Cold Fury

Harshing your mellow since 9/01

Unclear and confuscated

Obligatory disclaimer: yes, it’s the Bee, and I do know it’s satire. Or, as their new subscription-solicitation box pronounces: “Fake news you can trust, delivered straight to your inbox.”

And yes, I signed up for it.

WASHINGTON, D.C.—In a special session called to order Friday, Congress voted unanimously to do a complete overhaul of Father’s Day, renaming the holiday “Toxic Masculinity Awareness Day” and redefining the day’s meaning to encourage citizens to heap shame and disgust on all fathers, current or potential.

Americans across the country excitedly prepared to celebrate the updated holiday designed to shame fathers and all things masculine as the weekend approached.

“It was just time,” said House Speaker Paul Ryan, citing the high numbers of depression and anxiety among men as “a good sign things are progressing in the right direction, but we still have a lot of work to do before all men, everywhere do the right thing and hate themselves with the appropriate level of vehemence.” The new initiative seeks to have all men wailing in the streets in sackcloth and ashes, flagellating and weeping with shame and regret for their harmful, problematic masculinity.

The rewritten holiday guidelines suggest cancelling any gift orders for cigars or plans to take dad out for steak and instead sitting dad on the floor in the living room and repeatedly shaming him for being part of the problem, saying things like “Take that money you were going to spend on a beard trimmer and instead donate it to women’s rights.” The government also established an associated website, ToxicFathersDay.gov, where you can download a free card to give your father that reads, “This isn’t your day any more. Do better.”

Okay, I THINK it’s satire. Maybe not; it’s so hard to tell these days, and attaching that “statement” to Paul RINO ain’t helping to keep the lines clear either. Here, let’s try another one.

U.S.—While everyone has a mother–a necessity in every family for raising and providing for the children–there is a second type of parent some people have called a “father.” It is unknown what purpose this seemingly vestigial parent provides, but today is a holiday known as Father’s Day, where the existence of fathers is acknowledged even if their purpose is unknown.

There had been concerns in the past that fathers actually were harmful to families because of their toxic masculinity, but that masculinity has been tamed in recent years. Now they’re relatively harmless and can help with chores around the house–though usually only under tight supervision, as they’re not very good at them–and can occasionally watch the children–though this again can cause trouble, as they often irritate the children with bad jokes.

While no one recommends having a father, if you know of one, today is the day to tell him, “There you are.” Scientists expect fathers to completely disappear in the next few decades, though, as they’re replaced with an automated device that can both kill spiders and say, “Nice to meet you, Hungry.”

Yep, I think it’s satire. I THINK.

Know what the real problem with the Bee is, though? Every danged time I look in over there I wind up wanting to excerpt EVERYthing here. They just suck me right in every time, and whenever I find myself immersed therein it’s so enjoyable that I don’t want to come back out again.

Update! Exhibit A in support of that last ‘graph of mine.

Covert Navy SEAL Team Really Starting To Regret Wearing These Pride Month Uniforms
RAQQA, SYRIA—A Navy SEAL Team recently expressed regret in showing support for Pride Month after their new uniforms gave away their position in a covert operation to infiltrate an ISIS stronghold. Seal Captain James McKeever says they endured heavy gunfire after the little rainbow flags poking up off of their shoulder area drew the enemy’s attention. “The whole mission was a bust. We barely made it out alive.”

The SEAL team is now being investigated for hate speech after expressing such clearly unpatriotic and anti-gay opinions. “To refuse to wear a bright, rainbow-covered frog suit on a covert ops mission is the definition of anti-gay bias,” said investigator Janice Gillespie. “They will be duly reprimanded.”

See? You SEE what I mean, dammit?

Updated update! An incredibly moving Father’s Day tribute that is DEFINITELY not satirical.

The men of 8th Company were much older now and not as lean as the men — boys, really — who appeared in the photos from 1950-51. Most carried extra weight around the middle, had the leathery skin that came with years of overexposure to the sun, and old tattoos that had purpled with age on biceps and calves that were not as hard and chiseled as they once were — but you didn’t try to tell them that. Like old athletes, they spoke with as much bravado as ever.

I had to smile. It had been my privilege to be raised in the company of such men. They could be profane and the jokes were always off-color. They were, to a man, hard-drinking and chain-smoking. They incessantly complained about the army and were fiercely proud of their part in it. Ornery and ready to fight each other, they were nonetheless ready to die for each other, too. Their vices were ever near the surface and yet, I cannot imagine where America would be without their kind.

I was 20 years old and sat silently watching and listening as I so often did when my father swapped war stories with other veterans. But this time it was different. These weren’t just any veterans; these were the men with whom he had shed blood. This would be his last reunion and it was important to him that I be there. As the son of an 8th Company Ranger, I was, like other sons, an honorary member of this very exclusive club and therefore allowed to participate on the periphery of their banter — and fetch them beer. Lots of beer. Ranger reunions were impossible without beer. And with middle-aged men, that meant frequent trips to the bathroom.

With my father away for a moment on just that sort of mission, one of his old buddies leaned in as if to tell me a secret:

“If any man was ever born to be a soldier, it was your father. Some men have an instinct for the battlefield, and he damn sure did. Absolutely the best shot I ever saw. Could hit flies at a hundred yards. And, man, he was fearless…”

My father, returning, rolled his eyes: “That’s bulls–t, Mike. I was as afraid as any man.”

He turned to me. “It’s as I’ve told you before, son, a man who is truly fearless will get you killed. There’s something wrong with him. His instincts don’t tell him to be afraid when he should be. You want a man on point who wants to stay alive just like you do and whose senses are telling him ‘something’s not right here’ when there’s reason to believe you’re walking into an ambush. Now Mike here, was a helluva point man…” This was all very typical. They extolled each other’s battlefield heroics, but not their own.

All of these men dealt with the psychological wounds of war whether they ever received a Purple Heart or not. My mother tells me that my father suffered from hideous nightmares to the day he died, a recurring one being that he had fallen into a thinly covered mass grave full of bodies in a state of decomposition. Though he fights to climb out over the bodies, the rotten flesh slides off the bones as he grips them and their flesh remained on him for days until he could bathe, a luxury not afforded to men behind enemy lines. Though he would never say, she thinks the nightmare reflected an actual occurrence. I wager all of these men had nightmares of war.

Years later, as he lay on his deathbed delirious from the heavy doses of morphine, he returned to the battlefield. I will never forget his words, a command shouted with urgency and authority: “Cover the left flank! Cover the left flank! Move! Move! Move!” The order was repeated along with something about laying down suppression fire. Whatever the battle he was in, he was reliving it and he was determined to hold the line. In that moment, I prayed that the Lord would take him. He was suffering the horror of war all over again.

The next afternoon, his chest, heaving and belabored for days, relaxed and the air left his lungs in one long sigh. My father was dead.

Trust me when I assure you that you absolutely MUST read all of this. Keep the hankies close at hand when you do. And wonder where we ever found such men, and whether we’ll ever see their like again. Pray to God that we do; sooner or later, as surely as the Sun rises, we’re going to need them.

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