Tuesday, August 07, 2007

Must we REALLY?

Friends, neighbors, countrymen, lend me your ears. I am here to talk to you today about a scourge whose proliferation threatens to ruin our reputation as arbitors of culture and taste among the three people in a remote area on the other side of the world who haven't heard about how we were the ones responsible for McDonald's, WWF wrestling, Cheez Whiz, Wonder Bread, Rob Schneider, and the Bush administration. I think we all know which scourge I'm talking about - the phrase "git r' done".

It wasn't so bad when it was still just on t.v., but this morning, when I turned on the radio, it was playing a sound bite from some Senator or talking head whose commentary on an upcoming vote included a reference to the "great philospher-poet, Larry the Cable Guy" and the exhortation that Congress just "git r' done". Even worse, the saying has infiltrated my workspace. If there's one thing women in their mid-30's should not be running around saying in a constipated tone (because there are so many things the rightfully could be saying in constipated tones!), it's "git r' done".

For the most part, the people I work with are nice as far as co-workers go. Where things don't gel so well is in my lone non-love of Larry the Cable Guy, who is quickly becoming my secret hillbilly nemesis (not to be confused with my celebrity nemesis, who is, as we all know, Oprah Winfrey. She knows what she did!). But back to Larry.

I get that Larry the Cable Guy is a parody of a stupid hillbilly and that there is an element of irony in the character, but seriously, "git r' done" is (and I can't stress this enough) NOT FUNNY. It never was funny. It never will be funny. NEVER. If all the funny fell out of the world leaving no basis for comparison, it still would not be funny. People repeating it ad nauseum does not make it less unfunny. It just makes it repeatedly unfunny. I'm serious people. I would not jerk you around on this. Read my lips: not funny.

Just between you and me (because I may not be able to put this out after I'm confined to the asylum for "git r' done" inspired amock-running), if I hear one more person utter that insipid phrase at work, I will not be responsible for my actions. Despite my normally non-violent leanings, as God is my witness someone is going to get beaned and then stapled to her chair with a Swingline. I also cannot promise that I will not rent an old school van and a big stick, so I can hunt down said Cable Guy and bop him on the head. Don't worry, I don't really mean to injure, just stun. Then I can begin a regimen of deprogramming that begins with forcing him to eat brie and ends with the kind of good and sensible elocution that inspires people to address issues or even take care of things, but never, ever to "git r' done".

5 comments:

Jen said...

Did I tell you that the new dudes across the street fancy themselves hilarious blue collar comedians? They are, sadly, completely deluded. You could practice your swingline assault on them before you take it live. (they would be easy practice as they are slow-moving and predictable.)

Martina said...

What is with that house and dudes? Does it reject non-dude occupants or maybe swallow them into the septic tank, never to be heard from again? Maybe you should write a horror novel called "The Curse of Dude House". Novels aside, your stapler idea is a decidedly sensible one. I want to be ready and to feel the advantages of aerodynamics (open stapler) over heft (closed)deep in my bones before I go on my spree. You can call me crazy, but I won't be called unprepared!

Sonya said...

Never, ever, visit Vancouver. For in Vancouver, you will hear that dreaded phrase uttered even more often by witless hillbilly wanna-be's... and lest that not horrify you enough, there is a big ugly red truck that resides somewhere in town with a gigantuous sticker across the back window that reads... well I won't spell it out... but you know what it reads.

Once, when I lived in the apartment, I was hanging out down by the, well, what hillbillies refer to as "the cement swimming pond", there was a group of teens who found it tremendously funny to utter this forbidden phrase AD NAUSEUM very loudly all day long. They were the kids that didn't really "live" there, but were visiting their "uncles" who raised pit-bulls out of the apartment and had "bbq's" on the lawn complete with weiners and massive amounts of BUD LIGHT.

When they weren't busy belly-flopping into the "cement swimming hole" in their cut-off dungarees and sleeveless (insert beer/truck/football logo here) shirts, they could be heard sporting that famous chant loud and clear for all to hear.

makes you cry, and so very proud to be a 'mericun (that's 'American' to you and me).

Anonyma said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Martina said...

Bah! I would become totally unhinged if I had to hear it at home too. It's bad enough at work! I'm not sure if it was because I was really busy this past week and not paying attention or if usage really went down, but it's been better. We have a new person in our office, which I'm hoping will shift the balance (though it probably won't too much, since she's in another department). Still, I am cautiously optimistic about her presence. She is new in town and actually excited about seeing Powell's, has cool hair, reads tarot and recognizes that there is cheese in the world of the non-whiz variety. All good signs, if you ask me! It's good that you got out of that apartment between the gittin' 'er done and the weird dreams, it sounds like you have a much better situation now!