Jerry Seinfeld went on Late Night with Seth Meyers, and expressed his disgust with the tightening of the PC noose. There’s one of the cleanest, funniest comics in history, and he is frustrated. Where does that leave the rest of us who like to curse, tease, and look at nipples? Are we mega-bullies? Should we be punished, and forbidden from continuing our livelihoods?
I don’t know if this stems from the religious and political righties, overly protective parents, or media hype, but I wish it would stop. If you want to find offense, you can find it in just about anything. My question is, why? Why would you want to be offended? If you don’t care for it, look away. Respect the fact that other people may be entertained by it, and find your censorship offensive.
Let’s cover the sensitive areas.
Sex and nudity. Imagine an arena full of adult fans watching an event inside a cage. If I tell you it’s two women hurting each other, with the intent of knocking the opponent unconscious, you probably shrug. If I tell you it’s two naked women locked in 69, trying to bring each other to orgasm, you’re aghast. So, violence GOOD, sex BAD.
If you’re strolling down the beach, and come across a woman nude sunbathing, is it offensive? What if she’s 17? OK, what if she’s 4? What if it’s a man? What if he’s 80? What if he has an erection? What if he’s masturbating? See? I can push those lines around to find your pinch point.
Nothing about nudity and sexuality offends me. I may not like it, but I’m not offended. If it involves consensual pleasure, I feel I have no right to impose my preferences. At the beach, I find my nose wrinkling less often around bikini-clad, overweight women in their 60s than Harry Manback in his tank top, and my heterosexuality has little to do with it.
How about “gross” body stuff such as farts, burps, urination, defecation, and boogers? Farts are funny. If, while addressing the nation about the Republican candidates, President Obama would turn and light a fart, I’d cry laughing.
Let’s say I’ve had Doce Equis (six Dos Equis), and I’m Ubering home with a bladder the size of a yoga ball. If we pull over to the shoulder, I whip out my pee spigot, and I create a puddle next to a vacant lot, I’m a sex offender. If my 150-pound Rottweiler does it, no problem. In fact, if I keep my sword sheathed and pee down my leg, that’s OK too. Or, if my holding it knocks a kidney stone loose, and I’m forced to spend a painful night in the ER, that’s fine. Makes no sense.
Race, religion, weight, height, sexual preference, and gender. Beaner, spic, krout, mick, guinea, kike, midget, fag, twat. Did that feel like I just paint-brush-slapped your face? Nigga, please! Ooh, that one stung, eh? They are words. They take on the meaning you give them. Why are they good in rap songs and bad in commencement speeches? If these words bother you, just imagine it’s a three-year-old saying them. Offense be gone!
It’s my duty to not cave into these overly sensitive self-made victims. I’m not toeing any lines; I’m hurdling.
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