It’s a busy end of the week and weekend for me, so I am going to let Slim Randles entertain us with another posting from the Mule Barn Truck Stop, but first just a couple of things that are bothering me.
I was listening to the confirmation hearing for Gina Haspel to head the CIA, and I noted that often she deflected a direct answer to a question, much the same way others have when called before a Senate committee. Has the day and age of giving a direct answer to a direct question gone away? Is this just the way it is in politics?
That’s hard for me to understand, as honesty and directness has always been part of my moral compass.
Secondly, I learned something Thursday morning while listening to a podcast of This American Life, that made me choke on my corn flakes. Maybe I’m just clueless, but I always thought “Becky” was just a name, but apparently it has been appropriated for some not so nice stuff.
According to information I found on Complex.com written by Suzannah Weiss “Becky” is a term for fellatio – really?!. What an insult to an otherwise lovely name, and who was the wiseguy who decided that?
I did some online research and found out that the term is widely used to sling insults at women of all races and ages.
Weiss also wrote:
Karsonya Wise Whitehead, associate professor of communication and African American studies at Loyola University, told NTRSCTN over the phone that the term actually has two meanings.
One use of “Becky” is simply to describe a woman considered beneath the speaker’s level. The other is to refer to “a white woman who is clueless, who is kind of racist, [and] who makes statements without knowing what she’s saying,” said Whitehead.
The podcast that was focused on problems on the UNL campus in Nebraska, also made me so incredibly sad. It appears that divisions between people are getting wider and deeper, with ugly rhetoric and actions on both sides.
Okay, end of rant. Now here’s Slim.
“Lived on through another May Day!”
The guys at the philosophy counter turned to see who it was. Windy Wilson, of course. He meandered into their midst and sat and flipped over a cup to the upright and fillable position.
“We sure did, Windy,” said Doc, smiling, “but I hadn’t thought we were in much danger.”
“That there’s what they want you to think, Doc,” Windy said. “I’m sure you know about how that May Day stuff got started. Oh, they used to say it was a fertilizer rite and all that …”
“You mean fertility?” asked Steve.
“That too … but you boys know better’n that. It was a communism plot ‘way back in them Dark Ages. Jest ‘bout the time them Crusader guys’d get horseback,
here come them radicality guys to try to turn Constipationopolis into downtown Moscow, and they’d have to whip them guys first. Used up most of their Crusadin’ energy doin’ that instead of goin’ over and takin’ the Holy Land away from the folks who lived there, like they teach in church.
“So when a plane is gonna crash land today, you kin still hear that pilot yellin’ “May Day! May Day!” into his microphone. That ain’t accidentally, neither. He’s lettin’ all them passengers know that they’re gonna die, and tellin’ ‘em whoever’s to blame for it so’s they can write letters to the editorials when they get home.”
“Good to see you again, Windy,” Loretta said, filling his cup.
“Why thank you, Hon,” he said. “You’re lookin’ right perty there. Right perty.”
Windy doesn’t even charge for these history lessons you know.
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Brought to you by the Assoc. of Mature Americans (AMAC), better for you, better for America.
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