When I was in high school, I was envious of the in-crowd. They seemed to be so well versed as to what was going on. So when ever I happened to wander to close to their atmosphere and got the look! I felt inferior and went slinking away. You know the look, all the different snob factions have their own particular look. I like to call it the holier than thou look. But it really is just another form of ignorance and bullying. Now that I am a big boy, I am proud to consider my self to be politically incorrect. And I long for the old days, when the news hour was actually about the news. It's hard to believe that the hordes of talking heads could have gone to high school. Let alone be in a clique. But their arrogance and ignorance would make them prime canidates to be in one. Can you believe? someone had the audacity to say "that team showed a chink in its armor" I guess that on cold days I better not say "there's a nip in the air" Or I will certainly be getting the look.
I have no qualms about giving people or nationalites a nickname. When I was a kid back in the forties and fifties almost every one, and all nationalites had a nickname. And it seems to me that we all got along just fine. Back then the do-gooders quietly did their thing. Unlike today ,it's just a lot of noisy nonsense.
Remembering how I felt about things when I was younger brings to mind an experience I had when I tried to fit into a different kind of faction.
I tried hunting when I was young. I loved wandering around the woods with my shotgun. But there was other parts of the experience , I did not care for. So I became know as the the world's worst shooter by my companions. So, on a beautiful late autumn day, with big fluffy snow flakes falling, one of my hunting companions kicked a Jupiter bush and a snowshoe hare came streaking out. As luck would have it, he ran right past me. So to continue my charade, I took a careful aim and fired two feet to his right. That's when the hare commited suicide by deciding to veer sharply to his right. Every one yelled great shot. Except for the person who had kicked the hare out of the brush. He just stared at me with a quizzical look on his face. The previous Christmas, the same person had gift wrapped a cigar box, that had rabbit droppings in it. There was a note saying "well he was here" This of course being a referance to my poor shooting reputation. The next time I saw this person. he squinted at me through the smoke from his Pall Mall and said. I suppose when you qualified on the firing range at Fort Dix. the targets kept jumping to the right. So as it turns out, he knew all along that I was pretending to be something I wasn't.
So as Bugs Bunny would say "what a moroon"
My nickname by the way was Pug!
I have no qualms about giving people or nationalites a nickname. When I was a kid back in the forties and fifties almost every one, and all nationalites had a nickname. And it seems to me that we all got along just fine. Back then the do-gooders quietly did their thing. Unlike today ,it's just a lot of noisy nonsense.
Remembering how I felt about things when I was younger brings to mind an experience I had when I tried to fit into a different kind of faction.
I tried hunting when I was young. I loved wandering around the woods with my shotgun. But there was other parts of the experience , I did not care for. So I became know as the the world's worst shooter by my companions. So, on a beautiful late autumn day, with big fluffy snow flakes falling, one of my hunting companions kicked a Jupiter bush and a snowshoe hare came streaking out. As luck would have it, he ran right past me. So to continue my charade, I took a careful aim and fired two feet to his right. That's when the hare commited suicide by deciding to veer sharply to his right. Every one yelled great shot. Except for the person who had kicked the hare out of the brush. He just stared at me with a quizzical look on his face. The previous Christmas, the same person had gift wrapped a cigar box, that had rabbit droppings in it. There was a note saying "well he was here" This of course being a referance to my poor shooting reputation. The next time I saw this person. he squinted at me through the smoke from his Pall Mall and said. I suppose when you qualified on the firing range at Fort Dix. the targets kept jumping to the right. So as it turns out, he knew all along that I was pretending to be something I wasn't.
So as Bugs Bunny would say "what a moroon"
My nickname by the way was Pug!
This was entertaining. "What a maroon!" Very funny. I honestly can't see you as a hunter and I was very happy to read that you really aren't. I know that people refer to it as a "sport" but it beats me how a person with a gun killing an animal without any protection qualifies as "sport." BTW, who ended up with the dead hare?
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