priligy generico

Muppets & Clowns

creepy-clownTaking a random stroll through my Facebook contacts the other day, I noticed that I was suddenly no longer ‘friends’ with a few people. And I thought they’d just been fairly silent lately.

I wasn’t particularly upset or annoyed by the abrupt banishing, because it seems to happen relatively frequently for some reason, but I did find it to be both enlightening and rather amusing.

One of the people in question had been a somewhat recent addition to my ‘friends’ list – a former instructor I’d had at university. She taught folklore under the anthropology department. The last interaction I’d had with her was roughly a week earlier. I’d posted my disgust at having heard on the ‘music’ channel at Big Box DIY – and far in advance of the relevant holiday – The 12 Days of Christmas as performed by the Muppets.

First of all, I hate Christmas music. Hate Christmas music. HATE. IT. It is, to me, next to rap, the scourge of musical entertainment. Also, I’m not a fan of Christmas. It is not a holiday I celebrate. So having this syrupy dreck forced upon me at every turn is very like torture to me.

And one of the worst musical offenders in this snivelling, ululating genre is The 12 Days of Christmas. I simply cannot abide that fucking song. It is, to me, the equivalent of fingernails across a chalkboard. Combine this jangling, repetitive atrocity with the squealing falsetto of Miss Piggy, and play it several times a day over the course of more than two months, and I want to go on a five state killing spree.

‘I love the Muppets!’ had been her objection to my complaint. And she went on to provide lengthy discourse on the relative merits of puppetry and the need to never release the embrace of one’s inner child and blah blah blah, and concluded with an admonition that I must be very dour indeed not to delight in the joy of Christmas (‘I wish it could be Christmas every day of the year and it can’t come soon enough for me!’) and the ‘whimsical nature’ of appreciating having a discordant song shouted at you in whinging falsetto by a man with his fist stuffed up a toy pig’s ass.

I responded by saying that though I have nothing specifically against the Muppets, and that I quite enjoy Statler and Waldorf or even The Land of Gorch on occasion,  I do, however, embrace my ‘whimsical nature’ in ways which do not include puppets or clowns.

I could almost hear an audible gasp in her reply when she stated that ‘those who deny that part of their nature are the people who never seem to be happy.’

My follow-up was simply that I can be quite happy, thank you, without Muppets and clowns to validate my whimsy.

And then I was no longer her ‘friend.’

Seemed rather an extreme measure to take simply because we disagreed over something so thoroughly meaningless. But then I suppose if this sort of action is a person’s typical response to argument or debate, rather than engaging in considered and thoughtful dialogue, then perhaps it indicates their embrace on their inner childishness is stronger than they’d imagined…

 

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