Halloween Follies: Two Takes
Phantom offenses
AFTER PUBLISHING, PUBLISH NOTHING TO CROW ABOUT (INSERT LINK TO THIS) THEN UPDATE THIS WITH LINK TO THE OTHER.
No Offense
Trouble is brewing at Ipswich Ale.
The company has been profusely apologizing for the past week on behalf of employee Brian Watts, whom they lost no time tossing under the Brewery bus.
Sentence: unpaid suspension of indeterminate duration, with parole contingent upon proof of repentance.
Watts did not get a fair trial. Watts did not get a trial. His offense was so outrageous that the Kangaroo Court of P.C. County thought it a slam dunk. After all, there were hundreds of horrified witnesses.
Watts’s crime? Appearing at a “Night of the Living-Dead Rock Star” theme party as the late rapper Biggie Smalls, Watts’s childhood idol.
For accuracy — for any hope of recognition — Watts wore brown makeup.
That’s it, folks. As for those hundreds of horrified witnesses? There were hundreds of others who were not so horrified. Indeed, the applause meter registered loud enough to garner Watts the hundred-dollar second prize.
Stampeding hordes of humorless offend-ees drowned the clamor of happy clappers.
Cries of “racial stereotyping” and “outrageous insensitivity” crescendoed, reaching a climax with demands for Watts’s head on the company chopping block.
Ipswich Ale and its prosecutors struck a plea bargain. Watts was sentenced to indefinite leave sans salary, to be followed by mandatory “cultural diversity training” — not just for Watts, but for all employees.
For his part, Watts humbly apologized for having unwittingly given offense:
“It simply never occurred to me that this was going to be so harmful to so many. I wish I could take it back, but I can’t. I also can’t undo the harm this has caused my employer… has been subjected to threats.”
Watts said he would donate his prize money to the American Civil Liberties Union. “I don’t want to profit from the pain and confusion I have caused.”
Mr. Watts, you have nothing to apologize for. You didn’t “harm” anybody or cause them “pain.”
Enjoy your hundred bucks — you deserve it, and more, for all the grief you’ve been subjected to by the self-righteous, self-appointed P.C. Police and by the yellow jelly-bellied, damage-control contingent at Ipswich Ale.
Brian, for your own sake — next time, play it safe as a vanilla Elvis.
No Offense Taken
Whatever has possessed Halloween?
Fright-for-fun engendered by its usual ghosts and spooks pales in comparison to a fear-for-real of a most dreadful specter. This phantom is conjured by the powers of political correctness, which haunt us with their eerie wail: your costume is off-ennnn-sive!
How I long for the glory days of 2008 when Sarah Palin was America’s sweetheart slash nightmare pending. There were so many delightful takes on her that Halloween.
One woman came riding in a reindeer-ed sleigh. One came flailing in a big baked Alaska, meringue spewing on spectators. I came simply: hair up, glasses on, smiling and waving, with “John McCain” in tow.
I carried a handbag to which I’d attached a pair of tidbits spawned by Internet imps.
One — spoofing McCain’s advanced age — read: McCain ’08; Palin ’09.
The other — spoofing McCain’s being sidelined by his glamour girl — read: Visit us at Sarah-Palin-and-what’s-his-name.com.
Palin fans squealed in delight at my appearance; the ladies jostled one another for the place of honor next to Sarah.
What’s his name was rudely shoved out of frame whilst the surfeit of selfies was spawned.
Palin detractors were equally delighted, snapping their share of Sarah shots; some nonfans designed to include What’s-his-name.
Those were the days of non-partisan politics, neither “correct” nor “incorrect.” Just fun.
This story was written in 2017.
