The boys and girls you went to school with, who grew up to be Democrats, probably would have been happier as deaf mutes. Pronouncing certain words during public discourse, you see, terrifies them.
Oops. Can’t say “terrifies.” That reminds them of “terrorists,” which reminds them of Arabs, whom they don’t want to offend because everybody from Culver City to Boston knows that Arab terrorists will kill them if they do.
Arab terrorists and Democrats have a lot in common. In addition to being not too sharp, both are terminally humorless.
As a result, in less than two decades, sissy Democrats have succeeded in broadly corrupting our language, turning common American vocabulary on its head.
Attention Boys, Girls and Terrorists
As the dominant force in media, jelly-kneed liberals —owing to their deathly fear of offending Arabs, blacks and women smarter than fifth-graders — have dictated the outlawing of dozens of formerly acceptable terms:
Because of the guilt liberals feel from the way they illy treated blacks between 1865 to 1965, “boy” is not permitted to describe any black male child over the age of 5. In all cases, the only approved noun is “man.” As in, the men’s pre-kindergarten basketball team.
For the same reason, “girl” is not a permissible description of any black female over the age of 3. (Girls, you see, mature faster than boys.) For this reason, Girl Scouts were forced to change their name to Females of the Non-Male Persuasion Scouts.
One Man’s Derision Is Another’s Slang
Nigger, as a term of derision, had completely passed from even back-room usage in newly enlightened America by the early 1990s. Around 1992, in a buddy-buddy joint co-op venture, certain white liberals and young self-loathing blacks jointly picked up the joints they were smoking and revived it because every politicized clan needs a hate target.
The two groups were so wildly successful in their resurrection venture that their friends in media, recognizing a hot potato when they eat one, picked it up. Far from a term of derision, they coined a slang phrasing, now popularly known as “the N-word.” In their infinite moral wisdom, the liberal journalists decreed that nigger could not be enunciated. The F-word could.
All across America, fellow liberal men over the age of 5 and fellow liberal women over the age of 3 rejoiced.
A Prune’s Rare Ripe Moment
And then along toddled one of the most wrinkled gals, girls, ladies, women, whatever, from the Age of Prune, Ms. Geraldine Ferraro, who has spent the last 40 years trying to live down her marriage to an Italian criminal.
In a rare outburst of candor, the failed 1984 Vice Presidential candidate told the Daily Breeze last week:
“If Obama was a white man, he would not be in this position. And if he was a woman (of any color), he would not be in this position. He happens to be very lucky to be who he is. And the country is caught up in the concept.”
May I presume that the old Prune, in her dotage, must have stealthily converted to Republicanism because she so forthrightly spoke the truth. Naturally, touchy, racist Democrat hateys are firebombing Ms. Prune for her admirable honesty.
Boys and Girls, the Glass Is Empty
Only a dimly educated liberal could believe that the empty cereal box that is Mr. Obama is leading Ms. Hillary because of hard work or merit, say like John McCain. The reason there has been scant scrutiny of Mr. Obama is because he is black, and trembling liberal journalists are convinced they would be accused of racism if they dug too deeply into his tissued background. A charming, handsome novelty, Mr. Obama is in front because he is a far-left black liberal surrounded by string-pullers. (Is there any other kind?) It helps, too, that he is slicker than deer guts on a doorknob.
Mr. Obama speaks a far less nutritional message than the hopefully forgotten John Edwards. (Can you regurgitate anything he has said?) His pencil-thin resume is as a pimple compared to the bulging portfolio of Bill Richardson.
If you held Mr. Obama up to a lamp, you could see through him. Sensible Americans have.
Irresistible Footnote: The Lightweight Ladies of the of the L.A. Times are back with a “Gee Whillickers, Murgatroyd, Look What That Awful Mrs. Spitzer Did” story of their own. Did you notice that the heavily orchestrated story on A-1 was written by three sputtering girls who just kept smacking their puffy lips in disbelief, Stephanie Simon, Jenny Jarvie and Louise Ruig?