Don’t be a drag, Lil’ Snowflake

Photo: At least Milton Berle and Bob Hope had the decency to not read books.

Today I’d like to talk about Lil Nas X. If it seems a little quiet here, that’s because all the racists just quit reading after the word “Lil,” and all the homophobes left after the word “Nas.” And anybody who likes decent music left after the “X.”

The only reason I’m still here is because I’m getting paid big-time money to write it. And the only reason you’re still here is because your computer froze up and no matter how many times you click the X, you can’t back out. It’s like when you make the mistake of watching a Facebook video for 3 seconds and then can’t find a way to escape it as it follows you to the next post, the next page, into the shower …

“Go away, you creepy stalking Facebook video!”

“No, not until you finish seeing what Lynda Carter looks like today! I swear you won’t believe it! And next I have an unbelievable trick to keep avocados fresh using bubble gum! No, please don’t spray me with the shower head! Aaarrgggghhh!”

Actually, today’s commentary is not so much about Lil Nas X as it is about the snowflakes who can’t handle folks appreciating something that the snowflakes hate. And let me be very clear, if I had to choose among concerts featuring Lil Nas X or Jason Aldean or a deranged ferret who plays one note incessantly on a harmonica, I’d choose the ferret every time — and not just because the tickets are cheaper.

I had a couple of family members go to a Lil Nas X show in Atlanta last week. My first thought was, “Ugggh, why?” My next one was, “Oh, well. Hope they enjoy it.” These same two folks also once paid money years ago to see Luke Bryan live and my reaction then was, “Ugggh, why?” followed by, “I mean, really, ugggh, why? Is the deranged ferret not touring this year?”

See, I’ve mellowed and chillaxed since then. I’ve learned to let it go, let it go a little more — sorry, I mean a lil more. (The cool kids don’t use “little” these days.) I rarely get riled up to the point of publicly whining about something that offends me — unless it’s some petty little thing like welfare for the rich, fleecing of the poor, anti-democratic efforts, book-banning, censorship, war and little stuff like that. It’s made my life a little easier, a little more chillaxed.

(Yes, I’ll quit using that word now. Sorry.)

An Atlanta newspaper posted photos from the Lil Nas X show online, and it generated the predictable comments from offended snowflakes who (1) didn’t have to go to the show, (2) could have kept scrolling instead of writing a diatribe about his fans going to hell, and (3) claim to be against snowflakes and cancel culture. Yeah, right.

The latest hullabaloo is drag queen story hour. I thought this was more of an isolated thing in big cities to rile up the “Fox and Friends” crowd for funsies, but now it’s come to Columbus. Maybe it’s been here for a while — don’t know, don’t care. I’m not the type to grab a megaphone and scream “Quit indoctrinatin’ dem young’uns!” whether they’re hearing stories about a bunny from a drag queen or a tale from their Sunday school teacher about a guy getting swallowed by a fish and living to tell about it. What you view as indoctrination may not be seen that way by others. And if they’re not your children, it’s probably none of your business.

Granted, if a drag queen came to my office and started reading Peter Rabbit, yes, I’d be a little upset about it. And if a drag queen Sunday school teacher came into my office and started reading about Jonah, I’d be a little confused.

“Um, who let you into my office? I work from home to avoid humans.”

“I totally support working from home, honey, and your, um, comfortable home office dress code.”

“Hey, these are my fancy office boxer briefs, thank you.”

“I didn’t know they made Scooby-Doo underwear for adults.”

“Reah, reah, reah, they do. Don’t judge me.”

But if y’all want to meet somewhere for these events without me or if you want to bring your kids along, that’s up to you. I may have an opinion on it, but I’m not narcissistic enough to think the world revolves around me and that your world should, too. Nor am I needy enough to scream into a megaphone for attention. Besides, I have a keyboard. That’s plenty loud enough for me. And until drag queens and/or Sunday school teachers start reading my column to kids (as they should), this is a battle I can sit out.

Some of you snowflakes might want to sit one out every now and then yourselves.