Check out Fenris Badwulf's rant on Political Correctness over at Dust My Broom:
Which came first ... the gangbanger or the racist?Keep reading -- Fenris gets worked up into a fine lather... Remember kiddies -- a conservative is a liberal who was mugged by reality.
I have never been so upset as I am now. As I eat my breakfast, my spoon is shaking. Mister Whiskers, my cute house cat, has left the room and taken to sleeping on top of the window sill in the sun light. But I am left with my outrage over injustice, inadequate social spending to address injustice, and resistance to more taxes to pay for more social spending to address injustice. It fills me like oatmeal fills a bowl, with only a few prunes floating on top of my steaming bowl of anger as beacons of hope, of a better world of tomorrow, and of confidence that immediate relief is on the way.
This week, a valiant comrade has slipped away from political correctness into the clear-cut strip mine where baby seals are made into high cholesterol, high trans fat, shoes and leather accessories. Indeed, those of you who are members of the same secret society as me know all the details. But for those of you who are not yet brothers and sisters in Set, the Snake God, here are the politically correct details ...
Comrade X used to work happily at a medium sized high school here in the city of Earth Hour Darkness, Toronto. He attends to all the outward rituals of political correctness: he hand washes his garbage before he sorts it into the green bin where it is taken to a landfill in Michigan; he supports the approved left of center or center-left party that his union tells him to support; he happily encourages people without ability to take jobs from people with ability. And political correctness has been good to Comrade X. For his abilityless and non heteronormative stands, he was promoted in the lesser ranks of the administration, which rewarded him with a bigger pension, more weeks of paid vacation, and a free subscription to the Toronto Star, the mouthpiece of Earth Hour Darkness.
Sadly, the last time I met Comrade X he was bubbling over with rage, not love. His car had been vandalized in the staff parking lot. This was the fifth time. Comrade X was not satisfied with being given the standard school board Vandalized Car claim form; he was not satisfied with knowing from four previous occasions that payout would be fast and generous; he was not complacent knowing that the gangbangers who chiselled their scrawl into his door, fender, and left side passengers window, did so because of outrage over poverty, injustice, and inadequate social spending.
