No question about it. The world needs a little more Foggy, and Iím here to help deliver. Actually, the above captures my basic world view in a way feeble words cannot.
If, that is, you understand from the get-go that the big handsome fella on the right? That would be me. I can provide a laundry list of names suitable for tagging that little creep on the left if youíd like.
But if youíve got one in your life itís hardly necessary.
Iíd say the IRS comes immediately to mind. Or your average insurance ninny.
Fortunately, I always keep my feathers numbered . . .
Iím not the first to feel the irritation of ninnyís yapping at my heel. Itís not the first time Iíve made mention of it, either, and likely itís not the last. Itís become a whole sub-theme of the Outfoxed Domain here (after all, you write about what you know, and boy howdy can I tell tales of ninnyís).
But let me mention the rise of the nanny, while Iím at it.
Once the respectful title of a cultured lass from West London, we in these great 50 have inherited a holdover, a by product of too many Saturday mornings spent not watching Foggy for the laughs, but being horrified by his violence, his obesity, his Southern culture. All the things that made him great, in other words.
I for one have had enough of the nanny. I know the difference - the difference betwixt a Ninny and a Nanny. As in . . .
A Ninny is a chafing annoyance with an opinion.
A Nanny takes an annoyance, turns it on you and makes it your problem.
A Ninny is usually an outcast. People know the Ninny and avoid them.
A Nanny gets approval, often given reluctantly, often from the Government.
A Ninny has a sore ass from having it kicked repeatedly.
A Nanny has an ass kissed by all who fear them, and fear crossing them.
A Ninny can be dismissed, and eventually goes away.
A Nanny lingers like a festering sore whose fate is in the hands of the courts.
Foghorn was neither a Ninny or a Nanny. I could have a beer with Foggy. I canít even imagine having one with (an adult) Egghead. But the Eggheads are the ones who win in the end, leaving Foggy dazed, blown up, and holding a sack of feathers while a Dawg howls approval in the background.
A Nanny is really a Ninny made good, who discovered the power of the fourth estate, who found an audience with those of like mind and even in their minority made enough noise for somebody to take notice and hear the jingle of potential coin (we call Ďem lawyers in these parts).
That said, Iím calling for a change.
Because my Saturday mornings of old cannot possibly be spent in vain.
And Iím ready for a new sheriff in town. A Nanny slayer. Somebody even more pissed off than me, if thatís possible. And I got us a candidate . . .
Letís get this un-fu*ked immediately.
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