If I were to imagine myself an organ in the human body it would have started out long ago as a heart and on the way o a brain turned unexpectedly into a gall bladder. Could Charles Darwin in his wildest imagination have predicted such a transmigration of flesh? If we are going to play pin the ethnicity on the donkey, a very Goya-esque occupation, then it might squarely land on the rump of the French. After all, there is no secret that gall was derived from Gaul. This certainly explains my natural affinity for employing my own fractured version of “la langue française.” So having established a fairly stable ‘love|hate’ connection through my didactic let me move on to the regulatory taboo know informally as Political Correctness. This phenomena not being the accidental spinoff of a transplanted group of kindly old world philosophy professors trying to do good, but something much more meticulously malevolent in its inception.
The rules of the game here are strictly codified in keeping with the Soviet traditions that engendered it early on. These being that someone from a designated minority enacts a significant faux pas and everyone else has to act as if never occurred. Now the trick to winning the game is to be the one that not only got to play spin the bottle in terms of who the ‘original victim’ should be but rather test the premise out for say three hundred years or so on a variety of peoples in a variety of lands and then settle on the one’s who were least able to fight back. This being established in true ‘carrot and stick’ Pharonic fashion the fix so to speak is safely in where the victim can be made to alternately squawk and then cease doing same on command. This becomes a hell of a club to beat all the other players of the table with vis a vis the, “you better not talk or you’ll be cast as a persecutor!”, commandment. That one being the phase two part of the gambit where groups that are harder to control are motivated by stealthy incremental steps to finally demonstrate the less than likely side of their nature in committing barbaric acts. And then, of course, forever reminded of it with the ‘persecutor’ rule. It is imperative, as the main instigator, to sneak around ‘hush hush’ style with all these preparation and even play the dispossessed on numerous occasions to deflect any officially posed suspicions by the other players. But always have the only bullhorn in the room handy to call out with authority who the loser is! You know you’ve won when the only thing not talked about is you and the methods you employed on all the other losers. Neat huh!
In terms of conversion of flesh played upon a larger scale what seems impossible in a single unit of the animal phylum seems fairly mundane within the larger species. That old donkey of his Satanic majesty now a larger paid off conspiracy firmly emplaced to continue this time honored traditional strategy across the land of those who might also be going through their own metastasis from a former pleasurable security to neurotic irritability. All that can be said of such a situation is that every ‘organ’ is charged to take the time to know its place to begin with! Maybe it’s time the rest of us learn a little more about this game and how to win on our own terms?