Donkey Hotey

Don Quixote

I read a post by Don Quixote recently. Well….not the real Don Quixote, because the real Don Quixote isn’t really real.  This one was a linguistic and social-engineering donkey.

He had a real hate on for the word, ‘retard.’ He posted the following definitions,
verb (used with object)
to make slow; delay the development or progress of (an action, process, etc.); hinder or impede.
verb (used without object)
to be delayed.
and still managed to call it an adverb.  This one is pronounced ri-tahrd.

The version he actually had a problem with, was
Noun
Slang: Disparaging and Offensive.
 a contemptuous term used to refer to a person who is cognitively impaired.
a person who is stupid, obtuse, or ineffective in some way: a hopeless social retard.  pronounced reetahrd.

He was obviously concerned that someone might get their little feelings hurt by being called a reetahrd. He didn’t advocate school programs, or public awareness drives.  Ignoring the valid noun and verb uses, he went straight to, he wanted to have the word ‘retard’ removed from the English language.

Shades of ‘1984.’ If there is no word, there can be no corresponding sin.  I’ve known people who were egotistical enough to want to get a word in the Dictionary.  This horse’s ass gets one arrogance point for thinking that he can take a word, any word, away from the 50% of the World’s population who speak English.  He also gets the, ‘Dumb As A Sack Of Hammers Award,’ for thinking that, somehow, the American Government has the authority to grant his wish.

He was quite upset that he couldn’t get 5000 people to sign up, so that he could officially petition Washington to outlaw the use of the word.  He’s not attacking windmills, but there’s definitely something tilted about this guy.  Maybe 5000 people know that it wouldn’t happen, even if he petitioned the Queen of England.  I can just hear her reply.  “We are not amused – you retard!”  😆

Queen

 

Flash Fiction #57

Zagreb

PHOTO PROMPT- © Sandra Crook

HISTORY LESSON

Milos came to America as a teen, intending to become rich and famous.  He worked hard, always thinking about returning to his home for a visit.

Hard work alone guaranteed neither riches nor fame.  Sometimes you needed a little bit of luck.  His first chance to return to beautiful Zagreb came with a small lottery win.

Many Americans were so immediate.  They had no sense of history.  They thought ‘old’, was yogurt past its best before date.

There were buildings on this quiet street which had been erected over three different centuries, two of those before the United States existed.

***

Go to Rochelle’s Addicted to Purple site and use her Wednesday photo as a prompt to write a complete 100 word story.

#481

Flash Fiction #7

 

Stepping Down, Stepping Up

jennifer-pendergast4

 

 

 

 

He still couldn’t believe the amount of work and planning that had come together to allow him to study at this prestigious little English college.

His marks were quite good and he would graduate next spring and return to America to begin his career. He particularly liked the panoramic vista from the entry arch.

He had begun to think of it as his exit arch.  College staff had taken down a sign some wag had put up, reading, “Watch the first step.  It’s a doozy.”  How prophetic, his first step out of here, after his graduation, would indeed be life-altering.

 

Go to Rochelle’s Addicted to Purple blog, and use her Wednesday photo as a prompt to write a complete 100 word story.

 

Why I’m Proud To Be From Ontario (Or Not)

After a micro-surgeons’ conference in New York City, some of the leading surgeons were in the bar and, being drunk out of their faces, began to reminisce and brag about their accomplishments.

The first, a British surgeon explained:

“We had a chap caught in a printing press at a factory last year, and all that was left of him was his little finger.  Our team of surgeons constructed a new hand and built a new arm, engineered a new body, and ultimately, when he returned to the workforce, he was so efficient that he put five men out of work.”

That’s nothing, boasted the American surgeon:

“We had a worker trapped inside a nuclear reactor, and all that was left of him was hair.  We constructed a new skull, a new torso, and new limbs, and put him back in the workforce.  He is now so efficient, that he put thirty men out of work.”

Not to be outdone, the Ontario surgeon claimed:

“I was walking down the street one day, when a fart went by.  I took it to the hospital in a garbage bag, let it loose on the table, and we got to work.  First of all, we wrapped an asshole around it, built a butt onto it and attached a body to one end, and legs to the other.  Gradually it turned into Premier Dalton McGuinty, and he has now put the whole fucking Province out of work.”

Having thoroughly screwed things up, Daddy Dalton has now resigned, and taken his Golden Handshake with him.  It would be nice if I could have the entire Handshake, but one finger would suffice.  Goodbye, Asshole, you old fart!