Editing Shortcuts

Stanko & Tibor - Editing Shortcuts

Dearest victims of domestic spying,

Having recently sweated profusely in the backyard, mowing and weeding and such, I came to several realizations.

1. I’m an environmentalist. But not the kind you think. Let’s look at the etymology of the word. We start with “environ” coming from the French, meaning approximately, around, the place not too far from my body where I live with a colossal, pain-in-the-ass weed bed for a backyard, various family members and neighbors. “Mental” comes from the Latin meaning not right in the head, several cards shy of a full deck, mucho nutty, cranially deficient, 1/2 cup shy of brain cells, or works for a large IT company. The last part “ist” is an adjectival ending stemming from Middle German verb “to be” that simply means is. Put them all together and you get the definition of environmentalist “Is cranially deficient and nutty in the head from mowing and weeding his backyard.” (I think I understand Büchner’s Woyzeck going nuts a bit more now.)

I am trying to become a radical environmentalist by letting the weeds take over, thus choking off the grass, thus promoting biodiversity and freeing me of the heinous task of mowing the damn lawn. Sure, our tomato plants will suffer for it, but that’s what a farmers’ market is for – to keep the farmers from starving to death by giving them my money to grow stuff I am too lazy to care for. Sure, some people actually enjoy being in the backyard mowing and weeding and landscaping and tending to it, but they aren’t environmentalists. They are just unwell.

2. Most bugs I have encountered are stupid. They annoy me, and I kill them. They reproduce, I attack them using a banned spray substance from the Vietnam war, they die, I cough and have blurred vision and CNS issues for an hour. Wash, rinse, repeat until the end of the summer. At least I avoid animal feces at all and any cost. They go right for it. Survival of the most reproductive, I’d say. Now I am starting to hum Monty Python’s “I like Chinese…”

3. I could never be a vegan, let alone a vegetarian. In a quest to extend their lives and be disease-free, and reduce the burden on the environment they do not eat meat and dairy products. I can barely get my head around the vegetarian thing, but OK, I can see if your doctor ordered you on pain of a monthly rectal exam, maybe you’d give up the reckless consumption of animal flesh. But being a vegan?

I have long since concluded without a shred of scientific proof (politicians, Fox News and religious zealots don’t use it, so why should I?) that the bitterest people are the ones who live the longest, especially if they are vegans. They are just plain mad at everyone for eating meat and dairy. What happens? They get so old from good health that they have to see more of humanity’s countless atrocities and stupidity (like this blog).

I am also scientifically and morally sure they are bitter and vengeful because a butter-laced, cholesterol-infused croissant with some kind of mysterious side meat — that according to the packaging is now “gluten free” — is off limits, all in the name of good health and moral superiority.

Can you imagine what would happen if we gave everyone in the world free chocolate and cinnamon danish and coffee? Apart from the gluten allergy people breaking out in a violent rash, thus enriching the cabal of dermatologists and ointment makers, I am sure world peace would break out along with the aforementioned rash. First smiles all around, everyone would have to drop their weapons because their hands would be sticky with danish goo, and then everyone would go into a food coma and take a nap. How is that bad?

I am not here to malign the vegans (probably because they will hunt me down and throw out my freezer of meats and then toss the butter and cheese and nuclear material-based cookies I tend to have a weakness for). I am merely here to point out that if I, me personally, were to switch to a vegan diet, I’d:

a) be crotchety,
b) no longer need a belt with so many notches,
c) live way too long and thus outlive my meager savings. I’d be healthy and poor. Worse, I’d deprive the medical-military establishment of a reason to come up with a cure for whatever disease I will acquire and therefore cause joblessness for many a scientist. Wouldn’t be responsible of me from a societal benefit point of view.

What does this very long rant have to do with the latest posting of the comic the ancient Greek philosopher Plato once said “was not fit to wipe up my tzaziki drippings with”? I’d be lying if I said it would have an effect on world poverty or something profound. But I don’t think it would be a big stretch to say I am now hungry for a cheeseburger.

Respectfully and regretfully yours,
Balthazar “The Belligerent” Druker



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