The Colonel, My Stepfather

WAS AN UNREPENTANT male chauvinist pig. A mean daddy. A hard-hearted man who beat his wife. Just ask him. (Were he still alive.) He’d tell you. Laughing.

And, of course, he was the exact opposite of all those things. He was a gentleman, but one who appreciated the finer points of the female anatomy and made no bones about it. He ruled the roost and expected obedience and respect from any who dwelled under his roof on his dime. He was a stern disciplinarian, but we kids were never short of hugs when we needed them.

The point? He refused to kowtow to politically correct idiots. His ready agreement with their nonsense, usually delivered in a wound-up state of pisstossity, would take the wind out of their sails like nothing else could. Denying the fools the outrage they sought to gen up — giving them back instead a cheerful agreement and a hearty, “So what?” usually had them sputtering like wet hens.

Don Surber reminds me of the efficacy of such an outlook.

The left suddenly wants civil discourse.

Bite me.

The left wants to play games of semantics.

Bite me.

The left wants us to be civil — after being so uncivil for a decade.

Bite me.

…[S]crew you and your civil discourse.

I don’t want to hear it.

I have been screamed at for 10 years.

It’s my turn now…

…I refuse to allow anyone to dictate what I say or how I say it.

…You don’t like what I say? Tough.

So screw you.

You don’t like my words? You don’t like my tone? You feel threatened?

Too bad.

No.

Actually, that is what I want. I want the lefties to feel bad. I want them to feel hurt. I want them to cry to their mommies.

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