Sunday, 20 December 2009
Internet Idioms of idiocy or, Nightmare on Alms Street
I had criticized a certain internet personality's usage whereupon she hauled me up before the HRC, who invited me to respond to the charges of "offensive, hurtful, unhelpful" language and stirring up reason among the majority. I declared my guilt outright, throwing myself upon the mercy of the Kangaroo court, whereupon the frump presiding over the proceedings demanded to know what I was inferring, whereupon I told her that I was inferring that she did not know the meaning of infer. She then loudly commanded that I refrain from flaunting the conventions of standard inoffensiveness. I stood amazed that anyone, even a kangaroo, could so unashamedly flout the laws of semantics. Laughing all the way to the bank after being awarded my entire life savings, the complainant told me, now crying in the same banal idiom all the way to the poorhouse, that she hoped I felt properly decimated, to which I asked would she be so tolerant as to leave me one tenth to survive on, to stave off starvation. "I could care less," she laughed. Then you do care, I exclaimed. She frowned in incomprehension and replied that I was begging the question of how a beggar could ever question her. She taunted me that hunger was an addiction that I should seek help in overcoming. After I called her a heartless niggard she underwent a panic attack and I was immediately rearrested by the HRC and declared a dangerous offender against diversity. Convicted of the grievous offense of insulting a mom, I protested that her status as a mother was immaterial to the case. "I'll have no profanity uttered in my kangaroo court," shouted the indignant frump. My lawyer said he couldn't help me owing to my present condition of being fiscally challenged, and when I called him a shyster he turned state's evidence against me for acts of anti-semitism, anti-Zionism and anti-semanticism. I knew I was doomed and began to pray, but was stopped by the Mounties who advised me that any further acts of a political, sectarian or indecent nature on crown property would be answered with a summary tasering. In prison I had to fight off the amorous advances of a toothless eighty-year old inmate for which I was promptly brought up before the warden for homophobia, ageism, lookism and gingiphobia (an irrational fear and aversion toward gums). After a course in sensitivity I was certified as a reformed sociopath and all-round trouble maker and released. I volunteered for the armed forces with ambitions of becoming a troop, but was refused on wellness grounds of non-plurality and a glandular disorder which was termed persistent aggressive testosterone syndrome or patsy. It appears they believed I might actually fight someone. In war. Despairing of a cure, I headed for Lions Gate with the intention of self-destruction but experienced a suicide gone wrong when I landed in the pool of a passing luxury liner. I knew my ship had at last come in when my lawyer the shyster showed up waving a suit of tort against the liner, the bridge, the port authority and every known inhabitant of the planet for criminal negligence, (i.e., saving my wretched life), discrimination (I'm a redhead) and phoboaquaphobia (I can't swim!) My pain at being still alive was excruciating but I smiled through my tears, confident in the knowledge that I'd soon be crying all the way to the bank. With those tears still in my eyes I suddenly awoke. It had all been a dream. Sigh.
Posted by GJ Tryon at 16:48