The Point Is, I Had It Here Somewhere

A Geezer’s Notebook, By Jim Foster

I am sure by now you realise that I am a kind man filled with the milk of human kindness and occasionally single malt scotch whisky with just a wee drop of water, but no milk. I am kind to small animals unless under attack. I am not, nor have I ever been, a hunter even though I have suggested many times that woodland creatures should be armed to make it an even battle.

I have never joined an animal rights organisation, although I must admit that I once considered purchasing a membership in PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) but only because Pamela Anderson was a spokesperson for the organisation and thought I might get an autographed picture of her in her Baywatch bathing suit.

I have never run for office, not because I am not interested in politics it is just that I am so much of a fence-sitter I would never be re-elected and therefore would not qualify for a government pension. I am however extremely loyal to a party. I strongly supported Doug Lewis, an admitted Conservative, and remained committed to his cause until Paul Devillers, a Liberal, became our Member of Parliament and bought me a beer at a social event at the Leacock Home. I remained true to Paul until a Conservative bought me two beers. I can be bought but it will cost you.

What I am leading up to is I am the very model of a modern gentleman. (I’m sure WS Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan could do something with a line like that)

I do not believe in censorship of any kind unless it needs censoring because whatever is being said or written goes against something I favour. Hence, we come to just such a case. I want the TV show, The View taken off the air or whatever one calls it when a TV series time slot is declared empty and up for grabs. Not only that, but serious consideration should also be given to boycotting products being marketed by the advertisers of this travesty.

To begin, I have never watched the show but, and this is important, I have heard it. In fact, I hear it constantly, every day and for what seems like hours on end. My wife, who seemed reasonably sane until I married her (somehow that doesn’t sound right) as I was saying she showed no sense of abnormality until I realised one morning Mary was in the living room watching and listening as several women were shrieking at the top of their lungs on our smart TV. Which suggest that smart is a misnomer.

Ordinarily I would have no problem when a group of opinionated women start ranting and raving. I will quietly leave, throw myself down the cellar stairs, or at the very least take out my hearing aids and bury them under my jockey shorts in my underwear drawer. Yes, I wear hearing aids. My audiologist is convinced my hearing was destroyed while watching a girls volleyball game when I was 15.

Apparently one team scored a goal, hit a ground rule double, or made a jump shot, I have no idea what happened really since I didn’t understand the mechanics of the game and still don’t. I was only there to stare at the young ladies in their fetching blue gym bloomers. Which also may have eventually destroyed my hearing but that is another story.

I suppose in fairness I could have wandered in to see what the foofaraw was all about, but whenever a bevy of insane women are on the rampage, the sensible thing to do is run for the hills.

From the din coming from the living room, I assumed one or two of the ladies were angry about whatever the morning’s topic was and as women often do, were expressing their opinions in a range a few decibels above the point where serious damage will be done or completely destroy a human ear drum.

I suppose in fairness I shouldn’t pick on the ladies since they are excitable whenever some subjects are being debated and many return to the savagery of their primitive ancestors. Perhaps censorship is too harsh and some chap in the control booth should have his finger on a mute button and shut them down until such times as sanity prevails.

I am afraid it is a woman thing. I have been present many times when subjects that could become heated were being discussed on the deck of Couchiching Golf and Country Club. In most case the subject is quietly debated until a consensus is reached. Granted occasionally someone still doesn’t agree and must be ejected over the railing to the ground below and his beer confiscated, but it will be done quietly.

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