I don’t care what continent your ancestors came from. The level of pigmentation in your skin doesn’t mean shit to me. Your brown eyes, blue eyes or green eyes; your straight hair, curly hair or no hair; your accent, language or guttural grunts: none of them matter to me. At all. I don’t care. Wail, scream and gnash your teeth at how “oppressed” one group is compared to another. Perform all the logical and linguistical contortions you want in order to make everything about race. Just don’t tell me I’m bigoted simply because I don’t agree with you.
I don’t care what gender you are attracted to. Your preferred pronouns, your self-designated abbreviation(s) LGBTQ+-!?&*$# are utterly without meaning for me. Marry whoever the hell you want to. Marry a damn doorknob. I don’t care. Just don’t try to indoctrinate my kids into your world. They’re from mine, and they’re going to stay there.
I don’t care how vegan you are. If you want to wait until the apple falls off the tree and lands on the ground before you eat it because the tree might feel pain if you picked that same apple while it was still attached to that tree, then starve. If you are completely comfortable eating engineered foods that mimic something real, like those fake eggs they advertise on tv, then knock yourself out. Just don’t tell me I have to eat them too. I like real eggs and I’m not going to give them up. If you don’t want cheese on your portabella “burger”, then don’t have it. I don’t care. But don’t tell me I can’t have a triple Baconator from Wendy’s. With cheese.
I don’t care if you want to protest because your side lost some court case, or some event happened that hurt your delicate little feelings. Protest away. It’s your right as a citizen of the United States. But you do not have the right to riot, throw Molotov Cocktails, try to intimidate others, and generally act like a spoiled four-year-old whose tyrannical parent just took away their favorite toy because things didn’t go the way you wanted them to. Grow up and learn to deal with disappointment and losing. It’s going to happen to you again soon, in one form or another. Get used to it. If you want to carry a sign proclaiming your position on some issue, go right ahead. I don’t care. Just don’t tell me I have to accept you burning down a city because you lost or you’re mad about something.
I don’t care if you want to drive an electric car because you think the world will end if you don’t. I don’t care if you cover your house in solar panels and erect so many windmills you can’t walk out your door without getting smacked in the head by a rotating blade. Those things kill birds in the thousands, but by all means, save the world from the dreaded greenhouse gases. Just don’t tell me I can’t drive my truck or heat my house. Nature was here long before us, will be here long after we’re gone, and she always seeks to find balance. By the way, North America and most of Europe used to be covered by glaciers. Where did they all go? Did all the car and factory exhausts from twenty thousand years ago melt them? So go right ahead with your “green” efforts. Compost your own shit if you want to. I don’t care. Just leave me and my John Deere riding lawn mower alone. It’s got a cupholder (!) and I like driving it.
I don’t care about the latest celebrity scandal. It makes not one iota of difference to any of the problems in the world what some slack-jawed, glassy-eyed, drooling moron wore to some awards show no one watched. And that goes double, maybe quadruple, for politicians at the Met Gala. The pronouncements of Hollywood’s denizens mean nothing to me. The hypocrisy and idiocy emanating from that gaping, frothing, suppurating pustule of a self-righteous enclave smells worse than the world of The Walking Dead would if it were real. So read your tabloids, follow all the hottest celebrities on the social platform du jour, and accept their uneducated, incoherent and infantile mumblings as equal to a proclamation from Socrates. I don’t care. Just don’t tell me I have to pay attention to that offal too.
I don’t care how you live your life. Drink to excess or be a teetotaler. Smoke all the weed you want to. Or don’t. Live under a freeway overpass and shoot poison into your veins with a needle if that’s what you want to do. I don’t care. But don’t show up on my land looking to rob my house or harm my family to get your drugs. I have lots of guns and a big dog who doesn’t like strangers. So, if you want to get tanked every night, or obliterated on the dope of your choice, go right ahead, I don’t care. Just don’t drive when you’re wasted. That’s a total dick move.
I don’t care what you think of my politics and opinions. You won’t find me out marching in the streets. I much prefer writing to chanting. Slogans get old. Then they start to sound weird. Don’t believe me? Try it. Pick any word or phrase and say it over and over again for a minimum of three minutes straight. It begins to sound and feel like gibberish, like it’s not even real words anymore. That’s what your slogans are to me. You won’t convince me to change my mind, and I’m probably not going to convince you to change yours, although I admit I would be happy if I did. So go on and chant away, and I’ll keep my opinions, thank you very much, and you keep yours. I don’t care.
You know what? I changed my mind. I do care. A lot. And I’m paying attention. Are you?
May 11, 2022