No Offense, But....

I've been meaning to change my i-mood. It's read "pissed off" since last Wednesday, when I was actually pissed off. But lately I've been relatively calm and quite happy and thinking, "I need to change that bad boy." And now, here I find myself pissed off again. So I guess I'll leave it.

I have feelings just like everybody else does, but frankly I'm getting pretty damn sick of everybody everywhere being offended over everything.

Everybody was offended because they saw Janet Jackson's boob. They were offended because it may have been planned, and because it came in the middle of that family-oriented event the Super Bowl, where men get together and try to pound the shit out of each other, then dance around like idiots celebrating the fact, and it came in the middle of some overwhelmingly ugly and bad taste-laden "entertainment" everyone was enjoying. Imagine. A boob right in the middle of all that fun.

And so the accusations started and the apologies rolled. The corporations denied, and Ms Jackson herself mea culpa'ed her way into submission, and Justin Timberlake said all the right things and squirmed his way out of trouble, and now we can't see any live TV anymore.

And even without the live TV, CBS and Outkast got in trouble at the Grammys, because Outkast decided to wear indian fringe and headdresses, and come out onstage by way of a really cool-looking teepee. And the American Indian community was livid, and demanded apologies.

And so CBS this time did not deny, but started genuflecting while walking backwards, asking forgiveness for their sins. And I was wondering where the sins were. I mean, the band looked cool. Indian dress is neat. Indian boots rock like nobody's business. And personally, the Teepee - at least the kind made of bedsheets - has given me many hours of peace and comfort in my bedroom when I was little.

So guys, you're cool. They're paying you a fucking compliment. Do you see them dressing like cowboys? No! Cowboys aren't that cool. They like you!

Now, sometime in the middle of all this, the people north of us, those Canadian folks, well, the ones from Quebec anyway, got their French-speaking noses all out of joint because Triumph the Insult Comic Dog, from Conan O'Brien's show, came to Quebec and proceeded to - and I know this is a shock coming from an insult comic dog, folks - proceeded to make fun of the natives. He said such horrible psyche-threatening things as, "you're obnoxious and dull," and "I can smell your crotch from here."

And there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth, Canadian teeth anyway, and Conan was right there on the air the next week apologizing, and to his credit, at least he did it in a funny sort of way. But he shouldn't have been doing it at all.

Now, let's forget for a minute that Triumph is a puppet. He's a fuckin' piece of rubber, for cryin' out loud. He's a piece of rubber! Let's remember this. Our insulting friend stood outside in New York a couple of years ago and made the worst fun imaginable of Star Wars geeks. For a long time. Bad fun. And they all laughed! Oh, those simpler times, I long for them.

So anyway, now I'm reading that, with days left to go till the Oscars, people are starting to rag on "Lost In Translation." They say it makes fun of the Japanese. It makes fun of their behavior, and that their L's and R's get mixed up. It's degrading!

Yeah, well, I saw "Lost In Translation." And found nothing degrading about it at all. The Japanese are portrayed as, well, fun, nice, happy, goofy people. Just like people are. Everywhere. There's a Japanese Graham Norton. A Japanese stupid hip commercial director. And yeah. There's a lady escort whose Ls and Rs sound alike. So what - you've never encountered a hooker with a speech impediment? You know you have.

At least no studio, or Sofia Coppola herself, has come out with an apology. Sofia said this is how she found life to be when she was in Tokyo - a place she loved. Oh, Sofia. You know that's not going to placate anyone!

You know what offends me? Turning on the TV and seeing a woman plug a hole in her rowboat with a tampon. Seeing Mel Gibson's fucking face one more time, telling us his wife's probably going to hell, but that's OK, or that he can't say anything against his father, who's either a direct descendant of Hitler or clinically insane. Or both.

And you know what else offends me? Having to listen to Cialis commercials telling me that if my erection lasts longer than four hours I need to seek medical treatment from a doctor. I don't want to hear about anyone's erection, I don't care how spectacular it is or how long it lasts. If your erection is still alive after four hours my remedy for that is to cut the mother off. That's what you get for taking that shit anyway. So when is Cialis going to apologize to me for making my television watching experience so traumatic? Or grease my palm with one half of one percent of their Cialis earnings for one day?

You know what else offends me? The fact that we have a weasely-faced piece of shit president who graduated from Yale and yet still says "new-cu-lar." Who do I call at the news station to apologize to me for hearing that?

You know, in forty-something years of living I've endured every fat joke known to man. Ever really watch commercials? Ever notice the person who uses the wrong brand x product is fat? Generally with a bad hairdo and dress sense to boot. Who's out there protesting for me? Oh, yeah, that's right. Those militant fat people everyone hates. And makes fun of in their commercials.

By the way, I asked Mr M the other night, on behalf of not only the women in my office but women everywhere, why men are so wrapped up in their penises, why their entire universe revolves around that dangly thing. His answer? An exasperated, "That's nothing but women's perceptions." I tried to argue the point, but he stopped listening. I guess his mind had gone elsewhere. If you get my drift.