That’s Mr. Dickbag to you, mate.

April 24, 2009

You wanna know the problem with being a male Caucasian baby boomer? I never get to play the race card.

I never get to whine or complain or bitch because, apparently, no one has the balls to pick on big, bad, dominating me.

Bummer. Now I’ll never be on the TV news.

However, when I dare to have the temerity to shake my head at Seeka Veevee Parsons and the idiocy of her candy-bashing efforts, I do attract comments like this one from someone named Mike (expo143@gmail.com):

Hey you racist dickbag, get some fucking perspective. How one comes down on an issue like this is usually a pretty good measure of a person, and you end up a bit short.

But hey, what do I know? Maybe being a racist dickbag is loads of fun for you.

Actually, Mike — can I call you Mike? — I have no idea how much fun racists have. I mean, it must be hard to breathe under all those white sheets and all.

Let me explain something to you, Mike (and I’ll type slowly so you can sound the words out phonetically):

I don’t care what color or race Ms Veevee Parsons happens to be. She could have been a purple Martian for all I care. This has absolutely nothing to do with racism and everything to do with bad manners.

What gives her  — or anybody else for that matter — the right to barge into another country and start demanding changes? We’re not talking international policies here, people. It’s candy and ice cream, for chrissakes. I mean, isn’t there a seal pup you need to save somewhere?

If you came into my house and pulled that shit, you’d need surgery to remove my foot from your rectum.

If she tried that stunt in America, where they have guns and a dislike for loudmouthed, pushy strangers, Ms Veevee Parsons would be going home in a box.

Am I a racist? Oh, hell, no. I’ve bought ceremonial salmon off First Nations’ fishers like all good Canadians.

Do I despise rude people? Each and every one of them.

And that’s the last I have to say on this subject. I’m looking at the clock and, yup, Ms. Veevee Parsons, your 15 minutes are up. Good bye and good riddance. Don’t bother coming back.

PS: Dickbag, one word or two? Discuss.

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One Response to “That’s Mr. Dickbag to you, mate.”

  1. JoJo said

    Dickbag, one word, has more punch.

    If I were Mike, thank goodness I’m not, I’d have gone for phallus-satchel. Hyphenated to avoid smushing of consonants but also to retain effect.

    My analysis of dickbag, ends.

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