...If the price is right
Image by Sabrina Young from Pixabay
This is: A weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — to advise them and haunt them after they become grups or I'm deleted.
Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — A Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering. Viewing with a tablet or a monitor is highly recommended for maximum enjoyment.
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"Be yourself; everyone else is already taken." -Oscar Wilde
Dear (eventual) Grandstickies and Great-Grandstickies (and Gentlereaders),
Now that there will soon be a man person sitting behind the Resolute Desk in the Oval Office who has made a career self-identifying as whatever version of a Depublican was needed to avoid working in the real world for almost fifty years, the thriving diversity industry will continue to do so for at least the next four years.
I'd like to get a piece of the action.
[You're assuming the Donald hasn't planted a bomb in that desk.]
Dana, please! Uncle Joe will heal the Republic... and the checks are in the mail.
I've been thinking about starting a cult for years. There's good money to be made by an imaginative entrepreneur in the pseudo-religion business. However, there are significant downsides.
I assure myself that mine would be a gentle cult and that for a reasonable profit I would provide good, if somewhat vague, guidance to my flock. But then I think of the potential psychological damage that might result to my sheep if I were to be unmasked.
And what if it turned out I was so good at my job that drop-dead gorgeous women — who under normal circumstances would normally be indifferent to me at best, repulsed at worst — were offering themselves to me on a plate?
Would my ethics triumph over my toxic masculinity?
I'll wager there's a small but quite active circle of Hell reserved not only for cult leaders that were in it for the money and/or the power but also the ones that succumbed to temptation. A typical testosterone poisoned dude can rationalize almost any behavior.
As for the crazy ones that actually believe their own shtick... Well, I'm content to leave it to God to sort them out.
[Ahem. Isn't this supposed to be about you securing a foothold in the diversity industry?]
A valid point, Dana, thanks. I'm just excited. Perhaps I've found a way to relieve the financial pressure that my underfunded retirement is occasionally subject to — while doing as little actual/useful work as possible.
Robin DiAngelo, "...is an American author, consultant, and facilitator working in the fields of critical discourse analysis and whiteness studies" according to Wikipedia.
"An expert is a B.S. artist at least 50 miles from home." -Edward John Mehlmauer, Jr. (my dad)
Ms. DiAngelo, professional white person, and bestselling author of White Fragility, Why It's So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism, is my hero.
Last year she was paid $12,000 plus expenses by the University of Kentucky for a two-hour "Racial Justice Keynote and breakout session."
I would've done it for $3,000/hr. and expenses. That's only fair because I don't have a Ph.D. in multicultural education and I'm not the author of anything remotely resembling her undoubtedly brilliant dissertation, "Whiteness in racial dialog: a discourse analysis."
She also led a three-day workshop last year wherein four dozen administrators from the University of Connecticut studied anti-racism and picked up a cool 20k.
Not having a Ph.D. in any field, not even an honorary one (although I am an ordained minister of the Universal Life Church) I thought there was no way I might have a chance to do my part to expose the systemic racism that runs amok in our benighted republic.
BIG BUT...
The nation is hip-deep in Wokies and faux-Wokies.
The Fedrl Gummit has been handing out grants and student loans like (expensive) candy for decades as globe-straddling corporations were simultaneously shifting manufacturing to all sorts of historically impoverished countries who thought they might enjoy air conditioning, bacon-cheeseburgers, and antibiotics as much as we do.
Traditionally, free-market economic policies have led to larger pies, and larger slices, for everyone. But nowadays no shortage of Deplorables are being served ever-smaller slices.
An ever-increasing bunch of woke college grads with less than world-class educations have taken on whatever work they can get and have declared their solidarity with the multitude of approved victim groups ranked by their alleged level of suffering (no Deplorables need apply).
The aforementioned globe-straddling corporations, instead of trying to figure out a way of balancing the needs of their fellow Citizens of the Republic against the need to turn a fair profit have become faux-Wokies because they're under attack from within and without by vociferous real Wokies.
Solution? Pretend to be just woke enough to keep the money flowing (while renting Chinese slave labor) without alienating too many normal people and hope the Wokies gradually self-destruct or are marginalized.
In the meantime, pledge to pursue diversity from the mailroom to the boardroom.
As I've mentioned before, I occasionally find myself self-identifying as a beautiful African-American lesbian woman named Coco.
[Ooo-kay, I see what you're up to.]
Boards of Directors are notoriously top-heavy with Pasty Patriarchs.
While I admit that my qualifications are somewhat thin, what I lack in experience is more than made up for by my willingness to say and do as I'm told — if the price is right.
I'm also flexible. I'm willing to tweak my persona to meet HRs or a Chief Diversity Officers' specifications and dress the part. Hell, I'm willing to be the CDO — if the price is right.
Any interested party should please contact me at: theflyoverlandcrank@gmail.com.
Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day
Have an OK day
[Hold it right there, Sparky. You have nothing to say about the riot at the Capital in the capital?]
Mercutio's famous line, A plague on both your houses! by which I mean both
Republicrats and Depublicans, springs immediately to mind.
On Wednesday, 1/6/20, Donald J.Trump spent about 75 minutes working a crowd into a lather. At the very end of his speech he said, "So we're (that's we are) going to walk down Pennsylvania Avenue... we're (that's we are) going to the Capital...",
Followed by, "So let's (that's let us) walk down Pennsylvania Avenue." Followed by a few sentences of thank you, etc.
He then went to the White House and watched the insanity unfold on TV. I hope he resigns, it's what a gentleperson would do.
I'll probably have more to say next week. I'm going to wait and see how the left-wing backlash plays out. Facebook and Twitter, for example, are busy canceling conservatives of all stripes even as I write.
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Cranky don't tweet.
