You stepped on a crack ...

When I was growing up there was a silly childhood rhyme:
Step on a crack break your mother's back.
Of course it wasn’t true, but it gave kids who craved rules a rule to follow.

There seems to be something like that at work where I live.
Various minor facets of life, like stepping on cracks in the sidewalk,
are elevated into things which the local citizenry,
or at least the politically incorrect fraction of that,
must be scrupulously examined for,
to see if they are exhibiting any sign of
this dreaded “antisocial” condition.
One wonders why the authorities bother so?
The only plausible answer I can come up with is that
they are under the gun from some direction
to keep the politically incorrect constantly under suspicion,
constantly under scrutiny.

I personally, think that is a sick game,
the kind of thing PC psychologists come up with
to keep the politically incorrect on the defensive.
And no doubt it can be used to scare women away from the politically incorrect:
“He’s under suspicion. Don’t trust him. He is a threat to your safety.”

Well, there’s not much I can do about it, other than to say: “Ho, ho, ho.”

Oh, and by the way:
I don’t know which is more pathetic:
That some black women evidently think I am sexually attracted to them
(so I have been told, at any rate),
or that some PC types, or types I have viewed critically in this blog,
tell them lies to make them think that.
Or perhaps it was just a coincidence that,
literally the day after I posted this photo and comment
[the precise dates: 2009-08-26 and 27],
when I went on my daily late afternoon walk
I encountered at least two black women, in their 40s or 50s,
in ultra-short outfits, showing a great deal of black leg,
a black version of what I found attractive in Jenny Sanford.
I can truthfully say that
in the many years I have been walking these neighborhoods
I have never seen such.
Plus,
in the minutes after these black women in their short skirts or shorts
were in my field of view,
my crotch was carefully inspected by numerous people giving it a close eye.
All it takes is one or two of these observers
to mistake a moving pleat in my shorts for something harder
to keep the PC lie machine in perpetual motion.

But hey,
that’s what Arlington (or at least its political class) lives for, isn’t it:
Cheap shots and/or lies about the politically incorrect,
anything to keep them under permanent suspicion.