Crime Against Humanity

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Crime against humanity: (n) a crime, such as genocide, directed against a large group

I am going to suggest six crimes against humanity which possibly should be considered as legitimate statutes. I am not suggesting there be prison sentences for them—but perhaps reminders to one another on how these six things perpetuate great pain on the human race.

  1. Every human being is better than an animal. To suggest, even jokingly, that somehow the animal kingdom has equivalency, is a crime. (We are worth many sparrows.)
  1. Insisting that every human has a destiny which they should try to locate, is cruel, when we all know that free will is the law of the Universe, and we make our own future.
  2. Flattering people because you don’t know what else to say is a crime against humanity because eventually the factual representation of their abilities will play out.
  3. Any assumption that gender, color, culture, religion, sexual orientation or political affiliation has anything to do with the virtue of a person is the definition of bigotry. This would be a crime.
  4. Anything that we cannot say to someone’s face should never be said behind their back.
  5. And finally, being sure of yourself is the surest way to make sure that no one else can be sure about you.

Subscribe to Jonathan’s Weekly Podcast

Good News and Better News

 

Crave

 Crave: (v) to long for

I am very familiar with three great cravings.

They are not unique to me nor can they be labeled by the simple titles “good and evil.” But I know that all three of these have, do and funny wisdom on words that begin with a Cprobably will wiggle their way into my thinking and manifest themselves as desires.

The trouble is, each craving demands that I take on a certain responsibility. Or maybe “responsibility” is over-spoken. It’s actually more like a chore.

1. I crave orgasm.

It feels good. It’s a pleasant burst. There’s just enough unpredictable about it that each encounter possesses uniqueness. It is a few brief seconds when I no longer care that I am human, and I allow all the animal stoked deep inside me to roar.

With this craving comes a chore. It’s called sex. Although we insist that sex is pleasurable, it is actually the orgasm that brings the ecstasy, and to achieve that we go through the practice, interaction, danger and mediocrity of sexual relations with another person.

This certainly is why masturbation is so popular.

2. I crave companionship.

The chore that comes with this particular quest is people.

Yes, unless I plan on having just dogs, cats and miscellaneous domesticated animals surrounding me, unable to carry on conversations, I will have to learn, understand and tolerate the actions of other Homo Sapiens.

The payoff is great, but the process is—well, shall we say, unending.

3. I crave immortality.

The chore with this, if you will, is dealing with God.

There is no evidence that I possess any likelihood of longevity beyond a century without a belief in an eternal home.

God becomes problematic.

He is so loving that He includes fools, religionists, shysters and the most boring theologians ever conjured in a seminary.

In my craving for orgasm, companionship and immortality I must survive the chores of sex, people and God.

There are times when I wonder if it’s worth it.

There are occasions I wish to be free of the entanglements and the conditions brought on in satisfying my cravings.

But usually, a good nap, a meal or allowing my mind to be free of pressure makes me once again a willing participant in the pursuit of what I crave.


Donate Button


Subscribe to Jonathan’s Weekly Podcast

Good News and Better News

 

Cow

Cow: (n) the mature female of a bovine animal

Cow is a word. Cow is a concept. Cow is a picture.

Cow is an animal. Cow is a creature. Cows live on farms.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

A farm is a concept. It is also a word.

Cows hang out in barns. Barns have hay. It piles up in lofts.

Cows give milk. Milk makes cheese.

Cheese gives us something on our burger so the bacon sticks and doesn’t slide off.

Cows sometimes have a cottage where they make cheese. Cows have udders. These are ‘udderly’ large nipples.

We are not allowed to say ‘nipples,’ at least, not without giggling.

But you see, all of these are antiseptic visions of a cow. They are representations. They are promotable units which can be pandered off to the masses.

If you were actually to go to a farm which has a barn wherein dwells a cow, you would learn very quickly that they smell bad. (Either the barn or the cow—maybe even the farm.) It’s not the cow’s fault. Hygiene is not a primary concern. Crevices are difficult to reach.

Cows also chew their cud, which once again, sounds reasonably harmless unless you’re watching them swish it around in their mouths like some sort of gooey, slimy hockey puck.

Watching cows being milked may cure you of your desire for dairy.

Trying to communicate with a cow will certainly give you a parallel to parenting.

And note—a cow’s constant friends are hundreds of flies, which blow them continually, and not in a pleasant way.

We also acknowledge that cows make beef products like steak and hamburger. But sometimes it’s best to show up to the party a little bit late so you don’t have to view what goes into arranging the decorations.

I can continue to eat hamburger as long as I don’t have to think about cows. Matter of fact, I have thought about cows just about as much as I wish or would ever want to think about again.

If you want to contemplate cows more, you should probably Google them, or risk going out into the countryside and carefully walking through the pasture to interview one.

Donate Button


Subscribe to Jonathan’s Weekly Podcast

Good News and Better News

 

Corner

Corner: (n) the place at which two converging lines or surfaces meet.

Jerry was my friend. His dad was a conservative preacher who refused to own a television.

Jerry didn’t share his father’s convictions. When he was around his papa he was as silent as a mouse, and as soon as he walked out of the door of his home he turned into a roaring lion.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

He was fun.

But even though I was just a kid myself, I knew there was something a little bit mixed up with Jerry. There was a hidden rage which was not very well disguised. It was like a box sticking out from under your bed that you thought was put away, but everybody knew there was something beneath.

Jerry got angry easily. Matter of fact, one night we were at my house and went into the garage. We found a possum next to our freezer. (I share this with you because it was unusual. If we normally had possums next to our freezer, I would have left it out of the tale.)

The possum was a little surprised to see us. It acted like it was pursuing a normal routine and we had interrupted the process. It gave a quick snarl in our direction. It was enough to convince me to get the hell out of the way. If you’ve never seen a possum up close, it’s ugly enough to avoid without the snarl, but if you put a growl with it… Well, I was ready to head to the next county.

But not Jerry.

Jerry seemed upset that the possum had dared to emit disapproval. He ran over to a shelf in the garage and picked up a hammer. I know I probably should have said something, but honestly, it was my first time being in a garage with a man who was going to attack a possum.

The possum scurried over into the corner of the garage.

Bad maneuver—now it was trapped. It was either going to have to fight its way out, or it was going to face whatever verdict Jerry had chosen for it.

Jerry changed right in front of my eyes. He was breathing heavily, standing with his legs spread, hammer over his head, eyes bulging—and it became obvious to me that he planned on attacking the creature.

I did finally gain speech. “Jerry, let it go. We’ll just leave the door open and it’ll scurry away.”

Excellent advice—especially coming from a teenager whose frontal lobe was not yet complete.

Jerry did not hear a word I said. He was ready to “kill possum.”

He moved closer. The possum snarled even more ferociously.

And even though I liked Jerry, when I heard that possum, I got the hell out of there. So peeking through the window from outside the garage I watched as Jerry grasped the hammer tightly.

One, two, five, ten…twenty blows. With all his strength, he killed that possum.

I don’t think Jerry had anything personal against the possum. Jerry’s outburst was coming from somewhere else.

When he was done, he backed up, panting, with the bloody hammer in his hand.

As I slowly walked back into the garage he spoke, “I got the goddamn motherfucking thing.”

I was completely shocked, I had never seen anyone kill a possum. Matter of fact, I had never encountered a pissed-off possum. And I sure had never seen Jerry so out of control or heard him spew such profanity.

About that time, my mother arrived, came into the garage, looked into the corner and saw what remained of the smashed possum. She gazed carefully at Jerry, who was still clutching his weapon.

Honestly, my mother was not a sensitive or intuitive person, but in that moment, she knew that Jerry was not all right.

She put her hand on his shoulder, gradually reached over and took the hammer away, and then cupped her hands around his face and said, “Good job, Jerry. Why don’t you two boys go bury the possum while I clean up the corner?”

So we did.

We walked about a quarter of a mile down the road to the railroad tracks. Nothing was said. It was so quiet I could hear the shovel strike against the ground as we drug it along.

We dug a hole and buried the flattened creature beneath it and covered it up.

When we were done, Jerry returned to being Jerry.

That day I learned a very valuable lesson.

If you corner any of God’s creatures—and that includes the human variety—they will fuss, spit, growl and even snarl at you. At that point you have to decide whether you’re going to walk away or if you’re going to destroy them.

Let me tell you—there are a lot of “Jerrys” in the world.


Donate Button


Subscribe to Jonathan’s Weekly Podcast

Good News and Better News

 

Collie

Collie: (n) a sheepdog of a breed originating in Scotland

I was eleven years old before I realized they were not supposed to stink.

I’m talking about dogs.

Up to that point, I knew one dog–and this dog stunk. Ironically, her name was “Queenie.” Any pomp and circumstance associated with that name were purely accidental. She stunk. I could tell very time I drew near.

And near I drew.

Queenie was my Grandpa George’s animal. She was his favorite beast, person and thing.

Queenie felt great security in her job, and so pursued no personal hygiene. Half the day she wandered through the woods, living the life of a wild dog, to come
home to the little A-frame house as night was falling, to spend time with my grandpa.

I had jobs to do with Queenie. I kept praying that my grandpa would get old enough that he would become forgetful, and therefore fail to remember to ask me to do the job.

It was a two-parter.

Because Queenie was a collie, she had long fur which might have been lovely had it not been matted with dirt and grime, and filled with little stickers (which my grandpa referred to as “nettles”).

Grandpa wanted me to sit there during the visit, with Queenie’s snout lying in my lap, stinking up the room, and remove these little thistles from her fur. That was the first part.

The second part was that Queenie was a wild-type dog, and did not know how to get all the poop out of her butt with each bowel movement. So dangling from her backside were little sprinkles of dried turds, which Grandpa allowed me to remove by snipping them off with a small pair of scissors.

I will give Queenie one kudo: she never objected to any of the processes. Matter of fact, it reached a point that whenever I came into the room, she came over and laid her head on my knee, awaiting the treatment.

She smelled like everything bad that no one should ever inhale.

Her nettles always yanked out little pieces of hair, and the clippings from the back end–well, fortunately, time has healed me of the vision (as long as I don’t talk about it).

That is my experience with a collie. So you can see why, under no circumstances whatsoever, could I enjoy watching “Lassie.”

 

Donate Button

Subscribe to Jonathan’s Weekly Podcast

Good News and Better News

 

Choke

Choke: (n) an action or sound of a person or animal having or seeming to have difficulty in breathing.

Webster certainly afforded us an adequate definition for “choke,” but the one that comes to my mind has to do with the “give-up, check-out
and throw-in-the-towel” instinct which permeates our species.

Sometimes we get just as comfortable with pity cheers as congratulatory shouts.

You know pity cheers:

  • “It’s okay. You did your best.”
  • “I don’t know if anyone could have done that.”
  • “You’ll get them next time.”
  • “God sees your effort.”
  • “Who knows? Maybe you made a difference without knowing it.”

If you ever allow your ears to get used to hearing these pitiful exhortations, you might just find yourself living in a damned condition, without yet being deceased.

Choking is what human beings do when they try to swallow too much, whether it’s physical chunks of steak, lies or claims to fame.

This is a world that demands evidence, not confidence. Those who try to live off of confidence eventually choke under the pressure and end up looking like losers, even though we dress it up with bunting and invite a small brass band to cheer things along.

There’s a simple principle in life: overestimating your ability is not a sign of faith.

Faith starts with something substantial, and based upon that realization, is willing to carefully speculate on how much further things can be taken.

You don’t get many “chokes” before you die. You may not physically die, but the love, tenacity, gentleness and appreciation of your friends and loved ones is suffocated.

 

 

Donate Button

Caveat

Caveat: (n) a stipulation, condition, or limitation

A caveat is when we add honesty to a thought.

We come up with something to say, but rather than allowing ourselves to be misleading, we add a phrase–usually on the end–which better
clarifies our position.

It is what makes human beings human, and therefore powerful. We are only foolish when we try to be gods or wallow in the jungle, pretending we are mere animals.

It is hope mingled with the reality that presents who we really are.

Case in point:

  • I love you, but it’s not easy.
  • I will be there, if I don’t get lazy
  • I worship God until He confuses the hell out of me.
  • I am happy until I decide I’m not.
  • I am color blind–except when I accidentally see color.
  • I am reliable as long as you check up on me.
  • I am selfish, but every once in a while, escape the prison.
  • I am getting older, but still have a few steps left.
  • I wish you the best, and I hope I’ll be there to help you get it.

Perhaps a caveat is what we should lead with in explaining our true situation, but I certainly contend that a nice little jolt of optimism sweetens the deal before we have to tell the whole truth.

 

Donate Button