Hello Darkness! The Official Blog of Helen Keller

Folks,

Too often it seems recently that I have been witness to astounding bouts of linguistic horsedumps. Imagine the English language as a fragile bloom on a grassy hill, each petal a delicate parsing captured in eloquent beauty with a slender stem holding its grace aloft. Picture this flower alone on said hillside, sapphire skies, emerald grass and lone diamond bloom.



Now imagine some naked fat puke of a man log-rolling down the hill, screaming out profanities, tits flailing everywhere, shitty skids left in his wake as he bombs on down after a runaway donut (sour-cream glazed for the more detail oriented) only to thunderously plow right over the fragile flower that represents our dear language, fart, and scream downward as he bounces and frollops after said donut.

Then, we look at the flower, recently so perfect but now crushed and smelling of recessed tit-sweat. This is the reality of that flower...

Working hard?......or hardly working?

Perhaps this phrase actually plucked a few laughs from the chronically stupid many years ago, but shit, it hasn't been funny since, although those chronically stupid have probably provided a couple of fucking laughs to at least a few small claims courts. It's cliched and worse, it's expected. When some grease-stain of a worthless human drops this little bon-mot, it's hard not to pop a few blood-vessels in the eyes straining back the urge to effect linguistic justice with his forehead and a Stilson wrench during the pause between "working hard" and "hardly working."

If Winston Churchill had said this to ANYBODY during the Battle of Britain, even a dodgy hooker from Trafalgar Square, immediately all airborne RAF fighters would have dropped into the channel, their will to fly sucked from them. Hitler could have cartwheeled into London the English morale would have been so low. Upon learning of this, Roosevelt would have struggled to his feet, interrupted Eleanor's "sewing circle" and done a murder-suicide with a dirty hand-trowel.

Never, ever, ever utter this phrase. Even saying it now near a pregnant woman will retard her child if it doesn't just strike her dead.

Hey BLANK, they've finally come for you!

Ever been at a social party? Ever had an attendee who was a cop be at the party? Ever had some half-drunk half-wit raise his plastic cup of sangria upon seeing the cop and loudly announce "Hey Keith, they've finally come for you! He's over there officer..." before collapsing into slurred proudish giggles over his successful channeling of Voltaire's soul for a brief second? If you watch the cop, his eyes die a little each time he must hear it. I imagine that he would like nothing more than to tear apart a circular saw with his teeth and dick just to pry loose the saw blade and fling it at Captain Crackers there. It's even worse when "Keith" plays along and stumbles over wanting to know what the charge is. I'm writing this as a free service to the police to use, but why not fire back, "Ha ha...Manslaughter!"

I betcha the room goes quiet.

This may sound a little racist but...

This phrase burns my left bottom molar. Anytime you hear this phrase, immediately know that whatever is going to trail it is going to be some really bigoted shit. Otherwise, why the hell did it need a warning disclaimer beforehand? Usually, this phrase is uttered by some dickhead racist trying to disguise his hatred for something by tying in something to appeal to the moderate, usually invented statistics, one-sided observations or a personal experience. If you're unfortunate enough that you are subjected to this, interrupt the person before he garfles out whatever it was he was about to say with "Say, this may hurt a little..." and then, with a sweeping kick, blast the fucker's knee sideways inside to out. A successful kick and he'll drop straight downwards, crying for his mommy.

Once done, cross your arms, look down at him and say, "Sorry, now what was that again?" Make sure you're tapping the foot that just crippled him for subtle effect.

And that folks, is my attempt to straighten up the crushed flower with toothpicks propped to its stem. It's not much, but in today's ugly world, 'tis better to light a candle than curse the darkness.