Cop-out

Cop-out: (n) act or instance of copping out; reneging; evasion

I would like you to join me today in the world of make-believe. It is a place where balloons never lose their air, marshmallows always toast brown instead of black and gumdrops won’t stick together.

It shouldn’t be a realm of make-believe, but because we live in a time when political speak, campaign language and Washingtonian wording has gained predominance, the common man, woman and child have begun to believe they can talk themselves out of anything.

It is becoming more and more usual for people to offer excuses, explanations or pathos than to simply answer a question.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Our new heroes are those we say we despise—because politicians and lawyers always register near the bottom on the list of favored occupations.

Yet when confronted with the simple question, “Did you do this?” almost every American citizen, and dare I say, perhaps worldwide, begins to launch into a story, as if taken over by the spirit of Stephen King.

There was a time when we used to believe that elaborating on our failures to try to make them look better was a cop-out.

We hated cop-outs.

We despised excuses for foolish mistakes.

Now we anticipate it. When someone is asked, “Did you eat the last Oreo?” we brace ourselves to hear a three-part series, with a potential sequel to follow half-an-hour later.

It has become acceptable to offer the cop-out, even though we continue to roll our eyes and absolutely reject anyone who does it.

The answer to the question is, “Yes, I ate the last Oreo.” Or, “No, I didn’t.”

None of us need to know the story line of the Oreo, how much it means to you to eat one, or how you are innocent because you were unaware that it was the last one available.

In my opinion, coping out should be so illegal that you should be able to call a cop when you hear it.


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Convoy

Convoy: (n) the protection provided by an escort.

I will offer my one and single lamentation to you at this time:

I do not know what the value is of living so long that you have numerous experiences, delightful stories, and even warnings to share that nobody in the present age wishes to hear—because anything that has happened more than seven years ago is classified with the dinosaurs.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

So if you’re a writer, or boldly call yourself an author, you must take into consideration that the present batch of readers have the foresight and vision of Mr. Magoo, who, by the way, they would not be familiar with.

Yet today, when I saw the word convoy, I was reminded of a time in the 1970’s, when our country was experiencing gasoline shortages. You had to actually think about when to purchase fuel, because the next location to get some might be far away.

There were practices of taking the last numbers on your license plate, and if it was an odd digit you could get gas on a certain day, and even numbers on other days.

In the midst of this slight rationing, it was conceived by intelligent men and women in Washington, D.C. that a great way to save fuel was to create a national speed limit of 55 miles per hour. (I know some of you young’uns may be giggling, but this actually happened.)

Now, I cannot tell you how tedious a 500-mile journey was if you followed the letter of the law and drove 55 miles per hour. Yet there were highway patrolmen all over the place picking people up, and even creating road blocks, to trap those who dared to exceed the “double-nickels.”

The whole era was eventually brought down by truck drivers, who clumped together in large convoys, sometimes ten miles in length, driving 70 miles an hour, challenging the authorities to pick them up en masse.

Just as Prohibition was eventually repealed due to fondness of spirits, the 55 mile per hour speed limit was very soon embedded deeply in our history as a folly of the foolish.

But it took a convoy.

It always takes a convoy.

Your one vote does not stop an onslaught of stupidity. Get together with your friends. Line up ten miles deep—and see how quickly the government lets you speed on.


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Bunker

j-r-practix-with-border-2

Bunker: (n) a reinforced underground shelter, typically for use in wartime.

We have begun to create bunkers to buffer us against contact with one another.

We don’t view it that way–we call them political parties, church denominations, clubs or ardent study of cultures.

But the more we try to segregate that which we believe makes us special, the less and less valuable we become to one another.

If Washington, D.C. is a bunker, and your local church is a bunker, and your community is a bunker, and your race is a bunker–then isn’t it just bunk?

Bunkers are meaningless attempts to make people unique by alienating them from one another, placing them in positions to be defensive.

In the process, we all become perniciously offensive to one another.

How do you know if you’re in a bunker?

If you have to go somewhere else to hear ideas that aren’t your own, you’re probably already buried in the ground.

 

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Astir

Astir (adj): 1. in a state of excitement 2. awake and out of bed.dictionary with letter A

Angels with attitude.

One of my favorite stories in the Gospels is the part of the resurrection of Jesus, when the women who have come to prepare his body for burial are confronted by a snarky angel.

Being a bit condescending, he asks these ladies, “Why do you seek the living among the dead?”

I suppose they could have gotten defensive; it’s possible they could have spit back that the last time they saw Jesus, he was pretty well gone.

But the words have always given me a chuckle of glee.

Why do we seek the living among the dead?

Why do we continue to tolerate a religious system which purposely generates anti-human rituals which historically have proven to be boring and sleep-inducing instead of requiring that life be pumped into these pious services?

Why do we roll our eyes when the word “Congress” is brought up–because we have decided that Washington, D.C. cannot possibly produce anything of lasting quality?

Why do we feel dumbfounded on the issue of race and despaired over the possibility of people getting along instead of gently ridiculing those individuals who still see color instead of character?

Why do we seek the living among the dead?

Why don’t we find the better part of youth–which is energy–and blend it with the better part of aging–which is humble wisdom?

Wouldn’t you like to live in a world full of energetic, humble wisdom?

To do so, you will have to stop coming to your tombs for funerals and start dressing for a party…and demand that what is dead rise up from the grave.

 

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Ant

dictionary with letter A

Ant: (n.) a small insect, often with a stinger, which usually lives in a complex social colony with one or more breeding queens.

I don’t know whether there’s any creature on this planet that has such a diverse range of public perception.

After all, the ant is the symbol of vigilance in our childhood tales, especially when competing with the lethargic and procrastinating grasshopper.

Rumor has it that with great persistence, they can actually move rubber tree plants.

We greatly applaud their colony for its efficiency, wondering why the “hill” in Washington, D.C., can’t pick up some pointers.

Yet we also get really upset when they show up at picnics. They are known to frighten children because of their occasional bad tempers, allegedly leading to stings.

So how it is possible to be considered such a diligent fellow, and then closed out from being welcomed by the picnic crowd?

There’s only one explanation.

They’re black.

Yes. It’s a race issue.

I’m not trying to play the “race tentacle” here, but it seems to me that if the ant were white–aside from being almost invisible, as most white creatures are–he (or it) would be more accepted.

This theory could be easily tested by allowing a black ant and a red ant to arrive at a picnic at the same time. Would we treat the red ant better? Or just move it to the side and let it build a casino?

These are questions that plague my thoughts.

Because if we’re trying to get rid of ants because they’re annoying and interfere with the hygiene of our food at outdoor meals, that is a legitimate concern.

But if there is any color discrimination here, I think we should get to the bottom of it.

(Even though I think an ant has a thorax and not a bottom…)

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Abnegate

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abnegate: v. to renounce or reject something desired or valuable: he attempted to abnegate personal responsibility.

So I get it.

It’s really not a sequester we’re going through now. Like so many things in life, it’s mis-named. It’s an abnegation.

All the people who were elected to go to Washington, D.C. to make laws which will pay for the needs of our government and its people have decided to abnegate their responsibility and pretend that they never understood the job description in the first place.

Of course, it happens all the time.

I go to the store to purchase some lunch meat and my butcher refuses to slice it for me–because there is a danger of cutting off one of his fingers or that I won’t be satisfied with the width he selected for my lunch meat. What do I think he IS? A butcher??

Then there’s the mechanic who will NOT work on my car–because the grease that ends up on his hands is so very difficult to get rid of at the end of the day, and he plans to go out with his wife in the evening, and it would be a real romance killer if his hands were not pristine. What do I think he IS? A mechanic??

And every time I call my doctor with some sort of physical problem, she explains to me that she studied medicine, but in no way was prepared to put it into practice or get her hands dirty by touching people’s sickly bodies. What do I think she IS? A doctor??

So I don’t know why we are so disappointed in our politicians–when they’ve made it clear that what they are is “politickers”–not lawmakers.

What fools we are to be shocked that they have abnegated their responsibility for progressing the great notion of American freedom, and like the butcher, refused to carve up the problem, and the mechanic, would not dirty his hands, and the doctor who didn’t realize how sick things were.

It is not a sequester.

It is an abnegation.

You think I could sell that to Fox News, MSNBC and CNN?

Abnegate

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abnegate: v. to renounce or reject something desired or valuable: he attempted to abnegate personal responsibility.

So I get it.

It’s really not a sequester we’re going through now. Like so many things in life, it’s mis-named. It’s an abnegation.

All the people who were elected to go to Washington, D.C. to make laws which will pay for the needs of our government and its people have decided to abnegate their responsibility and pretend that they never understood the job description in the first place.

Of course, it happens all the time.

I go to the store to purchase some lunch meat and my butcher refuses to slice it for me–because there is a danger of cutting off one of his fingers or that I won’t be satisfied with the width he selected for my lunch meat. What do I think he IS? A butcher??

Then there’s the mechanic who will NOT work on my car–because the grease that ends up on his hands is so very difficult to get rid of at the end of the day, and he plans to go out with his wife in the evening, and it would be a real romance killer if his hands were not pristine. What do I think he IS? A mechanic??

And every time I call my doctor with some sort of physical problem, she explains to me that she studied medicine, but in no way was prepared to put it into practice or get her hands dirty by touching people’s sickly bodies. What do I think she IS? A doctor??

So I don’t know why we are so disappointed in our politicians–when they’ve made it clear that what they are is “politickers”–not lawmakers.

What fools we are to be shocked that they have abnegated their responsibility for progressing the great notion of American freedom, and like the butcher, refused to carve up the problem, and the mechanic, would not dirty his hands, and the doctor who didn’t realize how sick things were.

It is not a sequester.

It is an abnegation.

You think I could sell that to Fox News, MSNBC and CNN?