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Random Acts of No-balls Irresponsibility
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Cho Seung-hui and Don Imus - what were they thinking?
by Ashley 'Danger' Meeks
In recent weeks a talk show host was unforgivably stupid/racist and a bitter little kid shot and killed everyone he could. They were weak, unpleasant specimens of the human race, and - although they'd probably want the world to believe otherwise - the truth is they had no balls.
The other week a radio show talk host named Don Imus - who looked like a concrete sculpture topped with a bad wig and cowboy hat - called some black female basketball players "nappy-headed hos." He apologized profusely for it and tried to make it right but in the end got sacked.
Then last week everyone stopped caring about Don Imus because this nutcase Cho Seung-hui, an English major at Virginia Tech, snapped and killed 32 people. He committed the biggest shooting spree in American history. It wasn't like he was going to do anything else with his life, though, it turned out. His magnum opus was a play called Richard McBeef where McBeef's stepson bitches him out and attacks him with a granola bar. Really. Anyway, Cho also left behind what we in the media like to call a "screed" where he blamed everyone else for his actions.
And the big thing that these two nitwits Cho and Imus lacked, apart from any sense of respect for themselves or others as people, was balls.
Now, you might argue that spewing unfunny crap on the radio takes balls (Bill Maher said it best: "He broke two cardinal rules of comedy - it wasn't true, and it attacked the powerless"). You could also argue that committing the biggest shooting spree in history takes balls.
Nope.
Because both of these guys folded like the extras at the poker table in Casino Royale as soon as the shit came down. Imus showed his tough-guy persona was no more substantial than a cheap suit when he became a master groveler after the incident. In spite of the sophomoric meanness of his comment, I mighta respected him more had he responded with a snort - "Yeah, that's right, I called 'em nappy-headed hos. Just like what I said to your sister last night!" Instead, when he got canned, virtually presented his ass to the kicker - instead of his middle finger.
And Cho? Instead of a scathing manifesto against society, a goodbye letter that would sober and shame, he gave the world nothing more than the written equivalent of a kid shoving his little sister in the cereal aisle when he's not had his nap, a 33 million page letter saying "It's YOUR fault, not mine."
Instead of showing us any truths about ourselves or our crappy decadent culture, his farewell letter showed him to be a petulant baby cockblocked by the popular kids with their breast implants, fancy Chevys and cognac.
And yes, some American kids can suck, suck hard, and they make a lot of noise when they're drunk, they run up huge bills on their parents' accounts, they've got big egos and wear jeans that cost what the average family in Nepal makes in a month, a lot of them want to just get passed through the educational system without hard work, and yes, a lot of them refuse to take responsibility for any of the shite decisions they've already made in their brief lives of Bloc Party and Axe body spray. But at least they've got the good sense not to gun anybody down because of it.
About the author
Ptiza Odelay was created in a factory by Nazi scientists during World
War II. She was to be the ultimate weapon against the Allies, but
before she grew into maturity in her birthing tank, the war ended and
the project was scrapped. Years later, she was found still in her tank
in a hidden sub-basement of a warehouse in Berlin and inadvertently
shipped to the United States. During transit the casing of the tank
was ruptured and she was born seemingly in her early twenties with all
of the knowledge of mankind programmed into her brain. She speaks
eighty languages and has been known to crush diamonds with her bare
hands. She is wanted in twenty countries and was last seen diving into
an active volcano somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. In her spare time,
she writes popular children's fiction, erotica and groundbreaking
journalism under the name Ashley "Danger" Meeks.Read her 'Confessions of a Recovering Teenager' column
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