(a Biblical case against more public bathrooms)
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Okay, friends, I may need some help. Apparently, I missed a meeting, because I’m now being told I can choose my own gender.

How liberating! All these years, I’ve just been blindly assuming I was a boy … a male, a guy, a dude, and one weekend in college, a bachelor … and not just due to being born with guy, um, things, like blue gifts from my parents’ friends. And not just because I do guy things, like try to carry twelve bags of groceries from the car to the kitchen in one superhero clutch-fest.

No, I’ve always assumed with confidence that I was the “m” gender among the two options that were introduced in the book of Genesis, which is a very good read despite starring a snake that can talk and goes around distributing orchard produce. And I can identify with Adam, the guy that Eve told, “Here, eat this,” because many times in my life, Eve-type gender representatives have shoved alleged food in front of my face and demanded, “Here, smell this.”

Despite the talking, pome-pushing snake, Adam and Eve managed to have a normal heterosexual relationship … for a while. Then, one day, some media do-gooder invented the word “naked,” and the couple had to get dressed, which tends to impede intimacy, then and now. And as a result, even though Adam by some accounts lived to be over 750 years old, he and Eve only produced some three to seven children. (I’m still trying to figure out who the boys married.) And we can assume that all of the kids were either “M” or “F” because it was much later in Genesis before more expressive genders were introduced, like metrosexual transvestite, transitioning hermaphroditic sapphist, and Tom Cruise. (see the chapter on “Sodom”)

Procreation Sidebar: Adam hit on Eve for 750 years, and they had seven kids, tops. Heck, Mick Jagger has eight, and Keith Richards has five, despite being nearly Adam’s age. Imagine what Strom Thurmond could’ve done with an extra half-century.

But now, I’m being told, it is a child’s inalienable right to decide what gender they think they want to be, until they decide differently later, which is equally okay, especially to profit-minded people who own teenage clothing stores. In fact, there’s one online babbler who insists parents stop referring to babies as he or she, because the tiny waifs can’t talk yet to tell us their preferred gender. Who are you, Mom and Dad, to second-guess your toddler’s dress-or-tuxedo prom night decisions?

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Mom: Honey, our precious babyself just said his or her first words!
Dad: What did she or he say, dear?
Mom: “NASCAR.”
Dad: It’s a girl!
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Uncle Larry: So Tommy, my handsome nephew, what do you want to be when you grow up, eh?
Tommy: Your niece.
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So, I guess I need to make a decision. But while I ponder that, there are plenty of other “Pardon me?” observations to digest in America, already, in 2021 AD. Yes, officially, 2020 has gone wherever years go, but it seems that year’s natural disasters are just being replaced this year by manmade misfortunes. It’s as if, at the end of last year, Humanity called up Mother Nature and implored, “Hey, let us take a turn.”

Case in point: as we discovered last week, Math is now racist. But maybe we shouldn’t be surprised, given that American history is now disposable fiction and online social media has done a drive-by shooting on grammar, spelling, and punctuation.

In California, the so-called “leadership” is now demanding that retailers include a gender-neutral shopping section. According to news reports, stores will still be able to sell Barbie outfits and G.I. Joe molded-plastic ordnance, but must also include a section where Joe can choose a prom dress, and Malibu Barbie can get her jungle sniper on. This plan is supported by an international group that calls itself, with a straight face, Let Toys Be Toys.

And speaking of so-called “leadership,” last week Resident Joey more or less stood in the Oval Basement and mumbled a muttered script about America reaching 50 million vaccines. But Joey misread the teleprompter and touted that Americans had received a bunch of vacuums. Congress quickly modified their $525 gazillion COVID-19 budget to include a “Hoover” contingency.

In a related story, members of Resident Joey’s own party are urging him to cede sole control of the “nuclear football,” that carry-at-all-times briefcase that contains all of America’s nuclear launch codes. Apparently, they don’t trust Joey with that much authority, given that the current First Adultself consistently yarks out comments that make Yogi Berra sound like Winston Churchill.

In news from TV-land, the gang at Disney have decided that The Muppets promote hate-filled stereotypes (think the Swedish chef, who might insult Europeans who eat, and Kermit the Frog, who might insult male midgets who cover themselves in grass clippings). Not to be outdone, all of Peter Sellers’ The Pink Panther movies have been destroyed, rather than risk offending any French policeman who speak English with a French accent.

Back in the toy section, not even good ol’ Mr. & Mrs. Potato Head are immune from the politically-correct cancel culture clown circus. According to reports, the P-Head toy makers plan to drop “Mr.” so that “all could feel welcome in the Potato Head world.” This move, they think, will let kids create their own type of potato families, including two moms, or two dads, each with their own favorite potatoself child. (whether the potato-parents admit the favoritism or not…)

And lastly – in honor of the upcoming Shrimp History Appreciation Month (SHAM), I’m proud to announce my solidarity with the politically-correct issues group, Brackish Lives Matter.

Feel free to climb aboard! Brackish meetings are short and won’t stress your calendar (we can only meet during months with an ‘R’).