Not quite the 18th-century elegance of "Don't Tread on Me," but the age of Twitter has a different cadence from the age of the musket. What the modern battle cry lacks in archaic charm, it makes up for in full-body syllabic punch.Uh oh, here we go:
Don't touch my junk is the anthem of the modern man, the Tea Party patriot, the late-life libertarian, the midterm election voter. Don't touch my junk, Obamacare - get out of my doctor's examining room, I'm wearing a paper-thin gown slit down the back. Don't touch my junk, Google - Street View is cool, but get off my street. Don't touch my junk, you airport security goon - my package belongs to no one but me, and do you really think I'm a Nigerian nut job preparing for my 72-virgin orgy by blowing my johnson to kingdom come?
OK, OK! Enough! I, for one, plan to respect Mr. Krauthammer's wishes. Just one more hope of a lifetime dashed, I suppose.
8 comments:
I hereby promise to keep my hands off his junk.
The thought of CK's um - "junk" - makes me taste the throw up in my mouth.
Thank God!
Now I can scratch "Touch Charles Krauthammer's junk" off my to-do-before-I-die list.
Uh, none for me, thanks.
-Doug in Oakland
Old Man Shakes Fist at Cloud
Do you think he calls it his Krauthammer?
Ew.
Yikes at this post's artwork. Now that is a truly disturbing image (on many different levels) that is going to be hard to shake.
Being slightly out of the loop lately, I didn't realize that this phrase (uttered by someone from my home town of San Diego - God bless them) had already been adopted as a rallying cry by modern patriots. I guess I can look forward to hearing much more of it in the future. Maybe if it is lucky it will be this decade's "Let's roll".
Post a Comment