GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #494: WHAT'S GOOD FOR THE GOOSE IS, UH, WHAT?

 You can't blame cannabis tonight. I had a few drinks instead. To be fair, this doesn't sound like a drunk thing to think, but it sounds like a high thing to think. And maybe I'm just explaining too much here.

So if Mother Goose wrote all those nursery rhymes, what the fuck did Father Gander write? I have a sneaking suspicion that he was responsible for playground rhymes. You know, like "milk milk lemonade." Or "Jingle Bells, Batman smells." And, naturally, "beans beans the magical fruit." And probably some of the racist ones, too, like the one about "peepee in your Coke." And the one about "dirty knees look at these."

Probably also wrote, "King Kong went to Hong Kong to play ping pong with his ding dong." Someone had to write 'em, yes? Evan Dorkin has a theory, and I like it. That it was really some down on his luck loser who got screwed out of the credit and the reward.

But maybe it was just Father Gander.

[EDIT: Turns out there actually is a Father Gander. What a waste of a perfectly good Goodnight, Fuckers.]

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #493: CANCEL CULTURE

 GOOGLE! GOOGLE! ON THE WALL! WHO'S THE BIGGEST BESTSELLER OF ALL?

Yeah, that's the answer I expected. A bit of a, uhhhhhhh, weird author photo, but you answered my question. I have an audience participation question, as much as I can in this space. Who are the loudest people who screech about cancel culture? I have an easy answer for you: people who have some pretty big platforms.

James Patterson is the most recent of a pack of assholes who claim that cancel culture, or wokeness, is destroying the writing community. He says that white male authors are losing jobs because of the so-called phenomenon. That's coming from someone who has never lost a writing job in his life.

(I saw someone mention on Twitter that he couldn't get a job writing his own books, which made me laugh.)

How can someone in such a powerful position make such a tone deaf statement? Well, it's pretty common. Congress is a hotbed of people screaming about being silenced in front of an open mic for the entire country to hear. Same goes for Fox Opinions. I'm not seeing a lot of silencing going on, here. Probably because they need a boogeyman for their fans, constituents and viewers, so why not make one up that will make everyone fear that they're next? It's got mass appeal, after all. Self-interest is one of the most motivating forces on the planet, so why not make people think that's going to be taken from them against their will?

Here's the key to not being next: stop being an asshole. You are not being silenced. You are doing the exact opposite of Mark Twain's advice. To wit: "Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt." Now, if you really were being silenced, you'd be detained, murdered and quietly buried in a long stretch of lonely desert. 

This is what being silenced looks like.

So I'd like to hear you stop blubbering about the First Amendment.

But to get back to creative endeavors, where I started with Patterson, one of the things I hear the most is that wokeness means not being able to push the envelope anymore. There is only an approved set of things to write about, and if you stray from that, then you're canceled. Which, by the way, is not true. If it was, I would be in deep doo-doo. For Dong of Frankenstein alone, I'd be hung from the yardarm.

I identify with Bobcat Goldthwait a lot, mostly because he makes extremely offensive movies and yet doesn't have people coming after him with pitchforks and torches. Dare I say he's a man of Questionable Taste? Look at World's Greatest Dad in particular. That is some dark shit right there, offensive on so many levels. But why listen to me talk about him. You can read his own thoughts here, and you can see what I mean.

So why is it that he and I don't get those pitchforks and torches I mentioned earlier? I have a theory, although I can only speak for myself. Very little of my writing comes from a place of hatred. Some of it comes from anger, which leads to hatred, which, eh, you know where I'm going with this. But for me it more or less stops at anger, and it's always in reserve for people who take advantage of the powerless, corrupt politicians and the corporate overlords who pull their strings. I think, if you read Poor Bastards and Rich Fucks, that comes through pretty clearly.

All right. Rant over. Probably.

Sorry. False alarm. That is all.

Just kidding. There is one more thing.

The funniest thing about cancel culture is when Fox Opinions exploded over Dr. Seuss being canceled. I wonder sometimes if they even listen to their unhinged rants. First of all, never happened. The Estate decided to pull one of his books from publication because maybe, just maybe, children's books shouldn't have the n-word in them. Secondly, I seem to recall when they were trying to ban Cat in the Hat, in particular Peter Roskam. What was it Jesus said about those who should throw stones?

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #492: THE HILL

 Wait a minute. What happened to GF #491? I assure you, it exists. But just as I was hovering over the publish button, a weird sensation came over me. Whenever I get that, I don't publish whatever I'm about to publish. In this case, it's because I got even more personal than I've ever been here before, and it was a little unsettling. I decided not to publish MY DEEPEST DARKEST SECRET. I saved the draft, so if someone finds it after I'm dead, they can feel free to publish it. I won't care by then. Think of it as the LOST GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS COLUMN. People like uncovering "lost" things.

So let's not get grim tonight. I haven't been in a good mind frame in quite a while, now, so let's think about something pleasant. A happy memory. Back when I was a kid, my grandfather would drive my cousin and I to school every day. It was down the street from where we lived at the time, and there was always this hill we'd go down. And if Gramps hit it just right, it would make us jump off the seat and hit our heads on the ceiling.

Wait, what? Seatbelts, I hear you ask? It was the mid-'Eighties. It would have been shocking if we were in the front seat wearing them, much less the back.

But every weekday we would go through the ritual, and it made us laugh each and every time. I miss doing that. I still live near that hill, but they did something to it near the end of the 'Eighties that made it impossible to replicate the experience. It was a shame, and even though it was probably dangerous, I wish I could still do that. I'm sure the size I am now would prevent it from happening even if I went back in time, but still.