Since the Diapers are coming back on, it’s time for the gloves – so to speak – to come off. No more pandering to the feelings of the deranged. Let them know how you feel for a change.
I did so just a few hours ago. I was out with my girlfriend doing atomic blast burnouts in a new Mustang Mach 1 – review is coming! – when I rolled up to the post office in my small rural county to drop off a letter at the box. As I rolled the rumpety-rumping Mustang up to the box, a Freak hurried out of the building. A middle-aged woman, fully Diapered, all by herself – outside. Her car – a crossover, of course – was parked such that I was crossing her T (battleship lingo) with the Mustang and she did not like that, as inferred from her posture and the way her angry little eyes narrowed.
But she really didn’t like that I laughed at her, obviously, as she got the disinfectant out and cleaned her ‘Rona-laden paws. I made no effort to be discreet and then did the ultimate triggering thing. I placed both hands on my face and moved them up and down, it-rubs-the-lotion-on-its-skin-or-else-it-gets-the-hose-again style.
My amigos over at Media Bear are infamous for this gesture of contempt and I give credit where credit is richly due.
The Freak almost popped. Spittle would probably have splattered from her face portal if her face had not been effaced. She angrily backed up and drove away.
It is funny – but then it’s also not. People like this woman used to be kept out of circulation for the altogether sound reason that they are wrong in the head. And they were not made worse in the head by “respecting their feelings.” Indeed, the most respectful thing you can do for a mentally ill person is to help them – to the extent possible – recover their reason and this is not done by affirming their delusions.
The worst thing to do is give a crazy person a sense of mission and rightness – which turns what was a kind of furtive pathology of the kind once reserved to bridge underpasses and schizophrenics pushing shopping carts into a twisted moralizing and very public display of rabidized virtue-signaling.
And rabid things are dangerous things. They have lost the fear that used to keep them from charging – and biting.
This woman is merely one of many and they are among us, their fury over our faces and our “hesitancy” percolating to boiling in tandem with the cases! the cases! – about which we’re hearing more of, again. Probably because things had become much too almost-normal again and the Freaks were beginning to feel like, well, Freaks. Who else is still wearing the Freak Rag?
They want to feel better – by making themselves feel less like Freaks and the way to do that is the same way it was done before: By forcing normal people to look like Freaks. If everyone looks like a Freak then Freaks look like everyone else.
Well, maybe not this time. Maybe not again.
Maybe this time, the people who wore a Freak Rag not because they were Freaks themselves or even especially cared about the feelings of Freaks but simply wanted to not be hassled by Freaks will understand how important it is to stop accommodating Freaks. How important it is to call them out, because of the danger of not doing so.
The only way the Diapers will stay off this time is if enough of us refuse to put one on, again. For any reason, even if it means real sacrifice. Even if it means your job. Even if it means not being able to see family because you cannot fly otherwise. Certainly, if it means nothing more than the relatively minor hassle of not patronizing stores and restaurants that accommodate Freaks, thereby enabling them.
Because we stand to lose everything, this time.
It is past time to say enough is enough – and never again. Not one inch. Give them nothing.
Laugh at them, if they give you the stinky squint. Make it clear to them that you’re sick of playing Kabuki and aren’t going to do it anymore.
Their hurt feelings be damned.
. . .
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