If you grew up at any point past the 1980s you are familiar with this pronunciation.
In A Christmas Story, the dad, AKA Old Man Parker, is unboxing a prize that he had won filling out punny word puzzles from the newspaper. The clues all resolved around a play on words around a lady’s knee. The prize, as we all know, is a woman’s leg, in fishnet stocking and garter, with a gold satin lamp shade.
This is the big prize that he has won.
Some prize. He was expecting a bowling alley to be the prize and get the leg lamp instead.
Anyone else feel bait and switched by the events after January 20th?
Like a bomb has gone off in our administration and we are shaking apart at the seams. And the gleeful spoiled brats are shaking the tree to see what will fall out?
We know they are uncaring about the chaos they have wrought. As long as they get their tax break it will be worth it. No matter that those of us will get less than nothing.
Beats a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, we will console ourselves.
As a society we are on edge, unable to concentrate? Near tears at most times? Unsure which executive order will be the one that will bring us to our knees. Or fully rend the fabric of society, leaving the worker bees to pick up the pieces and bear the entire weight of the now changed world while the lords are in their counting house, counting out their money.
Yeah, that is by design. And part of the entire plan that we told you was the plan but so many of you believed it when they denied it. How is that working for you now?
As a society we are feeling fragile. At least some of us are. The ones with empathy. Is that word even allowed anymore? It is one of the No-No words for research or public institutions because it hurts a white man’s feelings of superiority.
Worse yet are the ones who are gleefully watching the destruction, the fires that they set dancing in their eyes, unaware that the conflagration that they have started will consume everything, including themselves. It’ll be worth it to them, owning the libs.
It begs the question, what kind of fragile?
Fragile like a man’s ego?
Paper thin, will punch down at anyone or anything that displeases the ego?
Or…
Fragile like a bomb.
Thick outer shell, maybe filled with pieces that are intended to hurt whatever has triggered it.
Yeah, we’re all feeling a little fragile these days.
We must chose; fragile like a man’s ego or fragile like a bomb?
Dispatches from the Evening Shift 