Hi there kiddies, it’s been awhile since you heard from the ticked-off obese guy, so here I am in all my aggravated glory on a cheerful Saturday.
By the way, I’m not much on Native American mumbo-jumbo, but I’ve decided that if I have an animal spirit, it’s Grumpy Cat.
I keep a steady level of rage at all times. It’s what keeps me somewhat motivated. But rare is the time that my anger and both of my wife’s occupations, lawyering and writing books, all cross paths simultaneously.
This is one of those times.
Not with anything my wife has done, however. She knows not to go where angels (and most demons) fear to tread. That particular act takes a special kind of person.
In this case, I’m talking about Jesse Ventura – former Vietnam Navy SEAL, Minnesota governor, actor, motorcycle gang member, actor, pro wrestler, steroid abuser; current conspiracy theorist and asshole.
I hadn’t given half a damn about Jesse Ventura since the original Predator movie and his governorship. I think I fairly represent most sane Americans when I write that. After that, I have no idea what the hell happened to Ventura. Maybe the steroids he took back in the day caused substantial brain damage. Maybe he saw all the money Alex Jones was making in pushing bugshit-crazy conspiracy theories and decided to get in on the action. I honestly have no clue.
What I do know is what he did that hit on my wife’s two occupations:
- LAWYERING – He decided to sue a dead man, record-holding SEAL sniper Chris Kyle.
- BOOK WRITING – Ventura is suing Kyle because of something Kyle wrote in his bestselling autobiographical book, American Sniper.
Of course, since Chris Kyle is deceased, Ventura is not really suing Kyle, he’s suing Kyle’s widow and children. What kind of man could take a livelihood from a widow and her children? I’ll tell you. AN ASSHOLE.
It’s not like Kyle even mentioned Ventura’s name in the book. You see, I own a copy of American Sniper and I’ve read it a couple of times. I had no idea until I heard about this lawsuit that it was Ventura that Kyle was supposedly writing about.
To me, this was another case of the Streisand Effect, where Jesse plays Barbra.
Even before all of this Internet stuff gave us terms like “Streisand Effect”, though, things like this happened. For example, way back in the 17th Century Shakespeare wrote about a lady protesting too much.
In the South, we describe things like this with colorful metaphors stemming from our unique culture, dialects, and life experiences.
It wasn’t (and still isn’t in some very rural areas) uncommon to see a bunch of unruly, half-feral dogs near your house around here. Of course, this is a fairly troublesome and possibly dangerous situation, and the best thing to do is find a way to disperse the dogs before something bad happens.
That’s when you pick up a decent-sized rock and throw it at the dog pack. It doesn’t have to be accurate, especially if the pack is large; the rock is nearly guaranteed to connect with a canine.
And how can you tell you’ve hit a dog with your projectile? Why, that particular dog begins to howl and yelp and bawl as if it suffered the most egregious injury ever endured by dogkind. It… hollers.
At that point, the rest of the dogs quickly scramble to find other places to sniff around, while the hollering dog runs like its ass is on fire.
If you could question the dog later about the incident, it could lie about it and say it wasn’t anywhere near that pack of other dogs, and it surely didn’t get hit by any rock. It would probably do so, especially if it was an asshole dog hanging with a bunch of other asshole dogs.
But you know what? The hit dog always hollers. Usually long after it’s prudent to just shut the hell up and skulk off.