The Confederate Flag Is the Shit Someone Took In Your Hot-Fudge Sundae
There it is, clear as the face of a zit-creamed adolescent...the "Stainless Banner" of the confederate flag draped across the back window of a pickup truck parked two blocks from my apartment. Now, you can get all pissy and foot-in-mouth your way into an argument detailing the flag's representative patriotism, liberty, freedom, bloo bloo blah, but then you're likely a whiny fuck who just cain't believe that somebody would tarnish yer daddy's flag...'specially not them coloured folk down at the NAACP! Tarnation! Gol-lee! Fuck off; whatever your useless, anticlimactic comeback is going to be, the fact of the matter is that I live in Canada...the only thing that this flag represents around here is astonishing ignorance and some sort of redneck-cowboyism that seems to be permeating the lily-whiteboy, pickup-truck-buying culture of today. Tight white-t-shirt-wearing toughguys who wear cowboy-hats in the same way that a liar is pathologically-defensive are as useless as a shit-eating grin on a pig; yeah, one of these culture-thieving morons will help you move that heavy cabinet, but ask them why their put-on down-south accent is necessary in metropolitan Hammertown, and they'll probably ask you where you want it... "What?" "Head or gut." [confused pause]
"What?" "I'm gonna punch ya, and I wanna know where ya want it - head or gut." Yes, and then it's time for a little game of "Look For Something Hard to Hit the Jackass With"...which, to be honest, isn't as easy as it sounds, surrounded as I usually am by nothing more than stepped-on cigarette-butts and candy-wrappers. But I digress. If I wrote a book that became an international phenomenon, but was, hundreds of years from now, repurposed to be the lynchpin of some group's spite-ridden, hate-filled agenda and the spawn-of-my-spawn-of-my-spawn-of-my-spawn got all huffy about it, I'd kick him in the neck from beyond the grave and tell him to get over it. Let it go, for fuck's sake. It's a goddamned flag; symbolism is the nectar of dimwitted numbskulls, and flags are their Fuckwit Juice...even worse is adopting another country's intolerance as your own because you're a charisma-challenged black-hole of non-identity that watched the "Blue-Collar Comedy Tour" too many times alone in your basement. As a former friend used to say, I'm getting sick and tired of being sick and tired...though, at this moment, I'mactually sick and really, really tired. And grumpy? Oh yes. VERY grumpy.