I’m amazed. The word amazed and all the various forms of it, may be the words I overuse the most—the words that a professional impressionist would use, over and over and over again if they were to mimic me.

Amazing—with emphasis on all three syllables, to be used interchangeably with “No kidding”, “You’re joking”, and even “Can’t you pass the peanut butter?”

I use it as an expletive meaning, “I don’t believe it!” and since I don’t believe much of anything anymore, everything is amazing.

I’m amazed at today’s newspaper that used to be an upstanding piece of journalism. My kids could read it—secure in the fact the newspaper edits most of the garbage out, or alludes to it tastefully. We are, after all, living in the country’s navel, right under the Bible’s belt buckle.
That distinction no longer affords any protection. We’re being pierced by indecency even here. The daily paper used the word witch with a “b” and put it in 36 point bold as the show-stopping headline of the lifestyle section (the part that has the comics).

Witch with a “B” is a filthy word with disgusting derogatory connotations. I phrase it that way because I expect my kids will read this sometime—not that my kids don’t know this word. They are aware of my struggle with not using it because it’s not okay! And I’m not going to let it become commonplace.

I’m a prude! I’m so not cool. I’m “square” just like my parents. Because that’s what I am now—a parent! I didn’t realize what that word "parent" entailed when I volunteered for the position, but I’m ready to stop trying to be cool, stop trying to be “cutting edge” and start trying to be a better example.

I understand that it is difficult to conform—to realize that happiness to a child means secure and predictable.

To: piquecritique@wig.out
It’s from watching all that rebellion—all those years of people against the system in the 60’s! I told you it would backfire! Peace and Love, T

I’m not going to pretend any more. I’m appalled at the degradation of society through the media and up until last night, I thought I was stuck with it. Like most of typical America, (I say that, because I am a typical American in every way) I thought if I said, “I’m sick to death of stuff going too far,” I assumed the media response would be, “Then, turn it off.”

Until last night, when I read in my expletive-laden newspaper, about one of the new criminal reality shows. The producers of the show admitted that there was so much gratuitous gore that even the actors were sickened, but, they countered, “Nobody has complained.”

Amazing! It’s an epiphany! I can complain and it makes a difference? My opinion matters! Of the billions of people milling about the world, my opinion matters? Amazing! Who do I call? What is their address? Will it ever get there? Amazing! I don’t believe it, but it’s nice to dream about. My opinion… it matters! With that much power, what could I do… and say? Amazing! Watch out for all that power, it could go to my head.

To: piquecritique@wig.out
I’m doing it! I’m complaining! I’m going to give my children something to complain about now and brag about later. I’m the reason they’ll sob to their therapist, “I had a miserable childhood. I had to be responsible, and grow up with a social conscience.
My parents loved me!” T

I’m complaining. The paper wouldn’t use the “N” word because the world and African Americans would revolt and rightly so. So, don’t use the “B” word, because I’m revolted.

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