Remember when George Carlin would question popular expressions in his comedy act and make people laugh as he demonstrated the stupid, poorly thought-out assumptions behind them all? Of course not. I was thinking of him when I wrote this, though, and how almost no one knows who Richard Pryor is anymore. Two of the greatest outlaw comedians of all time, down the memory hole. Anyway....
As someone who never outgrew his childish delight in onomatopoeia and comic book sound effects, I cherish the word “spew.” The very “eew” sound at the end suggests something awful. As a noun and a verb, the word describes something viscerally disgusting sprayed with propulsive force, also satisfying my delight in form and utility.
Therefore it is especially offensive to me to hear how hate is spewed. Like vomit, I get that hate (but never hatred, oddly) is something distasteful, but “spewing hate” was a threadbare expression over a quarter-century ago around the time of the riots in Los Angeles after the verdict in the Rodney King trial, when both law enforcement and ghetto blacks were accused, again and again, of barfing up ill intent upon each other.
How does one spew hate, anyway? It’s not the sort of thing that sticks to walls and pools on floors and makes everything smell so sour others are gagging and fit to puke, too.
Hate is made to sound as if there’s a virus in all that spew that one might catch involuntarily, which is why this is used as an excuse to censor and de-platform people with unfashionable views. This is, of course, as disingenuous as it is silly.
On the opposite side of the coin, consider how love is propagated. Love is generally spread, like a sweet jam. Or a virus, too, though no one thinks of it like that.
Honestly, though, can you think of anyone who has spread love? Spewed so much love it spread like a virus steaming from hot vomit, so much so that entire nations fell ill with...love?
As always, flip the script and it’s immediately obvious how ludicrously obtuse any given popular delusion is. As always, the True Believers shut down like toddlers overdue for their naps when confronted with the truth.
We note the idiocy, we smirk at the idiocy, we move on. Here’s a photo of Gal, the big shaggy cat who rules the Blue Porch Wild Kitty Committee.
What, you were expecting a photo of...spew? When the dark and disgusting is de riguer, happy and wholesome becomes edgy. I’ve always been of a contrarian mindset.
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