I seldom go online to read my column since I already know what I said and bored myself to tears the first time.
But when someone reports, as last week, “Have you read the comments below your column? Oh boy, they really blistered you this time,” I check to fairly evaluate the claims of my detractors.
Color me impressed with one such critique, testily declaring, “… Had you started with that sentence, I wouldn’t have wasted time reading this ‘chloroform in print.’” While not a glowing tribute to my ability to hold a reader’s interest, “Chloroform in Print” is so delightfully original, I’m thinking of renaming my column that very thing.
I was gonna reply in some snarky tone like, “Hey, try reading me again next week. If you continue to nod off, I would consult a doctor to test for narcolepsy.”
But I put two and two together to realize what had this reader intermittently seething and snoring, was my last word on PC-gone-wild, describing Trump as “a beacon of hope for all the other class acts out there …” Noticing a few similar reader comments, I says to myself, “Egad! My satirical sarcasm was mistaken for sincere flattery.”
Now come on! Seriously calling the Donald a class act, beacon of hope is akin to describing Courtney Love, (or Mae West if you’re elderly) as “a chaste crusader giving hope to all the other celibate, Mother Theresa-types out there.”
In the style of some obscure writer, “Friends, Codyites, countrymen, lend me your ears, (I’ve always hated mine). I came here to bury Trump, not to praise him.”
My mock tribute was so tongue in cheek, I could feel the craterous cavity in my right, upper molar. Furthermore, I’ve told Christian brothers, “You’re adamant defense of countless Trump sins after screaming for Bill Clinton’s head on an impeachment platter is so blatantly hypocritical, I fear it’s confusing the hell out of Agnostics!” That’s right; I said hell.
In the man’s defense, the economy apparently is doing great, as I’ve noticed all my rich friends have gotten richer. I’m still broke of course, but shouldn’t have invested in that lingerie shop in Iran. But general dishonesty, uncivility and bullying have made huge comebacks.
On an unsimilar note, during Monday night’s disturbing Jets/Patriots game, I received a disturbing phone call. An angry man in a thick New York accent, (never a good sign) barks, “I have your rat. I hate animals and if you don’t come get him in the next five hours, he’ll be ground up for meat.”
Obviously taken aback, I immediately search for Ginger who stared back at me like, “What’s your problem?” This guy continues his dog-threatening diatribe in spite of my, “Hey, my dog is right here beside me” reply.
Then came the recorded message, “You have been the victim of a prank phone call … blah, blah.”
What, like April’s Fools Day isn’t bad enough, now there’s a legitimate service offered for liars and pranksters to unravel innocent victims? What ever happened to old-fashioned honor? Thank God we finally have a president of whom honesty and integrity means something. I’m kidding!