A Baptist minister, a priest and a rabbi walk into a bar … Aw, shoot, this joke might offend someone. How ‘bout , “What do you call an Aggie shepherd?” Naw, this might also be offensive to some folks. Hmm, let’s see… Knock, knock! Who’s there? Hadji. Hadji who? Hadji come up with such a dumb joke? Okay, I think I just offended a mess of Muslims. Dang it! These days, I can’t even open my mouth without offending some group of people who walk around with their panties in a wad.
It seems like every day I hear about some group of disgruntled malcontents who are objecting to American traditions. Religious extremist are offended by Halloween and atheists complain about nativity scenes. Grossly undereducated whiners are trying to purge anything related to the Confederacy while Native Americans and their lawyers claim certain professional sports teams have derogatory mascots. A wackadoodle with wild hair offends Mexicans, women reporters and intelligent voters while his fans who can’t distinguish a Tootsie Roll from a cat turd get offended at folks who poke fun at their beloved purulent postulator. Oops, I might’ve just offended somebody who owns a thesaurus.
The popular term that keeps popping up like a poot in the pool is “political correctness”. These days, we all are supposed to alter our vocabulary in order to be politically correct and not unintentionally offend some group. One misguided word can potentially hurt a thin-skinned bellyacher, and suddenly you are labeled as a racist, sexist, communist, extremist or another term than would be politically incorrect to list here. Oh, believe me, I know. In the past, I have insulted all sorts of people, from apiculturists to vegans, yet it was all in fun. But nowadays, I wonder if I too should be politically correct. Hmm, let me ponder over this.
Should I change the way I write this column in fear that I might offend someone who might have a different view on my selected subject matter? Do I need to tone down my off-beat humor and soften my hard language? Maybe take the edge off my sword to prevent any cutting remarks from inflicting pain? Should I practice political correctness? These are all good questions I must ponder over, but first, let’s talk about being politically correct.
First of all I believe “political correctness” is an oxymoron, and, no, I am not insulting all you morons out there without a dictionary. Of all the people in the world who should know the correct way to speak and behave, politicians are way down on my list. I’ll put the pope at the top of my list followed by southern gentlemen. I previously had Santa Claus at #2, but I didn’t want to offend non-believers. You’ll have to scroll way down past divorce lawyers, local school administrators and used car salesmen to find my ranking for politicians. Do y’all need examples of politicians being politically incorrect? Alrighty then, saddle up!
I won’t dwell on such fine politicos from generations ago, such as the boozehound, Ulysses Grant or the amorous Thomas Jefferson. Let’s chat about presidents in our lifetime, shall we? How politically correct was John Kennedy’s clandestine birthday gifts from Marilyn Monroe? How can we forget the Watergate scandal and President Nixon misinforming American that he was not a crook? Jimmy Carter lusted after women while Bill Clinton made a mess that the dry cleaners couldn’t even launder.
Now, if these men of dis-stink-tion weren’t worried about being politically correct, why do we even use the term? Why not say “morally correct” or “ethically correct”? In my opinion, being politically correct isn’t always the right thing to do. Pleasing one small group of people while punishing another group is shamefully incorrect, or, as we say down here in the South, just ain’t right!
So, back to my dilemma. Should I change my style of jocular journalism? Swap sassy satire for cordial compositions? Should I take a flat iron to my warped sense of humor and work on being politically correct? After some soul-searching and devilish deliberating, I have reached a decision. I will not knuckle under to any group of sad-sacks wearing uncomfortable undies who might be offended by my rustic charm, and I’m not just whistling “Dixie”. If my “Views from the Crow’s Nest” bother you, well then, don’t read it. Skip over to the classified ads and see if someone is selling a sense of humor.
Clint Younts developed his warped sense of humor as he ran through the pastures at Old Mountain City chasing, or being chased, by his cousins, rattlers, wary bulls and his grandparents.
