Tag Archives: rude

Churlish

Churlish: (adj) rude in a mean-spirited and surly way.

Some things should not change.

I understand evolution is part of our planet, but there are a few things that need to remain the same–otherwise, we start nurturing evil
without ever realizing how it was conceived.

Two of the axioms that should remain the same are the definitions for rude and kind.

Without the definition for rude being set in stone, we begin to accept churlish behavior as being either grown-up, business-like or necessary for maintaining order.

The definition of rude is as follows: “I am going to speak to you without taking your feelings into consideration.”

The definition of kind is equally plain: “I’m going to speak to you as if I am talking to myself.”

When we start changing these definitions, we let in the bad attitudes, ill-tempered mannerisms and selfishness which turn the human race away from the Garden of Eden, toward the Jungle of the Beast.

It is not easy to be kind, but it is much more difficult to be churlish.

When rudeness is set in motion, it will continue and grow in its severity until a determined wall of kindness prohibits it.

 

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Checkmate

Checkmate: (n) in chess, a check from which a king cannot escape.

Rudy was not rude–but he was very stubborn, especially when it came to chess.

He loved the game and had practiced it since he was a boy of five, and now, at sixteen years of age, he was anxious to take on all comers. He loved to obliterate the competition, bragging about how few moves it took him to conquer.

He was certainly obnoxious.

He was so bratty that everybody wanted to play chess with him just to pull him down a peg or two from his glory perch in the sky.

Everybody but me.

I had learned to play chess when I was very young, but never liked the game that much. Even though I realized stating that aloud made the smug and the pseudo-intellectuals believe that I was stupid, I still found chess to be slow and over-rated.

So I had no intention of playing the game with Rudy the Rude. (I changed my mind. He was rude.)

This frustrated him and caused him to put out vendetta after vendetta, and eventually he told me that if I could beat him, he would give me five dollars and if he won, I would owe him nothing.

I thought it was time to risk my ego for the possibility of remuneration.

Call it what you will–an alignment of the stars, a lucky few moves, Rudy losing concentration, or maybe me just being better at the game than I thought I was–well, I beat him.

Checkmate.

He went ballistic. He was so angry that he nearly accused me of cheating–except that our little match had gained an audience of about twelve people, so there were witnesses.

He reached into his wallet, handed me five dollars, and screamed, “Double or nothing!”

Now, let me tell you that I possess many vices. For instance, I’m obese. I’m kind of lazy. I need to work on my consideration, like every son of Adam. But I am not bone-dead stupid.

Possessing the Golden Ring, it is not a good idea to go to a pawn shop and hock it. I wasn’t about to give Rudy another opportunity.

I think it nearly drove him crazy–because every time he began to discuss his God-given ability with knights, kings and rooks–there was always somebody who had been at the great match, and was prepared to remind him of his Waterloo.

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Buxom

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Buxom: (adj) a woman with large breasts.

Prude or rude?

These appear to be the two choices offered to me every day.

I can take a path of believing that anything that sounds sexual or stimulates my temptations should be ignored or relegated to a private corner.

Or I can just pop off and use all the vernacular of present day society, acting like the free spirit, uninhibited to speak my mind.

We just don’t seem to have the ability to find better ways to share our thoughts.

So we end up looking on buxom women as if they are motherly, or else we proclaim them to have “big tits.”

Somewhere along the line we have completely lost the evolutionary meaning of women’s breasts. So some folks refuse to talk about them and other people giggle and ogle them.

What is the correct procedure?

It’s simple: it’s up to the person who has them.

If a woman is proud of her breasts, wants to talk about them and feels uplifted, so to speak, by others appreciating them, I think that’s just jim dandy.

If she’s embarrassed, tentative and uncertain about her bosom, I have absolutely no problem remaining silent and diverting my eyes.

Being a prude or being rude is a decision to make a decision for someone else. You are either communicating that they should be embarrassed by their buxom condition, or that they should be prepared to be leered at by every fellow who passes by.

We have no right to make decisions for other people.

It is our job to bounce off the desires that each person we meet may express, and honor his or her wishes.

In doing so, we actually begin to approach maturity.

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Brash

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Brash: (adj) self-assertive in a rude, noisy, or overbearing way

Brash is the uptown insult we hurl at an adversary when he or she says something we don’t like–whether it’s rude or not.

So it’s difficult to know what truly is brash and what is simply rejected by the hearer.Dictionary B

The politician may candidly point out that the American public need to take more responsibility for their own lives, and therefore be deemed brash.

The director of a movie may instruct his actor to be more authentic and stay in character, and certainly be proclaimed as brash during the break by the affronted thespian.

And certainly a preacher who points out the error of sinful ways would be considered a bumpkin–and brash.

But actually, brash is when something that is very obvious and already recognized as a problem is brought up once again simply for the sake of poking the bruise.

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Battered

Battered: (adj) injured by repeated blows or punishment.Dictionary B

Not all blemishes are pimples–but all blemishes may end up being called pimples and must suffer the accusation.

It is the nature of the human race to try to simplify things down to smaller categories. It is actually one of our more endearing qualities, because when we complicate matters, we become a living comedy of fleshy error.

Such it is with the word “battered,”

I have always had great respect for human beings, but I have occasionally looked into the mirror of humanity and seen my blemishes next to those who have pimples.

In other words–without further twisting this little parable–I have watched and even counseled people who have battered other souls, and realized that some of the symptoms of their actions live inside of me, and have even sprouted from my tongue.

I can try to rationalize it; I can insist that I am so adorable, generally speaking, that I am exempt.

I can shout from the housetops that I respect women, but as long as there is one nasty chauvinist remark lingering in my brain, I must be aware that I have too much in common with the batterer.

I do not think we succeed by comparing ourselves favorably to others.

I think our true power is when we find the first seedlings of a crop of sin inside ourselves.

  • I have been rude.
  • I have been overbearing.
  • I have interrupted.
  • I have been sarcastic.
  • I have been dismissive.
  • And even though I have not raised my hand and struck another traveler in anger, I have used my wit and words to bruise.

Eliminating all domestic violence will not protect women until the men who would never be violent discover the ways that they still batter.

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Anesthesia

dictionary with letter A

Anesthesia: (n.) drugs or gases designed to create insensitivity to pain prior to surgical procedure.

It occurred to me while standing in the breakfast aisle at the local supermarket.

In previous years, I complained about going shopping and having rude little children point, giggle and laugh at me simply because I was a fat man.

On this day, what crossed my mind, standing next to the Honey Nut Cheerios, was that I couldn’t remember the last time that I had such a confrontation with a little one in the marketplace. I wondered if it was because our children had gained a new sensitivity and had ceased to mock unusual people.

Without being too cynical, I seriously doubt that. There is certainly as much prejudice around today as in any other time.

So it baffled me a little bit.

But then I realized–the secret to this absence of ridicule did not lie in the children, but rather in me.

  • I had stopped looking for the pain.
  • I had ceased to probe the room for disapproval or listen for the slightest chuckle.
  • I had learned to go about my business.
  • I had accepted the great anesthesia of confidence and peace of mind, to free me from the need to be pricked and probed until I screamed out in displeasure.

Maybe the kids are still laughing. But I am dull to their critique.

Maybe when I come zooming by, they poke each other, point and giggle at me. But I am already gone.

The glory of anesthesia is that necessary surgery can be done to our bodies without us fighting the treatment.

May God give me the anesthesia of soul satisfaction so the surgery that He needs to continue to do to my heart … will be painless and profitable.

 

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