To save us from ourselves, PCers want freedom of speech to become a thing of the past
by Scott McNutt
The early bird may get the worm, but I've never been one for early to bed, early to rise. Of course, not even my mother would claim I am healthy or wealthy, least of all wise. Anyway, I've always preferred just to tie one on, burn the candle at both ends, and let the cards fall where they may. Even if I wake up hitched to a girl who got beat with an ugly stick.
You're probably asking, "Scott, What gives? You've become a walking cliché! Have you lost your marbles?"
I'll shoot straight with you: I'm playing possum. If I'm crazy, I'm crazy like a fox. I've seen the wave of the future, and the rising political tide will lift all boats and swamp them. So nobody better rock the boat anymore, because common sense has crawled under a rock, and only the politically correct are left to rock our cradle of liberty.
To PCers (pronounced "peckers"), the constitutional idea that each of us must protect the other's freedom of speech is like setting the fox to guard the chicken coop. Ironically, PCers believe they are the sentinels of liberty when they trample the Constitution under their heels. And no sense arguing once the PCers' minds are made up! Try to speak your piece publicly on some politically incorrect topic—say, being anti-abortion: The PCers will shout you down by claiming you're the one yelling "Fire!" in a crowded theater. They don't care that they're throwing the baby out with the fire hose water.
So we're all scared to death to break any political eggs in our omelet of democracy, because we fear getting our unjust desserts. Which means we all end up with egg on our faces, walking on eggshells down the primrose path of political correctness. Well, I'm no trailblazer. I'll follow the yellow-stained road. Lions and tigers and bears, like hell! I'll just speak softly and carry a big lawsuit.
Yeah, maybe folks who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, but everybody must get stoned. If they don't, these thin-skinned PCers are gonna have a cow, man. I mean, it's so easy to get their goat these days. Like shooting fish in a barrel. The PCers seem to have a monkey on their backs about everything. Always putting their high horse on a soapbox. Maybe if they'd just get off their pedestal and get drunk as a skunk, they wouldn't always act like they had a bug up their butts. But the tide of uncivil war has turned, and their ship came in on it. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em, I say. Anchors aweigh!
Surprised? Thought you knew me like your own brother, eh? Didn't believe I'd turn traitor on the Constitution? Beats turning the other cheek only to get poked in the eye with a sharp stick. Besides, everybody's doing it. And if you think that's a whopper, then somebody has been feeding you a hook, line, and sinker! This is no fish story I'm telling you.
Think you can still talk the straight talk? Well, remember, PCers have eyes in the backs of their heads, and even their ears have walls. So don't step on the wrong toes when you put your foot down. Even if your bark is worse than your bite, don't go spreading it around, because when you lie down with dogs, you may wake up with Big Brother listening to the flea in your ear. Better to let sleeping dogs hear no evil and speak no evil. And see no evil, either, because that may be Big Brother's fly on the wall.
With the PC police peeking through every keyhole, free speech's days are numbered. Don't buy that? Still standing by that old saw, "Give peace a chance"? Yeah, right. It'll have a snowjob's chance when hell freezes over. Put that in your pipedream and smoke it.
You may think tolerance is the cat's meow, but just try to live and let live; you'll wind up licking your wounds, because it's a dog-eat-dog world. And if you keep whistling past the graveyard, some loose cannon will get you with a shot in the dark. I'm telling you, right now using clichés is the only way to fly like an eagle that has landed. In other words, it's time to stand pat. Better to play it safe than sorry, because if you don't play, you can't win, even when the game is rigged. Catch my drift?
Maybe you think I'm trying to take you for a ride just to sell you down the river. Can't you see that's all water under the bridge we'll cross when we come to it? If you want, we can always burn the bridge later. For now, I'm just going with the flow of water over the dam. I'm not trying to rain on your parade. But when it's raining politically correct cats and dogs, we'll all drown like rats if we think we can just demand whatever floats our boats.
Let's play it smart and ride out this storm of incivility. When the dove of peace guides the ship of state through the treacherous PC seas, and we're firmly anchored to sound Constitutional ground, and the sunshine of reason warms our hearts again, then we'll all eat pie in the sky over the rainbow of civil discourse.
Until then, we gotta keep up the act so the PCers will let down their guard. Sure, we look like chickens running around with our heads cut off. Let the PCers'll think we're cuckoo; they're counting their headless chickens before they hatch. Sure, we're crazy... like a fox left to guard the chicken coop!
Got a bone to pick with this piece? Blame Steve's Cliché List.
April 13, 2000 * Vol. 10, No. 15
© 2000 Metro Pulse
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