Just you wait!
One of the first executive orders signed by President Donald Trump on the day he took office in January is called “Ending the Weaponization of the Federal Government.” Trump issued it because, in his view, the Biden administration pursued legal actions against him that were harassing.
But in a tactical move no one saw coming, the president ended weaponization not by unloading federal guns, but by pointing them elsewhere: toward political opponents; certain colleges and universities; lawyers who worked on cases against him. The “left-wing-arsonist
kid who served him a burnt burger at McDonald’s.
Since it must be OK to do this, I’m going to weaponize this column and use it to wreak vengeance upon those who have offended me since I was a kid. You may think you’ve escaped scot free! But, in the words of Eliza Doolittle, “Just you wait, ‘enry ‘iggins! Just you wait!” It doesn’t matter that none of you are named Henry Higgins. Just you wait!
Let’s start with YOU, Whitey. Yes, you, who repeatedly stepped on the backs of my shoes when we lined up and marched to recess in elementary school. And you, Frank. We went to the school picnic at Kennywood together, but you dumped me and rode the bus back home with Lara. Just you wait!
And, ladies … don’t think I’ll give the fairer sex a pass!
I’m talking about YOU, Sandi! Don’t act like you’ve forgotten that heinous day I rode my bike three blocks to your house to tell you that I liked you, that day you laughed at me. Don’t act like you’ve forgotten July 22, 1960. Someone should make you walk all the way to school with a nun behind you ringing a bell and shouting, “Shame! Shame! Shame!” like on “Game of Thrones.” It doesn’t matter that you’re probably not in school anymore or that they tore down that school in 1975. You broke my heart!
And you, Ann! I was a high school junior; you were a sophomore. You said you loved me, but you dumped me after the 1965 Christmas formal. After you gave back my ring, I threw it into the weeds across from my house. It doesn’t matter that you don’t know that I spent most of January 1966 crawling through those snowy weeds, searching for it: You shattered my frozen heart!
And Nancy! I was a senior, and you were a sophomore. You never said you loved me, but you gave me an I.D. bracelet with my name on it, so what else was I supposed to think? Then you dumped me after the 1966 Christmas formal. It doesn’t matter that you spelled my name wrong on the bracelet: You ripped out my defrosted heart, stomped on it and threw it into the weeds across from your house!
Just you wait, Whitey, Frank, Sandy, Ann and Nancy! Just you wait! A reckoning is coming as soon as I find a lawyer who will take my cases. The first one I contacted laughed me out of his office.
He broke my heart.