I am not an advocate of political correctness. Never have understood how a group of people called the "baby boomers" could have even come up with the idea of labeling everyone with there own personal non-gender specific, we can't offend anyone, not even the little grubs that eat the shit out of my grass, psycho-name, call it a disease and send little Johnny (or is it Jonnie, Johnnie, Jahnnie... ) off to school pumped up with Ritalin, so he'll not kick any of the other kids or grab the teachers tits (now that's a sentence. No journalism major here).
You see kicking another child in grade school now gets you "quiet time" where you sit and reflect on the gravity of the indiscretion you have just performed. When I was a kid (I'm 47 years old, I've earned the right to say that), if you kicked another kid, it usually meant some sort of public humiliation bestowed upon you by the teacher. Be it standing in the corner, writing "I will not kick Jonnie again" a million times, or you got the dreaded paddle, yardstick, pointer, geography book spanking.
Grabbing a teacher's tit, on the other hand, was an immediate trip to the principal's office which was then followed by a phone call to your parents and another short walk to see the priest on duty that day. The priest's punishment was usually the same as the fore-mentioned kicking of little Jahnnie except that the priest would then give you a one hour sermon on how many sins I committed by touching a woman's private part. By the time you got out of there your ass hurt and you were scared to death because you didn't know how you were going to go take a piss without touching your own private parts (or mister happy as I liked to call it).
If you thought it was all over you were sadly mistaken. The worst was yet to come because of the dreaded phone call home. The kicking was usually provoked so you could talk your way out of that one with minimal damage. The grabbing of the teachers tit, however, was totally on my own, you see I had a crush on this particular teacher and I used to dream about her being my first fuck, so there was no talking my way out of it. I was grounded for a month, no T. V. for two weeks, no allowance for two months, and no time-off for good behavior. I might as well have gotten the death penalty. Oh, did I mention the ass-whipping that my Dad bestowed upon me?
Today, for grabbing a teachers hooters, you would get an immediate suspension pending an expulsion hearing. You will be required to go to a counselor to straighten out your twisted-up, sicko mind, and you will be branded a sex offender for the rest of your life. What are we trying to teach our kids? That violence is bad but sex is the end-all. Something as natural (although I do like un-natural sex) and pleasurable as sex is. If God wanted us to have sex only to procreate, He would not have made it feel sooooooooo fucking good. He would have made it as painful as childbirth. Something I have eye-witnessed twice and although I never felt the pain I can assure you I would never, ever voluntarily submit to that obvious mortifying agony. Nooooooo, God, in His infinite wisdom, made the outcome of sex the most pleasurable feeling you can even imagine. It is the nearest thing to perfection I can think of. The orgasm!!! Why, oh, why would God finally make something perfect and then tell us that the only time you can achieve this feeling of euphoria is when you want to have children?
