“We have met the enemy and he is us,” Pogo Possum, 1949-1994. Pogo wasn’t your average mud turkle eatin’ swamp sprat; he reluctantly ran for President three times. He also earned a comfortable living spouting social and political satire. Pogo was against the extreme Left, extreme Right, and extreme Middle. If Pogo’s comic strip hadn’t gone extinct, he’d be swamped with a plethora of contemporary satirical material. Is it any wonder that Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert have shrewdly sidled into Pogo’s vacated niche in the Okefenokee Swamp of faux news reporting.  

At every turn, there’re ostensibly rational citizens fighting tooth and nail over blather put forth by money grubbing opportunists, masquerading as pundits, journalists, and patriots. In Pogo’s heyday, he got worked up over “wind-up” presidential candidates, Senator Simple J. Malarkey, the Kluck Klams, Fido from Cuba, and the Jack Acid Society. These were bona fide threats to the southeast Georgia swamp he called home. Now it seems we’re collectively ready and willing to drop the gloves and duke it out when naysayers question our perspectives and those who pontificate them on our behalf. No way Pogo Possum allows some ex-bartender, ex-sportscaster, draft dodger, midnight toker, ex-half-Governor, or Sicko documentarian turned pundits, tell him what to think. Real possums stand on their own four feet and make up their own baked bean size minds.  

Okay, I admit I’m no Pogo. I believe that the winner of a debate is the one who bellowed loudest and besmirched their opponent most expeditiously. I also believe in talking over antagonists so they don’t have a chance to present their side of the issue. How could their viewpoint possibly have any relevance? Shut up, it’s a rhetorical question. Further, I prefer sneering at any information my opponent might somehow sneak into my diatribe. It’s laughable that anyone could have a more reasonable explanation for anything, period. I intuitively know that I’m right 99.9 percent of the time.  All I have to do to confirm that I’m right is to tune in my favorite Cable TV pundit, Monday through Friday, ad nauseum. My chosen authority knows exactly what I’m talking about. All you other losers can go straight to HE-double hockey sticks. You’re just plain stupid.    

What’s my reward when I win an argument? I don’t win any money. I don’t win my own primetime Cable TV show. I might win a few fair-weather friends who believe they think exactly as I do. I make adversaries of people who might have become allies. But still, there’s enormous satisfaction knowing that I pounded some schmuck’s face into the metaphorical mud with my superior browbeating skills. That fool may carry psychological scars for life, thanks to me. Dimwits will soon learn it’s my way or the highway, pal. I’ll tell you one thing; it’s less stressful and intellectually taxing when you don’t have to debate people. After I whup 'em' a couple times, those knuckleheads curl into the fetal position when they see me coming.

I’ll tell you another thing (I’m always telling), this baloney about a new era of civil discourse lasted two hours. Why should we waste our precious time engaging in conversation intended to enhance understanding. What exactly would be the point. What if I honestly don’t care what you think.  Better still, what if I can derive money and celebrity by ridiculing your opinions. Uncivil discourse is the new drug of choice for millions of Americans who get their nightly fix on FOX, MSNBC, or the Comedy Channel. It’s as addictive as watching Chris Jericho pull off an F-U on John Cena in a WWE-Raw Smackdown and/or a snort of Hurricane Charlie bath salts.      

How did we as a nation, become mired in the muck of insulting discourse.  I blame several dead people who can’t argue back; first and foremost, Vincent Thomas Lombardi, immortal Green Bay Packer tyrant. The Stupid Bowl trophy is named in his honor and all real Americans love the Stupid Bowl. Remember, Vince was one of the Seven Blockheads of Granite at Notre Dame. Vince instilled in all of us Baby Boomers, “Show me a good loser, and I’ll show you a loser.” He’s one guy nobody debated, or he traded them. Second, I present George Allen, legendary tutor of my Washington Deadskins. I remember George telling fans back in the day, “Every time you win, you’re reborn; when you lose, you die a little.” Look folks, I’m not ready to croak, so I’m gonna win all my arguments no matter what and be regenerated. The final entry on the list is my boyhood hero, Hector-Savinien de Cyrano de Bergerac, the frog dramatist/duelist with the pronounced proboscis. He’d slash your heart with his rapier or his wit, ergo, rapier wit.  Slash and burn, big shnozola.

In short, I’m not responsible for my incivility. All of my formative role models displayed selective vulgarity and so then, shall I. The only reason I’m even sharing my thoughts with Xpress subscribers is that after it’s printed I may receive sufficient legal tender to barter for a six pack of Guinness Extra Stout. I only care enough about what you think that I may retain my status as an egocentric mud-slinger. Otherwise, keep your misguided opinions to yourselves. Your heartfelt Letters to the Editor exposing perceived political and social injustices are nothing more than invitations to a Sharks vs. Jets throwdown. Tip; take the Sharks and three.  The Jets choke.

Okay, I’m ticked that newspapers are in danger of extinction and there’s no way I’m gonna land a lucrative gig as a self-aggrandizing Cable TV bamboozler. But, how cool it would be to have millions of devoted disciples devouring my every half-baked notion, creepy conspiracy theory, and hedonistic doomsday scenario. We’re talking rock star, my gullible groupies.

So, the next time you’re tempted to publicly eviscerate a fellow citizen embracing a differing viewpoint, contemplate this backwoods caveat, compliments of Pogo Possum, a.k.a., Walt Kelly, “Resolve then, that on this very ground, with small flags waving and tinny blasts on tiny trumpets, we shall meet the enemy, and not only may he be ours, he may be us. Forward.”