@nonameslefttouse, The Writer Himself here with yet another earth shattering message to this world of ours.
Many moons ago, I wrote a tiny little joke with a few swears. People liked it, I don't blame them, it was funny. There's a problem in this world today though. A group or groups, plus a few rogues. They would have preferred the joke be told a little differently. Not just here, globally. They are everywhere, but incredibly outnumbered.
Using their mind control device, I shall now tell the same joke, their way, with the hopes they too can find enjoyment in my writing style. It's only fair. They should be allowed to laugh at some point in their lives as well. Their world is scary and full of dark, sinister forces and I feel they deserve a break from it all. I won't even mention which monster is hiding under the bed today. I'm sure some might be able to figure it out. Please, keep it to yourselves. We don't want to scare anyone, Halloween was crazy enough. Now the moon is big. These people have enough to worry about.
How to BEEP: BEEPING Lessons for Beginners.
Hi, how the BEEP are you today? My BEEPING name is @nonameslefttouse the BEEPING writer him the BEEP self. BEEP, I'm here today to teach you BEEPERS a little BEEPING lesson. Now sit the BEEP down, get some BEEPING popcorn and BEEPING relax.
BEEPING is not the easiest BEEPING thing to do. Many MOMMYBEEPERS will get all BEEPING PEE-PEED off with you if you start BEEPING around. I'd ask those BEEPERS to leave the BEEP now if this is not you're BEEPING thing as to avoid further BEEPING damage. I truly mean no BEEPING harm to you or your BEEPING beliefs. The last BEEPING thing I need is a BEEPING lawsuit. Read this BEEPING disclaimer if there are any BEEPING problems. As for the rest of you friendly BEEPERS, BEEP on my friends, BEEP on.
BEEPING the BEEPING BEEPERS should be taken seriously. Never BEEP around or you will be told to BEEP off. Get to the BEEPING point. One BEEPING day you will remember this inforBEEPINGmation and be like:
Oh BEEP yeah! I remember that.
Never forget to use your BEEPING memory. It's the most important BEEPING thing to any potential BEEPER when attempting to BEEP. BEEP the BEEPING BEEPERS in gently.
BEEPERS caught BEEPING around with the BEEPING POO-POO will be BEEPED. Think forward while BEEPING or you will get BEEPED.
Getting BEEPED is not something people like to BEEP with. They leave that POO-POO the BEEP alone. In other cases, getting BEEPED could be the greatest BEEPING thing. It's all a matter of BEEPING perspective. Learn which BEEP is for you.
It is always best to first agree to BEEP before you BEEP. Simply ask, "Would you be interested in BEEP today?" You will get your BEEPING answer. The BEEPING answer might not be the BEEPING answer you'd like to BEEPING hear, but you better do what they BEEPING say. BEEPING abuse is about the worst BEEPING thing any BEEPER can do.
BEEPING Conclusion
Once you BEEPING know how to BEEP properly, many BEEPERS from around the BEEPING world will come to see your BEEP. They will enjoy your BEEPING company. They will want to BEEP all day and into the BEEPING night. It'll be BEEP this, BEEP that, BEEP these, BEEP those and BEEP them all. Now would you look at that BEEPING clock?
Time to get the BEEP outta here. Thank you for this BEEPING moment.
Okay. It should be safe to open your minds now.
Music to the ears right? Sounds just like that idiot box positioned on a pedestal of splendor in the living room which all must obey, emulate and keep free of dust. When the power goes out, the commander goes silent, the house feels empty. Nobody moves, nobody breathes.
It's back on! Thank god! We can live again! Reality is back on display.
I don't really care about the article being greyed out and censored anymore. It is unfortunate though, when I see people still abusing the flag feature here. At least now everyone can see what politically correct looks like and how it is achieved and what sort of people do it. All the censor really did on my end was give me more things to talk about and a few dollars in the pocket. I've always hated censorship though. Many believe it only comes in the form of bleeps and pixelated plumbers crack. That's not the case. At least to me, it isn't, and I'd like to talk about a few examples from my past.
Let's go back in time.
My First Censor
We're going way back. The school days. Pedants, you may want to look away for a second or two. I can't remember what year it was or which grade I was in. It was either grade seven, eight or nine and that's about as technical as I need to be. The fuckhead's name is Dale irrelevant. He was a teacher of mine. English studies, language arts, whatever you want to call it.
It was that time of year again. Every student was to select a topic and write a speech. They were to then perform this speech in front of the class. Believe it or not, I was scared as fuck. I was really shy when it came to being smart in front of people. I dreaded when it was my turn to read a paragraph. I never raised my hand for a damn thing. Of course, to the teacher, that just means you're not interested. To me, it meant I knew the fucking answer and did not need any assistance. I was also mocked by a few kids. The pack mentality types who probably grew up to be politicians and alcoholics. I'd prefer to just stay in my mind bubble, learn my shit, and leave.
I'd get home from school, I'd turn on the Nintendo. That was my thing. I had other hobbies, but this isn't a story about how high I could fly on a dirt bike or how hard I could shoot a puck.
I knew everything there was to know about Nintendo. I was a subscriber to the magazine. I was the kid who knew the codes.
B A B A up down B A left right B A start. BOOM! Ten lives! Who's the ninja turtle now, bitches!
Of course the topic for my speech, Nintendo related stuff, video games in general. One problem. I had already heard enough whining from this teacher about how he despised the games. He'd bring it up nearly every time he spoke about the greatest show he stayed up so late the night before to watch. That generation, back in the early 90's, seemed to hate on anything new or unnatural to their 50's brainwashed "duck and cover" mentalities. Sure, I was young, they were old. Conflicting personalities will always exist when these groups are placed within the same set of walls. I get it.
So it's Thursday, my big day. I get called up. What do I say?
"I'm not done yet."
A lie. I was finished days in advance. I had it nearly memorized. The cue cards were tucked away in my pencil case, hidden from my fears of rejection.
All he did was roll his eyes, move his pen around, nod his head up and down slowly like this was the worst possible thing to happen and he's about to flip his wig. Blatant body language of the on purpose variety. It was similar to the reaction I received when I handed in the topic I chose to speak about. He called up the next kid on the list. One could tell his anger management classes were working. Or were they?
Shortly before class ended that day, while the halls were still empty, he asked me to step outside with him. I was hoping the forty minutes was enough time, his jets should be cooled off by now, they weren't.
He stood over me, about a foot taller. Didn't raise his voice. He gritted his teeth and spoke quietly to me like I was about to be murdered by a psychopath. Not even an exaggeration. I can't remember the words. Only the face, the sound, and this tower of evil casting the shadow of all things wrong with this world upon my face. I felt the darkness. I felt intimidated. He gave me one more day.
Friday. I didn't even want to wake up that day. I wanted to fake sick. I wanted to miss the bus. I wanted to exit the bus and walk home. I wanted to forget my locker combination. I wanted to lose my speech. The bell rings. I'm first. My memory was shot, I mumbled and stumbled. I could feel how red my face was. I could see my hands shaking and when I looked up, so could everyone else. I read it like a my turn paragraph, got it over with, done.
After every presentation, this teacher would comment. He would point out certain things that seemed interesting to him. He'd give verbal pats on the back and give everyone a score out of ten. He rejected one speech about firearms. Kevin, I remember him. He spoke about hunting and gun safety and did a fine job. He got shot down because this teacher was a pacifist anti-gun rebel who fired mouth rounds and felt guns were a menace to society.
I remember what the menace to society told me.
"First of all, the reason you weren't finished your speech, video games. You waste too much time playing those stupid games! Every other kid here was able to finish on time! Did you listen to their speeches or were you too busy thinking about your games? You said you'd like a job in the video game industry some day? I'll tell you something. It's a fad! When you're older there will be no such thing! You're wasting your time and your life. Four out of ten."
Even the smart chick gasped which was shocking because I thought this teacher had her so brainwashed that she wouldn't even know how to be human anymore. One kid said he liked the speech. Another came later and asked me to write down that code because he wanted to try it. The next day he told his friends it worked and I wasn't full of shit. It wasn't their rejection I feared. Their acceptance did not resonate with me. All I thought about was this asshole teacher.
He didn't like my speech because he didn't like the words I chose to use. My first censor.
Years Later
Those words haunted me, they still do. I'd continue to play games, with a newfound sense of guilt. Maybe I was wasting my life. During those years and the meetings where the teachers meet the parents, my parents would become brainwashed, come home, tell me to stop enjoying my hobby. Keep in mind, back then we couldn't take our video games outside or on the bus or with us to school. Our childhoods were balanced. Life, hobbies. I never did pursue the interest professionally.
I had a few other heart breaker teachers over the years. I remember doing a science presentation with a friend. We were docked points because after the big show, this teacher asked a few questions.
"So what sort of pollutants affect the atmosphere when coal is burned for energy?"
I quickly responded with, "Smoke," and said it with a smile. It was a joke. She didn't get it. The kids laughed, they got it. They knew I was just pretending to be dumb. That was part of the presentation. You'd think you'd get higher points for entertaining the crowd. Nope. Points lost due to how I spoke, censorship. Trying to teach me a lesson by taking away who I am or choose to be and replacing it with their preferred version of me.
Another teacher, grade twelve. He's being boring, mumbling about math, I'm listening and looking out the window. Next thing I know, he's storming towards my direction. I thought I was about to get smacked. He closes the blinds and takes my text book away, asks me to leave. I said, "No," and asked for my book.
I was sent to the office. There I was told all about my disruptive ways. I was forced to believe I had done something wrong. That was the final straw for me. I wasn't even the first kid this teacher attacked like that. I said to hell with it, gave up, quit the class. Started skipping other classes, gave those up too. My grades weren't poor, I wasn't struggling, I just could not respect these people enough to listen to them. It seemed like once I pissed off one teacher, they all started to pick on me.
I'd be offended any time another kid was put in the same situation. Forced how to act, how to say things, where to look. Sitting in history class learning about dictators, from dictators. Paid goons.
You won't get very far in life without an education. I found myself in the backroom of a retail store years later. One day I opened the door to receive a load brought by a courier. It's the math teacher, new uniform. His eyes got big. We acted like nothing was going on. Eventually, because I'd see this guy every damn day again, we did start talking. He remembered, he apologized. He tried to explain. Typical reasons. "Tired, sick of my job, sick of kids." The same shit they all say. We ended up getting along just fine though.
Recently
My eldest daughter needed help with a story. Halloween theme. This was at least four years ago. I didn't write it for her. I'd simply suggest things, she'd run with it and put it in her own words. So it's a story about a possessed doll. What kid can't relate to their toys coming alive? She wrote the part about the eyes falling out, not me. I thought it was great story. She thought it was a great story. It was dark, scary, perfect for Halloween.
The teacher didn't accept it. All the other stories were about your typical Halloween monsters, the famous ones. The ghosts wore bed sheets. Her originality was shunned and the story was deemed to be too scary for school and the other kids. Do you think my daughter writes anymore? I encourage it, but kids are paid in grades. If grades depend on the brains of closed-minded censors, she'll feel stalled, and she does, we talk about it. These teachers have a script. Their livelihood depends on following it. I think even the good ones give up on caring at times. Much like I did in high school.
How did I really feel? I helped my kid with homework and got her in trouble. We did nothing wrong. She doesn't look at me like it was my fault, I didn't give her heck for getting in trouble. I wanted to go to that school and show them what a real scary story looks like, but I'm not a violent man.
There He Was
Now we go back two years. I'm in the small city I grew up in, enjoying the midway. We're at The Fair. I think anyone from a small city in North America should know what that is. Everyone seems to go even though every year was worse than the last.
I'm standing in cue with both of my daughters, waiting to go on a ride. I look over. There he is, that son of a bitch. The first person to ever aggressively attempt to hold me back. I'm now nearly a foot taller. I felt like saying hello. I watched him, guiding his wife around, mumbling about what he thinks about certain things, while she nodded obediently. The nose up in the air kind of guy with a hint of control freak. I stared, waiting for eye contact. He was now four feet away from me. He glanced.
I've never seen a pair of eyes dart away faster in my entire life. He lingered around for awhile. He didn't want me to think I made him feel uneasy, but it was too late. I remember the body language well. While he was trying to teach me, I was studying him.
Maybe I wasn't the best writer or very good at giving a speech, but I learned one fuck of a lot about assholes.
