
Serving the Metropolitan Area
Since 1872
March 15th
EAT the SQUEAMISH!
By
Jack Parnell - retired Congressman and Independent Presidential candidate
Syndicated by Acme Features
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"It's not always best, in the long run, to maximize pleasure or freedom in the short run." |
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- Mike Barone, in the Washington Post |
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"You're neither one thing nor the other, you see. A really grand sinner must be a man who is bold and who makes up his mind. And so you must be melted up." |
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- The Button-Moulder to Peer Gynt |
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Now and again, I've made referral to
the Squeamish; one of Amurka's most unpleasant constituencies as a body can
encounter. Almost as intransigent as the China lobby, though not half so
generous. As I will explain, in good time, Virtuecrats tend to fly off the
right wing, the neo-lib politically correct off the left... Squeamishness,
well, call it the ugly center of the bat, as both wings sprout from.
The Squeamish (as distinct from Amish,
who live simply and produce useful commodities) live mental lives of great
complexity in looking for stuff to take offense at... usually "on behalf
of" lesser creatures... children, minorities, fetii, animals, rainforests...
who, mostly, wish heartily that the Squeamish would simply go away. Most are
well-off and educated, if superficially... "I think that activism itself
is a privilege," one talking head let the snake out of the bag.
"Let's face it, to be able to go to all of these meetings you have to have
either some kind of economic, educational, or other kind of privilege."
I guess that you could make the case
for Squeamishness being a product of the Hollywood fifties. Black and white
sitcoms like Ozzie, Father Knows Best and the Beaver posited a rote community
of white picket fences and invisible coloreds - behatted fathers with invisible
jobs bleating out "hello, honey, I'm home!" A nostalgia for such past
as never existed, except on television... Anglo-Indian journalist Shiva Naipaul
compared Americans of the squeamish classes to the race of Eloi in the H. G.
Wells book and movie "Time Machine", living off credit and selling
off their ports to Dubai. They "play and fashion garlands while the
ravenous Morlocks plan supper below."
And the Squeamish-American President
appointed into office by his father's judges after losing the Y2K election
decides... like a seven-year-old kissing up to her teacher... that Iraq must
have Amurkan-style democracy, whether they want to, or not.
Wilhelm Reich, somewhat more
callously, contended the Squeamish know exactly the consequences of
their stance... "As bitter as it may be, the fact remains: it is the
irresponsibleness of masses of people that lies at the basis of fascism of all
countries, nations and races." Because NIMBYhood requires one to have
a back yard, Adam Smith was... two centuries ago... prescient in his warnings
that liberal elites, "fortunate and proud", would begin to wonder
"at the insolence of human wretchedness, that it should dare to present
itself before them, and with the loathsome aspect of its misery, presume to
disturb the serenity of their happiness."
Didn't help that most as raised heck
in the '60s, then went disco in the '70s, had to face the ravages of time...
against which the sex, drugs and rock n' roll dwindled down to an occasional
Viagra, Rogaine or bootleg Zelnorm and elevator music. The zero tolerance grows
tolerable once a body's tolerance for excess flees, breeding mean thoughts of
"...why should those damn kids get to be so happy?" and reality
television like that where aspiring artistes competed to replace some Aussie in
this band, as hanged himself. (Like the Rev. Dennis Peacock, I blame
"Satan" Claus as a poor role model, a moral miscreant
socialist who eats too much and laughs too much to be let loose round
vulnerable children.)
So declare war on cellulite, dive for
the cellular and call cops! One by one, outposts of risky hedonism colonized in
the '60s have been squished under the thin, sour high heels of left, right and
dead center Squeamishness like unwanted kittens and puppies, euthanized in
humane societies "for their own good". AIDS happened, turning sex
"cool and mean", reflected Michael V. Miller, spawning a sublimation
industry of dirty words, bitter games and hollow simulations.
Sea World Orlando threw up a "Key
West Village" with mechanical manatees and plastic palms,
Hemingway-spouting pizza servers and ceiling fans (but no homosexuals, gnats or
alcohol). "Pretty pathetic!" scoffed Jimmy Weekly, City Commissioner
for the real Key West. Disney, speaking of Papa, released another
animated version of "The Old Man and the Sea", reprogrammed with
singing fishes and fishermen, too... the big fish got away at the end, so the
Old Man settled for curly fries at one of those new Caribbean Pirates IV fish
franchises. "It is our hope that nobody will be offended by the
film," a Disney spokesperson squeaked, last July.
Orwell warned us... once the State
finishes with our bodies... our minds, history and heritage are next course on
the Squeamish menu. We're not quite far down the well-intentioned Squeamish
road to thoughtcrime as the Euros or Iraniacs, among others, but we do have all
these new "civility" laws as allow politicians to gavel down and
close off public comment that they don't appreciate. At least that vote to boot
Babe Ruth from the Hall of Fame for drinking failed last winter, as did another
attempt to kick FDR off the dime for alleged adultery… but the postals did
airbrush Freud's pipe off'n his stamp as, also, cigarettes from the lips of
Jackson Pollock's 53-centers, and the good city patriarchs of Fort Worth
bobbitted this cattle sculpture as turned out long in more than the horns.
"We had requested a steer,"
apologized Roland Mackie of Sundance Square Management. "We got a
bull."
Them Squeamish remind me of this joke
Russians told during the Commonism: Three farmers eked out miserable livings on
a collective farm 'til, one day, an angel appeared... part of the heresy since,
of course, there weren't no such things as angels. Anyway, this angel granted
the usual three wishes... though, being Russian, that broke down to only one
apiece. The first wished for a chicken, for eggs, the second... a little
cheekier... for a cow, so he could have his own milk. The angel gave them what
they asked for, then approached the third. "I'm a true believer," he
said, "in the necessary equality of all men, even under a God as doesn't
exist. Kill my neighbors' livestock!"
The Commonists are gone, now, went
National Review on us selling petroleum, electronics and credit but... if those
difficulties with al-Qaida, the Costa-Rican solidarian bombers and Army of
Horus, last year, haven't convinced the Squeamish of the existence of real
evilment splintering through American skylights... we in the CNC, at least, are
keepin' one uninsured eye out for such real Morlocks as lurk behind the
alcohol-free, organic microbrewery.
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