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As much as I hate putting any dollar into Jeff Bezos’ pocket that I don’t have to, Sister Babe’s insistence on subscribing to The Washington Compost so she can read it over breakfast is a phenomenal source for blog fodder. The latest example appeared when I opened the paper a few Sundays ago to be greeted by the headline, “Please stop making jokes about gender pronouns when people tell you theirs” with the Subhead, “They might hurt people more than you realize.”

The story proceeds to open with the anecdote about how Fredo Cuomo was forced to grovel before the Gaystapo after joking when Kamala Harris announced her preferred pronouns. I could give a blow by blow recap of how traumatizing mocking someone who inflicts their pronoun demands onto you truly is. But it reads exactly as you’d expect, so we can cut straight to how one should respond.

First the short version: “Go (copulate) yourself.”

Now for the longer version: For a moment let’s overlook that you live in what may be the greatest decade in the history of the world for a human to be alive. And by amazing coincidence, you happen to live in the greatest country the world has ever known. If that weren’t enough, you live in its capitol city, where a disproportionate amount of the country’s wealth has been distributed. You’re also part of this trust fund generation that’s never worried about war, famine, nor plague. Yes, you are part of a generation of trust funders who has some strange notion that peace and prosperity are the norm and to be expected – hate to break this to you but this era is the exception, not the norm.

Let’s also look past that you live in one of the most gay friendly cities in one of the most gay friendly cultures the world has ever known. Try living in one of those fossil fuel based economies halfway around the world that funds so many in your profession. Or better still, the next time a politician suggests dropping a few thousand migrants from one of those countries into one of those hated Republican voting rural or suburban towns, contact your local politician and demand that they be relocated to the DuPont Circle neighborhood. You could probably get many Conservatives across America behind this – Hell, I’d personally come out to watch your next Gay Pride Parade as you march through a neighborhood inhabited by a few thousand followers of The Religion of Peace.

But enough about your ingratitude and need to create a crisis because the safety and comfort in which you live just aren’t good enough. Insisting that every person you meet remember your pronouns is not only obnoxious, it’s damned selfish. I’ve never been good with names, and that hasn’t improved as I’ve gotten older. Now you’re expecting me to bend over backwards to accommodate your mental issue? And I don’t mean that in an offensive way – I honestly feel badly for you. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like being born with the biology of a man and being attracted to the gender that nature did not intend, or vice versa. But I’ve also had enough friends from the various LGBQWERTY categories over the years to know it’s also possible to roll with it, adapt, and have a happy life. I could be wrong, but part of why they’re happy might have something to do with not having to invent new ways to justify their personal misery. And we’ve already hit Peak Pronoun when even Lefties are admitting that asking for pronouns is a form of oppression (video).

So in the meantime, if you’re that offended that I don’t give a damn about your preferred pronouns, tough (excrement). If I remember your name, consider yourself lucky. So if you’re going to demand that I go beyond my normal mental capabilities to accommodate you, don’t get mad when I counter with a demand that you address me by my preferred pronouns:

The Earl of Funk

The Duke of Cool

The Ayatollah of Rock and Rolla!

https://twitter.com/ZubyMusic/status/1210334699941441536?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw

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Cross posted from Brother Bob’s Blog