Teen band at Greenville KAG rally sing "CNN Sucks"

This hurts in the only place CNN feels anything; its inflated ego.

I looked for this video on YouTube [cnn sucks] and the results page filled with MAGA rallies. I didn't realize it was that much of a thing until I saw all the previous reporting.

Kids. Whatchagonnado? They pick up everything. That's why you have to watch your swears when you're around them.

I have arrived at the Trump rally in #Greenville, NC and the first thing I see is a MAGA teen band playing a song called “CNN sucks” pic.twitter.com/EHBeRhuWig

— Christopher Mathias (@letsgomathias) July 17, 2019

Two incidents about not watching my swears.

When my sister's two boys were young they liked to go to Walmart and buy stuff. 

There is a Walmart not too far from my parent's home. When they were visiting in Denver we stopped by the local Walmart. 

It's hell. 

I recall nothing about being inside the store. 

I drove them there in my  Cutlass. When I tried to pull out of the parking spot near the front entrance of the store the steady stream of cars entering the parking lot never let up. Never. It was an endless and steady stream of cars pouring into the lot. It was ridiculous. Utterly uncooperative. Walmart drivers are assholes. Had any car just stopped they could have had a spot right at the front, but none of them did. 

It was most frustrating. I kept an eye on my mirrors as car after car after car passed behind me with my backup lights on. Went like this: 

Car ... car ... car ... car ... car ... car ... car ... car ... car ... car ... car ... car ... car ... car ... car ... car... car ... car ... car ... car ... car ... car ... car ... car ... car ... car ... car ... car and so on up to a thousand. It seemed.

My sister was sitting next to me angelically patient.  The boys were so quiet I momentarily forgot they were sitting in the back. I let loose a casual string of swears that would make a longshoreman blush. Something like this:

"You G-dammed c**k sucking butt f'k'n f @ss-raping fa**oty old-@ss mother-f'k'n brain dead Walmart shoppers G-damn stop for once and let me the f outta here. I'm going. I'll force your stupid @sses." 

The boys laughed maniacally in the back seat. They were immediately vastly entertained. 

"Brenda, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm not around kids. I forgot to control my language. And that apology to their mother added to the boy's round of laughter.  Their family is religious and they never hear anyone swear. Certainly not like that. So when they did hear it then it was hilarious to them. Not scary. My frustrated outburst was funny to them.

That's boys for you. 

All my swears I learned from my father. Except one.

He was having a very hard time. Ended up in hospital. He complained bitterly about every tiny thing. Every minor inconvenience was a major affront to his existence. Visiting him was a total drag. He complained endlessly about everything. Even the coffee. On my way over I stopped by Starbucks and filled a thermos with coffee and he complained about that; the original hospital coffee, me stopping at Starbucks, the extra expense, the poor quality of Starbuck's coffee, the inconvenience of mixing it, the drag of the thermos, the temperature, the taste, the company.  

He used a Mr. Coffee at home, filled with pre-ground beans from a huge tin, mixed with sugar and milk, like his taste for coffee is superior. 

He complained about the hospital, the hospital food, about the nurses, the hospital robe, the machines, being hooked up, the bed, the side table, the food, the interruptions, the medicine, their diagnosis, and especially about the doctor. 

He was extremely bitter. 

I was there to pick him up and drive him home.

On the way home every word was complaint. There was no relief from constant jabbering complaining. And I was exceptionally pleased. Hearing my father gripe so severely and extremely without any relief whatsoever meant my father was restored to normal. I prayed, "Thank you, Lord, for giving my father back to us." 

I could not have been happier.

Then I'm pulling out onto Quincy, one of the final roads. A small vehicle busts a fast move to be in front of me instead of behind me. But then having the place in front he slowed down unnecessarily leaving a huge gap in the string of cars.

"Fine move, Douchebag, so quick to move ahead and then so slow in front of me." 

My dad cracked up laughing. His attitude flipped from bleak dark depressed anger to lighthearted joy.  He laughed uncontrollably. That was the thing that reversed his energy.

"Jesus Christ, Bobby! 'Douchebag' where do even get language like that?"

An opprobrium not learned from him. It tickled him. His attitude was lighthearted the rest of the way home. A new swear.