Generation Weenie

You know, the nice thing about Generation Weenie membership is that it welcomes all age groups, races, and sexes.  But don’t say sex to James Pacenza, a middle-aged white computer jockey and our latest Gen W inductee.  You see, he suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, a disorder of wide side effects.  Rather than hiding under desks when he hears a loud noise, James handles difficult situations by logging onto porn websites at work.  IBM didn’t see the therapy in this, however, and relieved the weenie, only to be chagrined when they were sued for 5 million bones for “wrongful dismissal.”  I guess IBM didn’t realize that Mr. Pacenza’s disorder was also an addiction, like alcoholism, a condition for which IBM offers counseling.  And that’s all James wanted, a little nurturing on a couch.

Little Timmy can’t play Tag at school anymore, at least not in Attleboro, Mass. He can’t play flag football or dodgeball either. Why? He might get a boo boo prompting a series of weeniesuits which the school wishes to avoid. But that’s not the reason that the school administrators voted for this ban. It was because dodgeball is exclusionary and dangerous. Celeste D’Elia doesn’t mind. She says her son feels safer without all of the shenanigans going on around him. Of course, it’s not a safe as the D’Elia household, where all weenie offspring sit in a corner wrapped in bubble wrap sucking their antiseptic-wiped thumbs.

One of the first things to go in the Generation Member’s brain is the section that remembers vocabulary.  Perhaps on their induction, Weenies are issued a special dictioweenie that informs them when to get offended.  The beauty of this dictioweenie is that reference to any and all definitions are immediately substituted by their offensive counterparts.  Take Tar Baby, for instance.  The dictionary defines it as “A situation or problem from which it is virtually impossible to disentangle oneself,” after a story by Joel Chandler Harris that described a doll made of tar that was supposed to snare a bre’r rabbit.  This week, presidential hopeful Mitt Romney uttered that remark (using the word correctly by dictionary reference) relating to Boston’s Big Dig debacle.  Gen W members, on a hunch, consulted their dictioweenies and came up with a lewd term for persons of African descent, or in other words, black people.  They immediately cried foul, probably dashing the election hopes of Massachusetts’ poor gov.  Oh well, he’s not the first politician to be in a situation or problem from which it is virtually impossible to disentangle oneself, a.k.a. a tar baby.

Ken Rigberg has a sweet gig. He gets to beat his weenie into a cup for $6500 a year. Well, he used to, that is, until he was traumatized by finding a video camera in the deposit room at a sperm bank. Sure Mr. Rigberg was right when he insisted the camera be removed and even when he alerted police. But of course, neither of those would get him Generation Weenie stature. So he filed a lawsuit citing (and let’s introduce a whole bunch of new Weenie words here) emotional distress, fear, shame, humiliation, chagrin, sleeplessness, powerlessness, frustration, anger, annoyance, inconvenience, and discomfort.” This, according to the general allegations. What wasn’t in the lawsuit papers, however, was the dollar amount. Stay tuned to see what is worth more, Rigberg’s seed or a video of it.

In an addendum to the previous post “Is your wiener dog emotionally supportive,” we now find Mark Delcore, a former body builder competitor for the Gay Games, suing the federal government for the right to have his rat terrier accompany him to a nude bathing establishment.  Mr. Delcore’s induction into the Generation Weenie club came on September 11th, when he was pumping iron in a gym near the World Trade Center.  During the terror attack, Delcore evacuated his gym but didn’t have time to dry his rock hard muscular body which was “dusted” with an unknown substance that resulted in a rare (in fact, unknown) skin condition requiring him to be in the sun, regularly and completely (a.k.a. nude).  Upon being denied access to the beach with his faithful service pooch, Cheekies, Delcore, who is on disability because of his condition threw out the post-traumatic stress disorder card (along with a GI track problem and a broken foot) and said that his disability insurance wouldn’t cover for him to move to Florida for more than 6 months a year.  And of course he added a clause in the lawsuit to require mandatory “Sensitivity Training” for the cop who tossed the queen.  Think I’m done?  It only gets better.  Poor Cheekies used to be a regular light in the loafer luxury on the beach…until some conservative “conservationists” got the anti-dog law enacted to protect the breeding rituals of the native Piping Plover bird, the result of which, ironically, endangers the breeding rituals of the troubled gay male.

If you’re traveling to Newport, Isle of Wrong this weekend, don’t plan on bringing your pet clown.  They’re afraid of him.  It’s called Coulrophobia and it causes panic attacks, shortness of breath, rapid breathing, irregular heartbeat, sweating, nausea and overall feelings of dread along with complete and udder weeniehoodness membership.  This year’s festival theme was to be Circus Clowns until some festival goers complained that they suffered from our new Coulrophobia and, essentially, shut the theme down.  I suffer from Weeniephobia.  Do you think I can have Newport tossed into the sea?

In keeping with the Ameriweenie dream, illegal Peruvian immigrant Claudia Muro has decided to sue Tyco, the makers of video surveillance equipment.  You may remember Claudia Muro as the nanny who was video taped violently shaking a baby in her care.  She spent two years incarcerated awaiting trial while the weenie lawyers and experts attempted to determine if a time-lapse video tape accurately portrays shaking movements.  First, as a former video engineer I can confirm that at 15 frames per second (which was the record speed for that episode), it certainly does.  Second, the fact that it took the experts two years of squabbling to return an undecided verdict attests to the slow weenie creep prevalent in our courts today.  And third, the fact that the accused can now sue, not the prosecutor or the arresting police department or even the parents of the child, but the maker of the recording equipment is complete proof that we have fallen off our collective rocker and fully into a pile of steaming weenie poo poo.  Expect your next digital camera to come with a warning label requesting you don’t take photos of anything sensitive.

I’m supposed to be partial here so I’m going to reiterate that the RIAA is made up of a bunch of Schmos.  These jackasses have a corner on a market and instead of trying to adapt to change like all other capitalist functions, they try to legislate their way into remaining wealthly.  Sounds like the republican party, if you ask me.  Regardless, their latest ploy is to send cease and desist letters to Youtube.com because of a homemade video of a 16-year-old girl dancing to yet another crappy RIAA cookie-cutter, bubblegum pop weenie tune.  Apparently, the RIAA feels that broadcasting this terrible rendendition of the song is in violation of their radio broadcast contracts.

Yet another naive 14-year-old was lured astray by an older man.  Of course, this time, the older man was only 19, though he lied about being on the football team.  Girl snuck out and got herself sexually assaulted.  Did the parents fall sobbing to the ground at the realization of their utter lack of parenting skills?  No, they decided to sue Myspace.com for 30 million dollars because the 19-year-old lied on his profile.

Please take a moment to enjoy this letter by Azeezaly S. Jaffer, the Public Affairs officer for the U.S. Postal Service. Apparently, he finds the term “going postal” both offensive and distasteful. He suggests the meaning of that phrase be changed to recognize the hard work the 70,000 postal employees perform every day.