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Do NOT Press Happy Fun Doug's Buttons.
Especially when he is tired and hungry.
Getting back into the swing of things at work has been difficult, and a 9.5 hour day Tuesday didn't help.) So I've been coming home tired and cranky. The first warm-spell isn't really helping matters with my walk to the light rail going from pleasant to sweat-producing (note to self: get bike into the shop for spring tune-up and puncture-resistant tubes.)
Today was no different. Got on the train home, found a seat on one of the benches, opened my book and started to read. This is a three seat bench, and there was an older woman at the other end of the bench. A stop or two later, a young Africa-American woman got on, looked around, apparently decided that sitting next to someone was unacceptable.
"You know, a gentleman would offer his seat to a lady."
Realizing she was talking to me, I looked up from my book.
"Do you have the right to vote?" I asked.
"Huh?" was the reply.
"The vote. Your franchise. Do you have the ability to secure credit under your own name? Can you, if you wish, apply to be a firefighter or police officer? Do you have a legal identity that is not attached to your husband or father? Are you judged on merit, rather than gender, at your place of work? In short, do you enjoy all the rights and privileges of a US citizen regardless of your gender?"
I waited for an answer.
"Well, yeah..."
I cut her off.
"Congratulations, the dream of Susan B. Anthony has come true! We're equals. Which means my ass stays in this seat and you can either take the empty seat next to me or stand. Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn either way."
I went back to my book.
"But I'm black!"
Without looking up. "I'm Irish. Nobody beats us at racial or national hardships."
(What I almost said was "So, you need directions to the back of the car then?")
A stop or two later, she sat down.
Her first mistake was assuming I was a gentleman.
Getting back into the swing of things at work has been difficult, and a 9.5 hour day Tuesday didn't help.) So I've been coming home tired and cranky. The first warm-spell isn't really helping matters with my walk to the light rail going from pleasant to sweat-producing (note to self: get bike into the shop for spring tune-up and puncture-resistant tubes.)
Today was no different. Got on the train home, found a seat on one of the benches, opened my book and started to read. This is a three seat bench, and there was an older woman at the other end of the bench. A stop or two later, a young Africa-American woman got on, looked around, apparently decided that sitting next to someone was unacceptable.
"You know, a gentleman would offer his seat to a lady."
Realizing she was talking to me, I looked up from my book.
"Do you have the right to vote?" I asked.
"Huh?" was the reply.
"The vote. Your franchise. Do you have the ability to secure credit under your own name? Can you, if you wish, apply to be a firefighter or police officer? Do you have a legal identity that is not attached to your husband or father? Are you judged on merit, rather than gender, at your place of work? In short, do you enjoy all the rights and privileges of a US citizen regardless of your gender?"
I waited for an answer.
"Well, yeah..."
I cut her off.
"Congratulations, the dream of Susan B. Anthony has come true! We're equals. Which means my ass stays in this seat and you can either take the empty seat next to me or stand. Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn either way."
I went back to my book.
"But I'm black!"
Without looking up. "I'm Irish. Nobody beats us at racial or national hardships."
(What I almost said was "So, you need directions to the back of the car then?")
A stop or two later, she sat down.
Her first mistake was assuming I was a gentleman.
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I completely missed that part of history class where the Irish were made to work in fields as slaves and beaten and whipped, considered animals rather than human beings. And yeah, being dragged away from your potatos and peat house by those portuguese bastards to work the plantations in chains, sold like property, must have been nasty. I really thought my history teacher was thourough too, I'm dissapointed.
Go die, horribly and miserably, you worthless piece of shit. Then again what am I supposed to expect from faux Irish?
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Yes you did completely miss that part of history. Perhaps you were too busy trying to remember when your last period was? Anyway, The English invaded Ireland for the first time in 1171. Henry II merrily killed tribal chieftains, enslaved Irishmen and women, and burned what he couldn't steal. Over the next few centuries, our culture was systematically hunted down, our old ways outlawed, and British lords bound Irish peasants to the land. The price of trying to escape was death by disembowelment. It wasn't until the 20th Century that Ireland was allowed to rule itself.
Oh, the potatoes? Your ignorance again. Potatoes were the only crop British lords allowed the Irish to grow, crowding out grain and grazing lands. When the potato blight hit, tens of thousand of Irish starved. Know what our lovely English masters did? Had thousands turned out for not paying their rents.
Faux Irish? Pog Mo Thoin, Cailleach!
Gave kook history lesson
Also translated Pog Mo Thoin, Cailleach for her. (grin)
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And friends only.
How quaint.
You forgot to mention that the English were exporting what crops did survive the blight to England.
Not to mention little things like "Irish need not apply"
But hey, there was also the hanging of Italians in Denver in the 19th century because one was rumored to have 'bothered' a white woman.
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History lesson
"Indentured servitude is not identical with involuntary servitude and slavery. However, the system of power it created was often an opening for physical, sexual, and verbal abuse, as well as legal abuses of contract. In these circumstances, the system can represent a form of unfree labour, For example, indentured servants may be forced to purchase goods or services from the employer in exchange for an extension to the period of their indenture, which could thereby continue indefinitely. In other cases, indentured servants were subject to violence at the hands of their employers in the homes or fields in which they worked." (Wikipedia entry for Indendured Servants)
And my suggestion--don't talk to an Australian about what England did to them, either....
"Pog Mo Thoin, Cailleach", by the way, loosely translates to kiss my ass, bitch. Just so you don't have to look that up either.
Wouldn't know about the c'sucker comment
And he doesn't have to plagiarize George Carlin's 7-words routine either to be funny or to insult those he deems deserving of it.
Re: Wouldn't know about the c'sucker comment
Re: Wouldn't know about the c'sucker comment
...you've liked tits for a very long time.
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The Irish were the ones who reclaimed New Orleans from the swamps, by the way. They encountered and died from alligators, malaria and dysentery. Why? Because slave owners felt that their black slaves were too much of an investment. I guess you missed that part of American History as well.
I hope that when you go under the scalpel, the surgeon says, "I completely missed that part of medical school where they said appendicitis can be fixed."
Because ignorance of something doesn't make it untrue, except in your universe.
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Sorry... uninformed blathering always makes me laugh my ass off.
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Perhaps you should broaden your studies a little.
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And in case you decide to argue that working for a wage does not equal slavery: I'll go Karl Marx on you faster that you can say "estranged labor".
Mmmm... I Smell Fresh Meat!
That sounds remarkably like a certain incident about 60 odd years ago when a someone refused to give up their seat based on the color of the skin of the person demanding it. How was it okay for a black woman to do to a white man today what Rosa Parks refused to do for a white man in 1955?
If I were to refuse to hire a qualified person because they were black, that's discrimination. If I were to hire them because they were white, that's... discrimination. It doesn't matter what color *I* am in that sentence, by the way.
Of course, even as I write this it's obvious you're a troll, and we really shouldn't feed you. But if you can parade your ignorance as an excuse to heap upon a complete stranger who's "crime" is not giving up his seat when other's were available, then I can use the crappy day I just had to call you out as a sorry excuse for a human being who obviously still lives with their mother and couldn't successfully debate their way out of her womb.
Or is that why you made the "This will probably be deleted..." comment? Was it more a statement of hope that you wouldn't be force to actually DEFEND your idiotic commentary?
Heh. He was also correct on another point: We were eating troll-meat for breakfast when you were barely one step above a pap smear.
Re: Mmmm... I Smell Fresh Meat!
Huh, it so happens that according to her user id, she did! Gibbs is a secretarial college in Connecticut (to my eternal shame, I seem to live in the same state as this twa--I meen twit.).
And you're right, haven't had this much fun feeding the trolls since Alt-c!
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Hey!
Although, remember, Paul Newman DID call Bridgeport the armpit of Connecticut once- And as for her being in college, Gibbs is a secratarial school!
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Re: Hey!
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