giving thanks
I have to admire
that most abused of the human
species:
the white American
middle-class
male.
as a writer
I have been criticized for
writing unkindly of
females;
other writers have been
criticized
for writing unkindly of
Blacks,
Orientals,
homosexuals,
lesbians,
Amerindians,
the aged,
the unborn
the newly
born
the lame
or the Chicanos
the Jews
the French
the Italians
the Greeks
the English
or the
whatevers.
actually,
making mild minor
sport of
or criticizing
almost any minority
group
has ruined the
careers of not only
writers but
politicians
sports commentators,
and people in
entertainment.
it is a touchy age.
everybody is on the
defensive.
you must not
speak unkindly about
us,
they say,
or
we will finish
you
off!
now for a writer,
this is grade-a
hell.
a good writer
must simply let
it all go,
regardless.
if I find a Black
or a woman
or a dog
or a cripple
or a tree
or a child
or an Oriental
individually
obnoxious
I think it is my
duty to describe
them as
such.
I often describe myself
as obnoxious,
for example.
I demand that all territories
be open for
criticism!
I will not
be guilty of
treading
heavily
on the truth!
even so,
I still give everlasting
thanks
to the white American
middle-class
male
who can still be trashed and
insulted and
demeaned again and
again
and no one ever protests,
and he never protests,
he just doesn't give a
damn.
but, oh, says the
politically correct
chorus,
they're just too satisfied
with their mundane
existence!
yes, some of them
are,
but not all of them.
some of them are
just as heroic
as homosexuals
and lesbians
and feminists,
and Blacks,
and all the etceteras;
and in some cases,
even more
so.
but our white American
middle-class male
never protests
when I find him
out of
order.
but, says the
politically correct chorus,
that's because
he's running the
show!
maybe,
maybe not.
all I know is
that as a writer
he's a good and fair
and uncomplaining
target
for me.
I can abuse him
and punch
him,
I can lay him
low in the
poem,
I can abuse him
in stories, novels and
screenplays,
and he'll take it all
without a
whimper.
in our very restrictive
overprotective
society
it's great for a writer
to have one such wide-open
playground to play
around
in.
so again here's to
the white American middle-class
male,
the butt of
all the jokes,
the clown,
the brute,
the watcher of tv,
the dog,
the drinker of beer,
the sexist pig,
the bumbling husband,
the fat-bellied
dim-witted
nincompoop
who will take every
possible abuse
and say
nothing,
he'll just
light a fresh
cigar,
shift uncomfortably in his
chair and try to
smile.
here's to this
forgotten
hero!
now, go
ahead,
hate
me.
