The A Word … February 5th, 2019

THE

WORD

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Jonathots Daily Blog

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My assumption is that it began with “the f word.”

Feeling that we were very proper, members of our society began refusing to even say the word f-u-c-k, but instead referred to it as “that f word.” The immediate foolishness of this approach is that every time you say “the f word,” everyone listening sounds out the word “fuck” in their minds.

When we added “the n word” to it, thinking we were sparing an entire race of people anger and humiliation, we just gave bigots a way to promote the word.

Likewise with “the c word.”

So I am doing a series on every letter of the alphabet—how each one has a naughty word that most people think should not be spoken aloud, due to its severity or profanity.

Using my recollection of the alphabet from my kindergarten class, I think that takes us to the letter A.

THE A WORD IS ASSHOLE

The “a word” falling into this category is asshole.

The word is a game changer.

For instance, you can say to someone, “I am disgusted with you.” They may be slightly offended by your observation but not devastated.

You could even say, “I can’t stand your attitude.” It’s stinging, but not a mortal wound.

But when you add onto those thoughts a closing remark of, “you are an asshole,” the whole temperature and intensity of the event changes. The reason for your original objection gets buried under an avalanche of offense. Why?

You will discover over these twenty-six weeks, as we investigate each of these words, that they convey a hidden meaning.

Calling someone an asshole says that you believe their actions, lifestyle and motivations are located at the place in the ass where shit comes out.

Therefore, you’re saying the following three things:

1. “You are less than me.” (That in itself could be fighting words)
2. “You don’t have rights.” (Now the person you offended is ready for a fight)
3. “You are worthless.” (Let the punching begin.)

Words that have proven themselves to be so poisonous that they have to be referred to by a single letter always find their birthing in human bigotry. Over the years, they have been portrayed comically and even presented off-handedly. But at their root is the notion of superiority.

This is how Hitler was able to convince the German people that the Jews were rats. In other words, “they are less than us, they don’t have rights and therefore, they’re worthless.”

So rather than presenting this word as immoral, or a term that “good people just don’t use,” we need to realize that “asshole” is still being used—because bigotry has not been adequately exposed.

The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly donation for this inspirational opportunity

 

 

Untotaled: Stepping 42 (August 27th, 1967) Driven… November 29, 2014

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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(Transcript)

I woke up in one of those adolescent grumpy moods, staring at the ceiling, disgusted with my life.

It was nearly time for school to start again and I felt like I had squandered my entire summer, worrying about how little summer I had left.

Even the things I had done which seemed enjoyable had passed too quickly, and now it was time to go back to school–to pretend to be a student and memorize a bunch of information which would give me a good grade on a test, knowing in my heart that I would soon forget the knowledge, yet knowing that somewhere in the future, I would be expected to remember it.

I had acquired three dollars yesterday by finally mowing the lawn, which had grown so high that one of the neighbors had complained to my parents, fearing that varmaints or snakes might dwell within. I reluctantly did the job and was rewarded with the remuneration.

So I woke up with a scratch I needed to itch. That’s the way it is when you’re a teenager–it’s not really an itch you need to scratch, but rather, an ongoing scratching sensation and needing an itch to justify it.

I got in my car and headed over to Katie’s house. She was the highlight of my summer. We had come together to search for pop bottles we could turn in for deposit to get gas money so we could drive around, talk and be silly.

There was nothing romantic involved, though candidly, I would have jumped her at the slightest invitation. She just thought I was funny.

When I picked her up that day, she had two dollars she had earned by picking blackberries on her grandma’s farm. Between us we had five dollars, three candy bars and some leftover tuna sandwiches her mother had foisted on her as she departed.

Katie explained that she needed to be home by three o’clock in the afternoon, and since it was already ten-thirty, our time would be shortened.

I told her that since we had enough money to buy fifteen gallons of gasoline, that we should drive three hours somewhere, talk, laugh and turn around to drive three hours back.

She was cool with it so we took off for Columbus.

Driving on I-71, we reached the south end of Columbus. Then that scratch that needed an itch suddenly raised its head. So I said, “Let’s keep going.”

She was nervous but agreed–and before too long we passed through Washington Court House, Wilmington and suddenly found ourselves on the outskirts of Cincinnati. It was deliciously naughty, filled with wild abandon and irresponsibility.

A sign read that the Ohio River was four miles ahead. I had never seen the Ohio River, and Katie had only passed over it in a car with her parents while being sound asleep in the back seat. So I said, let’s do it.

We crossed the river into Kentucky.

We felt like fugitives. It was similar to trying to make our way into the Soviet Union through the Iron Curtain (they had that back then).

Everything on the other side of the river, including a town named Covington, looked so different. We felt like Christopher Columbus eyeballing the New World.

Suddenly, Katie looked down at her watch and it was two o’clock in the afternoon, and she realized there was no way she would be able to get back in time. There also were no cell phones or texting, and pay phones were out of the question because we had used all of our money for petrol.

So knowing we were going to get in trouble, we turned the car around and headed back the way we came. It was the strangest combination of fear, jubilance, independence, anxiety and nervous bowel twinges that I’ve ever experienced in my life.

Strangely enough, when we arrived home, people really didn’t say much about us being late–just that we should never do it again.

Katie and I knew that was impossible.

Something changed that day.

I no longer felt bound to a small home on a tiny street in a little village. I realized there was a big world out there–and the only way I would ever get to it and be myself was to survive a couple more years of provincial schooling … to finally be able to point my life in my own direction.

The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this wonderful, inspirational opportunity

Please contact Jonathan’s agent, Jackie Barnett, at (615) 481-1474, for information about scheduling.

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