(Children attack their parents at their own peril. I get it, ok?)
The Black Rod is father and mother to all the other stripes of Rods writing from Manitoba. Sometimes mommies and daddies are the ones that need a spanking, right? (Not that I'm for corporal punishment, mind, but you get my drift.)
Oh, father, oh, mother, what earthly legion causes your eyes to turn to heaven? What insurmountable task or trouble cricks yer' neck upward at just the time we need your gaze steady on the battleground?
(Black Rod: "Heaven help us," they write yesterday. As if Heaven ever helped in an election. Seriously.)
And what's with the disrespect, dude? How come Dr. Gerrard doesn't get some 'sheesh'? Why just Goofy vs. the Micropander Monster over there at the Black Rod? You didn't slam the big red machine, not once, not even a little, not even a _crumb_!
I have gotten used to being the child in the corner. The one everybody forgets about while his sister is getting caught stealing, or his brother is flunking out of summer school. The one that quietly goes about their business with little love, little support, and little attention. The one who must make it on their own. I'm gonna start to bloody cry here soon. It hurts sometimes, ok?
But this utter lack of love from the Black Rod, this is far beyond the normal ghost child syndrome that I am used to. Verily, yesterday's Black slight sows seed of negation, rendering a Rouge just short of lightest veiled specter of pink to transparent, invisible. I feel stranded on a desert Island, alone, with no-one but Wilson. It is as if I am dead to you, or we are dead to each other.
So, key the old phrase, 'trust no man while his father still lives, or who has yet to be stranded on a desert island.' Right? Its time for little Rod Rouge to strike out on their own. Check, I get it.
So, hey, Black Rod. Let me tell you something quickly.
While you are busy trying to figure out yet another Font type for your page (dude, Elements of Style, read it, ok?) some of us have been busy actually trying to make valid points that people can look towards. Not to heaven, ok, but to actual earthly choices, earthly solutions, and earthly individuals that could very well help us all.
Now, I get wit' all the awful shenanigans you see, and drone on and on and on and on about, a body couldn't be blamed for getting just a wee bit jaded. 'Natch. Its still a sad situation out there, and I get that you feel blue... er, Black! Not blue. That was a slip.
You are not going to get away with being totally morose, though. I won't allow it. Portion morose, sure, but not totally morose.
Like it or not, you took an implicit oath when you struck out on this road. You have to do better than the Papers you bash, and the talking heads you slam. You have to do better, or else be stuck with the label of ineffective critic. The one that makes everyone feel... oh, what's the word... right, cynicism. And from cynicism, hopelessness, despair, depression. And more transfer payments. You want that on your conscience?
Not all today's heros are fabricated by a corporation. Some steel themselves to the honest forge of the existential stage. Some lines get delivered from the heart, not the script, and without the intention of being heroes at all, but just honest men and women reacting authentically to life's challenges and opportunities. You, who have taken upon yourself such a task set and voice, must not allow periods of pure 'woe is me (us).'
You have to do bloody better than what you are doing now. Don't just tell us how it is broken. We know, ok? Tell us about ideas for repairing it, making it better. Throw us a frickin' bone to chew on that isn't putrid for once.
Hey, tell you what. I'm going to give you an idea. Free, no restricted use clauses or credit or nothing. You can have this:
Write a comparison between the leaders. All 4. That's right, I said 4. Don't whine about the extra load.
But... and this is important, you _have to pick a leader in the end of the analysis that you honestly recommend as the best choice._ Not tongue in cheek, or to be spiteful, or funny, but make a pick that you honestly think will help.
Put yourself on the line, my poor morose friend (s). Try consequential recommendation out, and then tell me later (in secret communication is fine) if having to make an actual recommendation with your name on it didn't give you a bit of a pick-me-up-kick-in-the-pants.
Its so much better than pharmaceuticals. And I can see you need something. Desperately. I'm here to help.
Ok, so... maybe, while I'm pointing fingers outward, I need to poke inward. Maybe I'm just so hurt that you had no unkind words for Dr. Gerrard that I.... ummm... hey wait.
Am I missing the point?
Nawww... couldn't be.
Could it?
Naw.
Oh, and Elements of Style. Its a book. Your pages give me a headache sometimes. Just sayin'.
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