No Strings

I read a something that could be loosely called a cruel, damaging joke a couple of years ago – by that I mean it was cruel and damaging, and could, on some inane and insane version of Planet Earth, be called a joke. It was shared on FaceBook by a woman who I’d known for almost forty years, someone who I’d always considered intelligent – but intelligence is not necessarily a sign of good character. She, in turn, had got it from another of my FaceBook friends, a woman whose son I hold in high regard. I’m sure he couldn’t have been very impressed with the horrible, inflammatory ‘joke‘.

Every so often I remember this offensive ‘joke’, and it sends me raging again. Well, I’ve finally come up with my revenge. Yes – revenge, it’s an ugly word and an ugly way to behave, but, hey, what harm can I do? I’ve re-written the joke, but changed one teensie weensie word. It’s only a joke – it’s not like I want to hurt anybody, and you must bear in mind that it was an extremely offensive piece of unfunny humour. I’ve made it far less offensive by changing that one itsy bitsy word, and making it an attack on anyone who was viscious enough to laugh at the original disgusting, racist horror of a jest.

I know I’m bringing myself down to the level of the  destructive racist who wrote the joke which offended me so much, and that’s neither clever or helpful, but please forgive me, just this once. I don’t ask your forgiveness for not sharing the original joke. It should never have been created, but you may have picked up the odd glaring hint as to who it was aimed at.

I’ve also changed the image and the format. If I was able, I’d happily credit the inventor of the joke, for giving me the idea. Unfortunately, I don’t know who that is.

So, without any further ado, I give you my version of The Joke (Drum roll please).

 

Har de har har.

There, that feels better. I’ll go back to being the sweet lady who loves good people, nature, chocolate and things that are funny, and loathes racism. I’ll make us all a nice cup of tea and we’ll stop thinking about the nasty racists. Would anybody like a humbug? Here’s a nice flucket of bowers to make up for clotting my boppybook – uh-oh, looks like the Reverend  Spooner is trying to make an entrance. Let’s hope it’s an act of solidarity.

©Jane Paterson Basil

One Breath at a Time

I’ve found a calming salve for the loved ones of addicts. This is the first post on a new blog. The brave philosophy and loving attitude of the author is inspiring. One breath at a time… One reviving breath of fresh air.

Bravo.

My Girl

 

A horn hoots
declaring the presence of a shimmering streak of girlified purple.

She has arrived.

Every time I see it, the van is more like a picture of her passion for life; satin flowers line the windscreen, their electric  illumination redolent of  celebration, the interior displays a pink patchwork of fiddly fun and fluffy fake fur, a giant print of pouting lips kisses the rear.

If it was mine I’d describe it as irony,
mimicking a wry shrug, a  humorous smile,
but this vehicle tells a cute tale of the brave miles
that have sped her to rejuvenation.

Long legs emerge, and a strong body follows.
Her added height has no extra centimetres;
they remain the same
as back when

sanity retreated.

These days she stands so high.

I’m dazzled by her beauty
and the bright summer that sizzles in her vicinity.
How she shines…
the sun has abandoned its home in the sky
to sparkle in the depths of her eyes
and bask in the highlights of her burnished hair.

A shadow creeps up from behind,
briefly entering my mind

then she hugs me
and gives me that smile,
and I know this is real.

She savors every moment of her new life,
and I savor every moment she is with me.

The Daily Post #Savor

©Jane Paterson Basil