I hate just about everything that is fucking PC, but in the past few weeks I’ve learned to really like “micro-aggressions.” I plan to use a lot of them at parties and family gatherings.
Since most of my friends are older than dirt, I’ve had to explain micro-agressions to them. Remember this is a Bullshit Blog and I Google nothing. So for the PC police, I’m probably going to get the definition and use all ass-backward. So if I get it wrong, fuck you. It’s a fucking stupid idea anyway.
I’m usually the victim of “micro-aggression” when cycling. Those skinny fucks will be up at the top of the mountain, look at me in that silly tight clothing and say “wow, I’m really surprised you made it. Good for you.”
It sounds like a compliment, until you understand what they really mean is “how did a fat fuck like you make it up this hill”. And the “Good for you” sentence always sounds like they are talking to the kid who struck out in T-ball.
At first I was a little butt-hurt. Then I realized just about every compliment I have ever received in my entire life came with that little micro-aggressive tone.
“Good try, son.”
“A ‘C’ in this class is about all you could have hoped for.”
“In this next evaluation period, we hope you can build on the small steps you have made so far.”
Apparently those who obsess over such things recoil from these micro-aggressions and seek their safe spaces to retreat from all the meanies in the world.
I started a list of all the micro-aggressors who slighted me. It was a long fucking list (you know who you are). I was getting a little pissed-off. But there are no safe spaces in my house, and the last thing I need is to end up on my own Pussy list (again).
That’s when I decided to try throwing some micro-aggressions out on other people.
I was playing tennis with Bob, an FNG in our Saturday doubles. He’s probably past 60 — I didn’t ask. He ran down a shot I thought was going to be a clean winner.
“Wow Bob. You are sneaky fast.”
He did it a second time:
“It’s really impressive you can still move like that.”
He did it a third time:
“You must be setting records for your age group.”
Bob said he is coming back, but who knows. He could still be crying in his safe space as I type.
The other night, Bryce was sitting in the bar and had to limit himself to one IPA. His “girlfriend” was coming back into town after months living in another state.
“Have another beer Bryce, I’m sure it will not have any effect on your performance,” I said.
I got him to tilt his head like a golden retriever, as he slowly realized he had been “micro-aggressed.”
I gotta say, it felt pretty good. I’ll have to look into this PC shit a little more seriously. I’ll bet I could learn 10 new ways to simultaneously entertain myself and annoy everyone else.
The Savages are really going to hate this…