A Defense of My Irish "Friend"
An American plutocrat - an oxymoron if there ever was one - said "no good deed goes unpunished," and the reaction to my colleague Brian Moore's confessional about his heritage in the entry below attests to the wisdom of her statement, if not the quality of its source.
It seems Mr. Moore has riled the passions of Italians the world over. (If you must know, I've no taste for derogatory epithets such as "dago" and "wop," or those used for other breeds of men; brandishing such incendiery language has no place in a gentlemen's rhetorical arsenal.) Almost the minute the entry was posted, electronic mails from Italians in high dudgeon flooded Mr. Moore's inbox. The missives were filled with threats of violence, which stream forth from children of "the boot" as naturally as massages from the hands of Asiatic females.
"Yo Brian - I'm gonna' brake your fucken face, you fucken faggot" and "i knew were you live so wach the fuck out" typified the level of discourse. And what did Mr. Moore do to deserve this? He was candid about his ethnic heritage. This is the least we can expect from a man, even Mr. Moore. Rest assured that if evidence of mixed heritage in the Duddleston blood ever surfaced - say, it was discovered a barbarous Mongol wandering from the Golden Horde managed to savage a Duddleston woman on tour in medieval Bulgaria - you would be the first to know about it. (Please realize I'd need both the positive determination of a court, as well as rock-solid DNA evidence, before I'd confess such ignominious lineage. When one contemplates suicide, it's best to rely on fact, not conjecture.)
Don't misunderstand me - Mr. Moore is and will always be a low-breed Irishman, a man whose near-constant sloth is only broken by bouts of animalistic, irrational violence, and he is a drunkard, to boot. Should he ever desire employ at the House of Duddleston, the "No Irish Need Apply" sign would be dusted off in no time. That said, it must have been a shock to discover the hot Italian blood coursing through his veins - this may explain why he walloped a bartender who tried to serve him a wine cooler, since what did his liver care which magic intoxicant was poured down his throat? - and as a human being, I am sympathetic to the disappointments of sub-humans, though this is admittedly a vague sympathy.
History has been crueler to Italians than it has to the Irish. The Irish, of course, started low and stayed there, but Italians have been on a downward slide ever since the boy emperor of Rome, Romulus Augustus, was deposed by the Germanic upstart Odoacer in 476 A.D. Fifteen hundred years of misery ensued. And, no, Leonardo DaVinci should not be considered a respite from this deterioration; his drawings are nice, no doubt, but could any of those cleverly conceived contraptions actually fly?
I hope Mr. Moore can weather this controversy without spending too much of it passed out in a gutter. He was only being honest about his ethnic heritage, and as any dew-eyed American liberal will tell you, your ethnicity is the most important aspect of your being.
- Twimbley Duddleston IV
It seems Mr. Moore has riled the passions of Italians the world over. (If you must know, I've no taste for derogatory epithets such as "dago" and "wop," or those used for other breeds of men; brandishing such incendiery language has no place in a gentlemen's rhetorical arsenal.) Almost the minute the entry was posted, electronic mails from Italians in high dudgeon flooded Mr. Moore's inbox. The missives were filled with threats of violence, which stream forth from children of "the boot" as naturally as massages from the hands of Asiatic females.
"Yo Brian - I'm gonna' brake your fucken face, you fucken faggot" and "i knew were you live so wach the fuck out" typified the level of discourse. And what did Mr. Moore do to deserve this? He was candid about his ethnic heritage. This is the least we can expect from a man, even Mr. Moore. Rest assured that if evidence of mixed heritage in the Duddleston blood ever surfaced - say, it was discovered a barbarous Mongol wandering from the Golden Horde managed to savage a Duddleston woman on tour in medieval Bulgaria - you would be the first to know about it. (Please realize I'd need both the positive determination of a court, as well as rock-solid DNA evidence, before I'd confess such ignominious lineage. When one contemplates suicide, it's best to rely on fact, not conjecture.)
Don't misunderstand me - Mr. Moore is and will always be a low-breed Irishman, a man whose near-constant sloth is only broken by bouts of animalistic, irrational violence, and he is a drunkard, to boot. Should he ever desire employ at the House of Duddleston, the "No Irish Need Apply" sign would be dusted off in no time. That said, it must have been a shock to discover the hot Italian blood coursing through his veins - this may explain why he walloped a bartender who tried to serve him a wine cooler, since what did his liver care which magic intoxicant was poured down his throat? - and as a human being, I am sympathetic to the disappointments of sub-humans, though this is admittedly a vague sympathy.
History has been crueler to Italians than it has to the Irish. The Irish, of course, started low and stayed there, but Italians have been on a downward slide ever since the boy emperor of Rome, Romulus Augustus, was deposed by the Germanic upstart Odoacer in 476 A.D. Fifteen hundred years of misery ensued. And, no, Leonardo DaVinci should not be considered a respite from this deterioration; his drawings are nice, no doubt, but could any of those cleverly conceived contraptions actually fly?
I hope Mr. Moore can weather this controversy without spending too much of it passed out in a gutter. He was only being honest about his ethnic heritage, and as any dew-eyed American liberal will tell you, your ethnicity is the most important aspect of your being.
- Twimbley Duddleston IV
posted by Brian Moore at 10:17 AM
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