Bring Back Pantsing!

Bring Back Pantsing!

I’ve recently de-activated my Facebook account.

It’s a great platform to promote your BS but also there is the unmistakable aura of that dweeby kid Mark Zuckerburg that pervades with a woke wand from Weenerville.

I would sometimes get kicked off Facebook for remarks I would make about super stars like Dylan Mulvaney and his ilk, but when you get right down to it, the place just gave me the creeps.

I’ve since delved more into “X, formerly known as Twitter, for my social media buzz.  Something about Elon Musk also scares me but in a weird science fiction movie kinda way.

Of course back in my day we had policies in place for folks like Mr. Zuckerberg. I’m sure as a youth, his arrogant demeanor could have used some social conditioning.

In my old neighborhood, the south side of Chicago, we would see a guy with that kind of attitude and say, “That guy needs to get pantsed!”

Rep. Adam Kinzinger, R-Ill., gets emotional as he speaks before the House select committee hearing on the Jan. 6 attack on Capitol Hill in Washington, Tuesday, July 27, 2021. (Chip Somodevilla/Pool via AP)

Take a look at former congressman Adam Kinzinger. I know almost nothing about this guy, except he loves to call Trump the Boogie Man. He’s an extremely annoying  little twit who juts out his chin and  pouts like he’s going to start crying any minute.

I apologize Adam, for generalizing you into a category of whippersnappish arrogance, but you are the Poster Boy for Pantsing.  Those were my exact words first time I saw him grimacing on TV as he called for impeaching President Trump. “This guy needs to be pantsed….like twenty years ago.” And because of that he has honed his skills as an arrogant whiner and now is a correspondent for CNN. Yeah like they needed a white Don Lemon!

“Pantsing” someone involved two or three guys grabbing a dorky guy, holding him down, removing his shoes and pants and his undies, and then releasing him into the world bottomless, while his pants would be thrown over a power line or atop the backboard of the basketball courts. Certainly in retrospect it sounds cruel, but it was also a great tool for humiliating and enlightening the occasional pain-in- the-arse twits who got on our nerves.

And in most cases it had the desired effect. The Pants victim would run around with their balls and weenie exposed to the world while everybody pointed and laughed. Next time you met them they wouldn’t act so “pimpy”.  They’d turn the corner on their personality disorders and turn out to be okay guys. They just needed to get “pantsed!”

Certainly I got pantsed myself. Ha! Plenty of times. Usually by my brothers.

When you’re the youngest of six boys, there’s going to be some hazing hi-jinks tormenting your little brother.  So don’t blame me, blame my brothers!

My brother Willie was ten years older than me and he  was one sick individual, but also very funny in his cruel intentions. Of course it wasn’t funny until it was someone else.

Willie had invented something called the “PeePaTouche”, which involved him, assisted by my brother Johnny, (aka Bobo), grabbing me spread eagle from each side and then another brother would throw a dictionary at your groin.

 I don’t think I ever endured the entire “PeePaTouche” procedure, before squirming away from my brothers. But just hearing Wille scream across the living room, “PeePaTouche Mike, get the dictionary!”, was enough to get me to jump/escape  out our front room  window.

When I was in eighth grade we were hanging out at the local public school: Kellogg, named for Kate Star Kellogg, a feisty suffragette and educator who died in 1925. I remember their principal was Miss Dooney, she looked like Mamie Van Doren after a rough night. Anyway Kellogg was usually off-limits to us kids from Christ the King parochial school across the street from Kellogg. But for some odd reason, (maybe a holy day of obligation?), there was a group of CK guys shooting baskets over at  Kellogg after school that day.

We were surrounded by Prods, our slang for Protestants. As far as we were concerned they were foreigners, Godless WASPS buzzing around the exterior of our Catholic education. We didn’t think much of it until a kid from Kellogg rode his bike by us on the basket-ball court and yelled “Feckin’ Catholics, Get Lost!”

We immediately huddled up and said, “Let’s pants that guy!”

We managed to wrangle the kid off his bike, and quickly yanked off his dungarees while he screeched like the squirrel he was.  Some older Prod guys stepped in, but when we told them what the kid said, they encouraged the continuation of the ceremonial pantsing. So, getting pantsed was a good lesson for mouthy buttholes.

Watching politics these days I see so many candidates who were obviously never pantsed and the result is the bravado of a noid.  

Guys like former Trump attorney and “confidante” Michael Cohen. Immigration boss Mayorkas should have been pantsed repeatedly starting around the age of 11. Anthony Blinken? Please pants him, but it’s too late now. See that’s the thing, these dude wipes needed to be pansted in their youth, when they could have applied the lesson they learned. But society today alas, would frown on pantsing.

Hey, you know who else needs to get pantsed? Rachel Maddow!

Probably cuz she’s always wearing pants. Too late though, to straighten her out!

You wanna save the world? Bring back “pantsing”.

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