Author Archives: Tippy Gnu

The Merits of Apathy

What the inside of my apathetic mind looks like.

I love apathy. Nothing makes my life easier than being around apathetic people. There’s no pressure to conform to a pattern of behavior that matches someone else’s fiercely held values. I can relax, be myself, and live in peace.

Some parts of this world are run by religious fanatics. If you live there, you have to put on a display of faith and devotion so some God-loving asshole doesn’t string you up from a tall tree. What a pain in the neck.

Or, consider the plight of the Palestinians. Jewish settlers strongly believe God has promised them their land. So these poor bastards find themselves displaced and occupied by a hostile force of religious zealots.

And then there are all the fervent Communists and anti-Communists who have been killing each for more than a hundred years, over a political and economic ideal. Their goal of utopia seems to require slaughtering anyone who gets in their way. Which are generally other fanatics and extremists.

I have no problem with people who hold strong convictions. I just want them to be apathetic about it. In other words, I want them to keep their strong convictions cooled down to the point where they won’t try to force others, like me, to go along.

I think apathy is healthy, so I try to be as apathetic as I want others to be. I’ve found it keeps me out of trouble. It also gives me a good out. The things I feel strongly about today may be very different from my convictions in the future. If I’ve committed myself to aggressively pushing my agenda upon others, how can I save face when I want to change my agenda? Hell, I’d feel sheepish if people were asking me why I was no longer trying to convert them.

I’m really trying hard to convince you of the merits of apathy. But then I think, So what? Who cares? What’s it to me? Why should I care if you’re apathetic or not?

I sure hope you’re thinking the same thing about me.

Apology to pooh

Apology to Pooh

The original Winnie in 1914, purchased from a hunter and poorly named by Canadian Lieutenant Harry Colebourne.

This is really the shits. A few days ago I posted an article that might have insulted Winnie the Pooh. All of his fan (Carolyn) raised a stink over this, and demanded that I apologize to Pooh Bear.

Then others jumped on Carolyn’s bandwagon, such as Vic at The Hinoeuma (or however the hell you spell that), and CrankyPants. And now my wife is getting in on the action. Today she posted a demand for an apology, and threatened to cut off my macaroni and cheese dinner if I didn’t capitulate.

Jeeeeezus Keeeeeerist! All of this for a frickin’ pooh?!

I love mac and cheese, so I’m backed against a wall. Therefore, with my hat in hand, everyone who was offended, including Winnie, Christopher Robin, Piglet, Eeyore, Tigger, Rabbit, Gopher, Kanga, Roo, Lumpy, and any other wacky character that’s on that damned cartoon, please accept my apology. I also apologize to everyone who’s ever enjoyed a Winnie-the-fucking-Pooh cartoon.

I’m sorry that Pooh Bear is shaped like a turd. And I’m sorry his name is “Pooh.” I can’t think of a worse, more disgusting name for a parent to give a child. And I’m sorry Winnie is so damned sanctimonious and priggish.

Alright, I hope everyone is satisfied now, and that everyone’s idealist views of the world that my post shattered have been glued back together.

Now, where’s my mac and cheese?

Stolen Quote: Quickness

The power of doing anything with quickness is always prized much by the possessor, and often without any attention to the imperfection of the performance. ~ Jane Austen–Pride and Prejudice

Reminds me of some of my former co-workers.


I was on the phone with one of my sisters the other day, when the subject turned to politics. In reference to our fearless leaders, I said, “Those bastards don’t know shit.”

She corrected me with, “Oh, you mean those guys don’t know poo?”

Oh shit, that’s right, I remembered, I’m talking to my religious sister. She’s an uppity-up with the Jehovah’s Witnesses. Her husband’s an elder, you know, so she’s big-time, and has to set an example for everyone. And in that religion, “shit” is apparently an unacceptable way to refer to the fecal matter that drops from the anus.

The appropriate alternative is “poo.”

Worldly people say, “shit,” whereas those who are not of this world say, “poo.”

Poo is acceptable in any Kingdom Hall of the Jehovah’s Witnesses. You can say that word repeatedly, while attending their meetings, and they’ll just smile, and maybe even giggle, and you will be tops with them.

In fact, you can say, “poo” to any religious person. Nuns love poo. So do ministers. And so do Sunday School teachers.

Poo goes well with religion, but it’s also appropriate for mixed company. I don’t quite know what “mixed” company actually is, but from a small child I’ve heard admonishments along the lines of, “you can’t say that in mixed company,” or “don’t do that in mixed company.” I suppose it means you’re in the company of people who are mixed up about things, and thus are easily offended.

When you’re in mixed company, it’s risky to say the word, “shit,” because sometimes people will find it objectionable. But it’s never risky to say, “poo.” You can even add an “h” to the word, then double it, as in, “I pooh-pooh that.” Which I think means, “I shit on that.”

Adding an “h” to poo brings to mind Winnie the Pooh. Kids love Winnie the Pooh. I never cared much for that sanctimonious, priggish, moralizing, turd-shaped bear, but maybe that’s because I discovered the word, “shit,” at a young age. When I first became aware of Winnie the Pooh I wondered, why don’t they call him Winnie the Shit? Does calling shit “pooh” make it any less smelly or disgusting?

I prefer “shit” to “poo.” Shit is more authentic. Also, it’s a much more versatile word. It doesn’t always refer to the stinky material that draws all those flies. It can mean all kinds of things. But when you try to use the word “poo” to refer to anything other than the defecations secreted by our bowels, it really falls flat.

For instance, when someone says, “I have to get my shit together,” everyone knows they’re not referring to that awful stuff that gets flushed down the toilet. No, they’re speaking in the abstract. They’re referring to their life, and various aspects of their life that may be a bit disorganized at the moment.

But when someone says, “I have to get my poo together,” it leaves me in a muddle. I’m picturing them collecting the brown stuff from their toilet, and putting it all together in a sack. Perhaps a blivet bag.

If you’re going through hard times, and someone commiserates with you by saying, “Wow, that’s some tough shit, man,” you know exactly what they mean, and you feel consoled. But what if they say, “Wow, that’s some tough poo, man,” wouldn’t that sound a little weird and off-putting? Tough poo? There’s nothing consoling about that. That just brings to mind the sort of stuff that’s requires multiple flushes to get down the loo.

And yet, many religious people try to use the word “poo” in just this way. For them it’s a substitute for “shit” in all of our scatological idioms, bromides, and other cliches.

To me, it comes off as awkward, dorky, and wacky. If someone considers “shit” to be a taboo word, then they might not want to say it. But it strikes me as strange when they use “poo” as a substitute. It just doesn’t work, unless they’re actually referring to the fecal matter that drops from the anus.

But even then, it sounds like toddler-speak, in my view. And so does “poop” and “caca.” I hardly ever use those words. I grew out of them before I lost my baby teeth. I will, however, utilize the heteroclitical term, “crap,” fairly often. It’s a semi-taboo word that can pass without raising many eyebrows, in mixed company.

I sometimes feel sorry for religious people who seem compelled to resort to silly measures like saying the word, “poo,” to avoid taboo behavior. But perhaps that’s the price they must pay to get on the list for housing in heaven.

I violate taboos right and left, so I’m not on that list. I guess me and my filthy mouth are going to hell. And that’s some tough shit, man.

Don’t Mistreat Iguanas!

My wife horse-collared me when I was trying to slip past her, and now I have a chore to do. In the interests of staying out of trouble, let me introduce you to her new blog, Chasing Tippy, by reblogging her latest post.

Chasing Tippy

The iguana I saved from a mean drunk.

Never mistreat an iguana. They seem to think it’s okay in the Florida Keys.

We were having a peaceful lunch enjoying this iguana, until some drunk came out and decided to mistreat it. I told my husband I knew he was going to mistreat that iguana, as I watched him from the top story of the restaurant. The drunk went over and picked him up by the tail and started swinging him. I am 5 foot tall and weigh 190, and an old lady, but I stood up and stuck my head out the window and screamed at him: “STOP IT!!!!!”

I was ready to go down and knock the shit out of him.

He looked up and didn’t know what to do, so he put the iguana down. Everyone in the restaurant was looking at me. The server came over and…

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Question: Aweighting An Answer

My wife, Kay , has a question about a recurring problem, and she’s hoping my followers have answers. That’s because I’m too stupid to answer this question for her.

Kay drives a Toyota Corolla. This is a compact car. But it has four doors, with two bucket seats in the front and a bench seat in the back. So up to about five people can kind of comfortably fit inside.

According to her Toyota Owner’s Manual, in the section on Specifications, her poor little ol’ Corolla has a vehicle capacity weight of only 865 lbs, which would be the combined weight of all occupants, plus luggage.

My wife uses the trunk of her car for storage, and I’d say there’s at least 50 pounds in there that she lugs around on a regular basis. So that’s the “luggage.” Kay, herself, weighs about 200 lbs.

Now for the kicker. Kay isn’t the only fat person she knows. Our niece, who lives in town, weighs 400 pounds. Our niece’s husband weighs about 240 lbs. Other members of her family, such as cousins, tend to be heavy also. I doubt any of them tip the scales at less than 200 lbs.

And she has many friends at her diet club who easily weigh-in weekly at a good 200 to 250 lbs each, and often more.

When there are family events, they often want her to drive, and try to squeeze into her poor little Toyota like a bunch of clowns. And at the end of every diet club meeting, her friends all want to go out to eat, and want her to give them a ride. Especially during pre-Covid days, but even now, since outdoor dining has been allowed.

Kay is good at math, and she adds passenger weight in her head. When the total, plus the weight of her and the junk in her trunk exceeds the safety limit of 865 lbs, she worries about her ability to control her car. She also fears that the wheels might fall off, or that the axles might snap, or that she might bottom out while going over a speed bump.

She wants to put a limit on how many fatsos are allowed to jam themselves into her prized Corolla, but she’s afraid to hurt anybody’s feelings. So her question is as follows:

How do you diplomatically tell a fatso that they can’t ride in your car, due to their extreme weight?

Stolen Quote: Style

You can’t try to be somebody you’re not; that’s not style. If someone says, ‘Buy this – you’ll be stylish,’ you won’t be stylish because you won’t be you. You have to learn who you are first, and that’s painful. ~ Iris Apfel, Fashion icon

So cancel your subscription to GQ, and start reading Psychology Today.

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