Somewhere along the line the jungle was taken from me. The mysterious, dangerous territory of my youthful imagination, filled snakes, tigers and an infinite number of dangerous creatures and foliage was high-jacked, replaced by a tedious, castrated damp place called the rain forest.
Yawn.
In these boring, politically correct times it’s not polite to call a rain forest a jungle. No, no, no. A jungle is a dark forbidding place. A rain forest, on the other hand, is a place of gentle greenery and cute, precocious endangered animals, a perfect place for your next vegan picnic. When they talk about those bad people trying to carve out a little farmland in the Amazon, they are destroying the rain forest! It doesn’t sound right if they’re destroying the jungle because the term jungle sounds like it deserves to be cut down!
So Tarzan’s parents didn’t crash in a treacherous foreboding jungle filled with dangers at every turn. Their son became “Tarzan, King of the Rain Forest”. Don’t you like the way that rolls of your tongue? Either way he was raised by apes. And what about my good friend George, the monkey of my childhood musings? Can’t you hear the children singing, “George, George, George of the rain forest”?
Speaking of songs, you all remember that classic Creedence Clearwater song. Sing it with me now, “Better run through the rain forest, dah-dah-dah-dah-dah-dah. . .”
I don’t care what anyone says; the crew of that PT boat in the movie “Apocalypse Now” wasn’t going up the Mekong River into the depths of a rain forest. That, my friends, was a damn jungle!
I wonder do they still have the jungle cruise ride at Disneyland? If they’ve changed it to the rain forest cruise I might have to slit my wrists.
I find it interesting how our language is being subdued all for the sake of political correctness. Garbage men became sanitation engineers. Housewives are now homemakers. I live on the west coast where it’s often foggy in the mornings and afternoons. I just discovered that it’s no longer called fog; it’s now the marine layer! The next thing you know, car salesmen will be referred as transportation consultants!
They’re making a pussy out of our colorful English language!
Never again can I sing a rousing chorus of the theme from “The Flintstones” at my local bar. The ending, “we’ll have a gay old time” might be misunderstood. Someone might beat the crap out of me and dump my body in a rain forest!
In the summer it’s not hot any more. No way. Its climate change. (Climate change has replaced the term global warming, because apparently the globe hasn’t gotten any hotter in the last ten years.) Instead of just getting some lemonade or a cold beer, and watching a ball game on the tube on a lazy summer afternoon, we’ve got to feel guilty that it’s a hundred degrees outside. We’re responsible! And how can you enjoy the game anyway when there are dead polar bears out there and it’s our fault? And moving them to the rain forest won’t help!
So I say we’ve got to take a stand on this stuff, and I’m here to put forth the proposition that we start with our beloved jungles. I don’t want to go on a safari (oops, I’m sorry, I meant to say “photo Safari”) in a rain forest. I want a jungle. And throw in a little quicksand while you’re at it.
Or is it now called liquid earth?
Yawn.
In these boring, politically correct times it’s not polite to call a rain forest a jungle. No, no, no. A jungle is a dark forbidding place. A rain forest, on the other hand, is a place of gentle greenery and cute, precocious endangered animals, a perfect place for your next vegan picnic. When they talk about those bad people trying to carve out a little farmland in the Amazon, they are destroying the rain forest! It doesn’t sound right if they’re destroying the jungle because the term jungle sounds like it deserves to be cut down!
So Tarzan’s parents didn’t crash in a treacherous foreboding jungle filled with dangers at every turn. Their son became “Tarzan, King of the Rain Forest”. Don’t you like the way that rolls of your tongue? Either way he was raised by apes. And what about my good friend George, the monkey of my childhood musings? Can’t you hear the children singing, “George, George, George of the rain forest”?
Speaking of songs, you all remember that classic Creedence Clearwater song. Sing it with me now, “Better run through the rain forest, dah-dah-dah-dah-dah-dah. . .”
I don’t care what anyone says; the crew of that PT boat in the movie “Apocalypse Now” wasn’t going up the Mekong River into the depths of a rain forest. That, my friends, was a damn jungle!
I wonder do they still have the jungle cruise ride at Disneyland? If they’ve changed it to the rain forest cruise I might have to slit my wrists.
I find it interesting how our language is being subdued all for the sake of political correctness. Garbage men became sanitation engineers. Housewives are now homemakers. I live on the west coast where it’s often foggy in the mornings and afternoons. I just discovered that it’s no longer called fog; it’s now the marine layer! The next thing you know, car salesmen will be referred as transportation consultants!
They’re making a pussy out of our colorful English language!
Never again can I sing a rousing chorus of the theme from “The Flintstones” at my local bar. The ending, “we’ll have a gay old time” might be misunderstood. Someone might beat the crap out of me and dump my body in a rain forest!
In the summer it’s not hot any more. No way. Its climate change. (Climate change has replaced the term global warming, because apparently the globe hasn’t gotten any hotter in the last ten years.) Instead of just getting some lemonade or a cold beer, and watching a ball game on the tube on a lazy summer afternoon, we’ve got to feel guilty that it’s a hundred degrees outside. We’re responsible! And how can you enjoy the game anyway when there are dead polar bears out there and it’s our fault? And moving them to the rain forest won’t help!
So I say we’ve got to take a stand on this stuff, and I’m here to put forth the proposition that we start with our beloved jungles. I don’t want to go on a safari (oops, I’m sorry, I meant to say “photo Safari”) in a rain forest. I want a jungle. And throw in a little quicksand while you’re at it.
Or is it now called liquid earth?
Good job David. Laughed my arse off.
ReplyDeleteOkay David, my coworkers are looking at me again, while I have my lunch and laugh.......
ReplyDeleteThanks and now that the Flinstones song is in my head, I've got to go back to work!
Donna Cummings