about self-importance

Have you ever considered the damage you are doing to your acquaintances and to the world by withholding your profound analysis – that they are nothing other than t….s? Yes, it hurts to think it and it hurts to say it but the world is full of very successful people who are hardly any better than…flotsam and jetsam. Of course they hear that verdict at home in the privacy of their humble abodes whether it be a fifty-bedroom mansion on Park Lane or a converted miner’s cottage in Nottingham, whether it be Bollywood Spicedom or Booker Prize famedom but the sad truth remains that so many of us are just doing terrible things, whether it is to mum and to dad, to our nearests and dearests or even to Joe Bloggs who we don’t know but take an instant dislike to. Yes, we are at it and showing whosoever that we have the power and they don’t.

            What is needed in this knavish world of ours is more people who tell the truth – people like Emilia in “Othello” or the fool in “King Lear”, people like those messengers before Facebook who told the truth under duress of office and got hung for the deed.

            Ah, good, old Emilia, by golly and by gosh, you certainly got it in the neck (or the tummy) from that fiend-like hubby of yours, honest Iago. Ah, good, old folly Fool, you certainly got it in the butt, out in that tremendous storm after you’d been threatened with a whipping for telling the king he was an ass. He was.

            So, tomorrow, when your best friend or your boss or your wife or your associate or your superior does something to show the world that it is dealing with ARSEDOM, please go up close-close to that person and say, “You are lying for your own advantage,” or “You are manipulating for no other reason than personal dislike,” or “You are showing off secret knowledge to disconcert that relative but you know you know next to nothing,” or “You are a devious jackasnipe….because you are leaving telling the truth to that person to the last minute, thus engineering maximum surprise and maximum upset,” or “You are not looking where you’re going; you think you are so gifted, so intelligent, so magnificently endowed, and the result is you’ve just squashed that beggar’s goolie with your high heel!” or, “You have no time for anyone except yourself.”

            Oh, yes, when I mentioned OAH (Order of the Arse Hole) in the “Epilogue” of “Collected Selected Words” by yours truly (out there on Amazon), I was not thinking so much of myself as of all those guys and gals who try to trick us and trip us up. Of course, we all merit a mild or severe OAH, myself included, but from the pineapple* of this blog I look down on and scorn-mourn the sadness that is diplomacy, the sadness that is hypocrisy, the sadness that is opportunism, the sadness that is beating about the bush instead of calling a spade a spade and going into that garden of ours to get on with using that spade to dig up the weeds.

*Thank you, Sheridan, for the malapropism and, indeed, for your Mrs., too.

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