks is a highly skilled planner, manager and leader of soldiers.  I would suspect that both men would cringe if they were ever called heroes.

Overuse of the term hero has cheapened it.  Technically, I could be a hero, because I had a tremendous bowel movement this morning that felt like it came out sideways, causing pain and leaving me almost unconscious.  But, heroically, I read some more of the Lee Valley Tools catalogue, did the paperwork and went on with life.

A hero must accomplish something significantly larger than themselves that leaves others in awe at the sheer gallantry of their actions.  Use the term hero sparingly and it retains the value that it should have.