Cop

Cop: (slang) a police officer

When I was a kid, if you called a policeman a “cop,” you were corrected. You were made to feel like some sort of hoodlum who was trying to be overly cool, overly familiar and by grown-up standards, overly stupid.

Through the years, the constables and police force have adopted the name “cop.” They had a show called “Cops.”funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

The feelings about these peace-keepers vary from city to city, age group to age group and race to race.

What’s missing, I think, is the definition of what makes a good policeman or woman. Because any officer who is “badge heavy” is a cop by anybody’s standards. And by “badge heavy” I mean that they take their position much too seriously rather than focusing on their responsibility.

I want to see a police-person and not think of the word “cop,” or wonder if he or she is an ass. What tells me this is whether he or she appears to be eyeballing the surrounding world anticipating that most people are going to be criminals or if most people are going to be next-door neighbors.

I want a man or woman who is wearing a uniform and carrying a gun to use the wisdom of mercy as much as possible, short of endangering his or her life.

“Cop” is still not a great name for a policeman. It’s one of those things we’ve accepted because our world is too intent on being cool instead of respectful.

But it certainly will not hurt the police officers in this country to carry their badges a bit more lightly, and their respect for humanity with a deeper and heavier consciousness.


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Challenge

Challenge: (n) something that puts us to a test

Things that challenge me often make others snicker.

Perhaps they try to be open-minded and kind, but they find my challenges to be silly. Not wanting to be left out of the game, I turn around and find their challenges equally as dopey.

When I was five years old, the biggest challenge in my life was swallowing pills. I could not do it. Everybody thought I was mentally
retarded. (That was back when you could use that term.)

Each person I knew tried to teach me how to swallow pills, and always started out with a grin of hope and ended with a grimace of despair. I think I was fifteen years old before I conquered pill-popping.

Now, when I was fifteen, my biggest challenge was to do a forward roll in high school. My body did not want to roll over the top of its head to end up flopping on its ass. (Imagine that.)

Once again, many people tried and many people failed.

I’ve always had the challenge of losing weight. So I take the precaution–when I get that sideways glance from people obviously expressing disapproval over my magnitude–to explain to them that I am in the middle of a diet.

It makes them feel good and sometimes I actually believe it myself.

 

 

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Buttock

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Buttock: (n) the back of a hip that forms one of the fleshy parts on which a person sits

I do not favor foul or coarse language, yet I have to admit, I am seriously exhausted trying to keep up with people who make it their mission to be the “word police.”

If you have ever written a paragraph, you have run the risk of being arrested by these cop-outs. They stand by ready to criticize every single syllable that comes before them as being either inappropriate, misplaced or evil.

So how shall I describe the back side of a human?

I can call it a rear end.

Perhaps a caboose.

They might even allow me to call it a butt–if the material is not viewed by too many children.

There are some folks who would even allow me to use the word “ass.” (The Bible had no trouble using the word “ass.” It’s a little difficult to believe that the translators in the court of King James were more progressive with their street lingo than a librarian in Peoria, Illinois.)

Sometimes words just fit. Sometimes they’re needed to give power and passion to an idea.

For instance, if you have a teenage son who’s sitting around during summer vacation doing nothing, would you really ask him to get off his “buttock” and get a job? Rear end? Caboose?

A wise man once said that “by your words you are justified and by your words you are condemned.”

I agree with that. So pick the word that communicates the thought, while making sure that the thought is exactly what you’re trying to communicate.

 

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Butt

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Butt: (n) the posterior

It is time once again for this well-seasoned traveler to admit his limitations and the true extent of his ignorance.

I do it willingly, because if I don’t, someone will do it anyway, against my will. So here we go:

What is all the damn interest in the butt?

I just don’t get it. Does anybody remember when a butt was an ass? Now it seems to be a symbol of sexual presence, if not prowess.

The other day, I heard somebody comment about the attractiveness of a particular woman, saying, “You could bounce a quarter off her ass.”

Not only does that sound like a rude game, but I don’t understand the significance. Maybe that’s because I was taught that a hardass was negative.

What is all the interest in the back door?

I use mine to stink. Matter of fact, that’s what it seems to do the best. I’ve heard people describe different applications, but I normally found myself wanting to run, terrified, from the room.

Do other people besides me also wonder why the posterior has suddenly become acceptable to discuss with the interior?

Does anybody else think that a woman’s face or a man’s countenance is more attractive than their caboose?

Or might the thought be that if you have a nice trunk space, then there’s a good chance the engine works?

I’m really confused. I don’t often want to go back to former times, nor do I feel especially nostalgic.

But I think it might do us well to return to a season when the butt had clearly established its seat of power.

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Bowler

Bowler: (n) a player at tenpin bowling, lawn bowling, or skittles

I am convinced that life is a big tease–just when you decide to become all worked up and excited, she suddenly turns into a prude.Dictionary B

You think it’s gonna work out. You even invest your energy and time, only to discover that the circumstances around you have decided that you’re too ugly for consideration.

That is my experience with bowling.

I have gone bowling about fifteen times in my life. (It could be sixteen.)

But I avoid bowling because I clearly remember how an evening at the alley ends up. There’s a reason they call it an alley–because you always end up sitting on your ass feeling like trash.

I always start out bowling trying to be sensible–taking the right number of steps, dropping the ball with style and grace–but then suddenly realize that if I just “whip it down there,” it starts hooking to the center–and knocks down more pins!

This works for two or three frames–strike, strike, spare, spare. So just about the time that I’m ready to tout my expertise and shout my score… my hook stops hooking.

Yes, the ball, rather than careening into the middle pin to create a strike, seeks erratic maneuvers and starts giving me historical splits.

So by the end of the evening I realize that my peak score occurred about an hour and a half earlier, and I’m back to bowling in the double digits again.

If you’ve never been bowling you may not understand some of my references. That’s good.

I would not want to encourage anyone to start bowling. 

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Bend

Bend: (v) to shape or force something straight into a curve

Dictionary B

I cannot tell you how many nibbles I have in my ass from all the things I’ve taken for granted, which have now come back to bite me.

I think it’s probably the greatest lesson I’ve learned–since everything in life is basically temporary, don’t allow yourself to become permanently smug.

When I was much younger, I was very athletic–not in the conventional sense of playing for organized teams, but I was pretty proficient at most games.

This was especially significant since all of my life, I have struggled with obesity. So I always heard the phrase, “You really move good for a big man.”

This caused me to puff up my chest, believing that my present prowess, provided by my youth, would continue on into my later years.

I never stopped to thank God for the parts of me that bend, because I assumed they would continue their vigil.

They didn’t.

First my ankles bothered me, then my knees, and I will stop there because I don’t want to encourage further sympathy from body parts which have not yet given up.

I am in awe of bending knees. What a magnificent joint.

So since I have not retained the ability to bend all of my human physical parts with as much efficiency as I once did, I have decided to compensate by bending my will and mercy in directions that establish … my greater flexibility.

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Bad Debt

Bad debt: (n) a debt that cannot be recovered.

“Free credit report dot com.”Dictionary B

I have never seen a time during my human history when there is such obsession with one’s credit report.

It used to be a subject whispered in the hallowed halls by those who were fairly confident that they had achieved acceptance in the realms of financial security but still occasionally wondered if their unknown credit score might someday, like a nasty asp, lurch up and bite them in the ass.

Now all we have to do is punch a few buttons and discover how well-accepted we are in the banking community.

As one who has had a very high credit score number and a very low one, I will tell you that neither numeral enhanced my being.

I didn’t become a better person when I soared to the heights of reverent dollar-wise security, nor did I become a devious devil when the same number plummeted, flirting with entering the gates of hell.

To me, it falls under the universal banner of what seems to be so important in our society today: shallowness.

  • Let’s not talk about important things because they’re too serious.
  • Let’s not consider our frailty because that’s too depressing.
  • And please, dear God, give me a number that confirms that I am four points higher than the son-of-a-bitch sittin’ next to me.

So rather than excelling at goodness, gentleness, kindness and creativity, we have selected to be evaluated by a mythical number that can be accidentally changed … through a clerical error entered by a high school graduate who got a D in data processing. 

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