what the fuck!

by underswansea


Some people like to abbreviate it to WTF. But I prefer the long version – What the fuck! I like the way it rolls off my tongue. I like typing it. It sums up how I feel when I see something unexplainable but for greed or excess.

For instance; when I stare at a clear-cut that could be mistaken for a forest fire, or find where people have dumped their garbage in the bush, or watch politicians (local, provincial or federal) lobby and fight for bad ideas to grease the palms of friends, and in the end, put some money in their own pocket. All legal of course.

At times it seems part of our heritage. It is the way most everything gets done after all (ask a politician).

Sometimes I lengthen it to, ‘What the Fuckin’ Hell’! WTFH!

In the past, I have written editorials and columns for newspapers. I always considered I was doing my job when opposing sides of the discussion were pissed at me; which was almost always.

People always want to know whose side you are on. Most of those people are looking for someone to stand behind when the bullets start to fly.

A few years ago, a parcel of land across from our home, and owned by the town, was sold to a well-connected developer for under market and appraised value. The developer put up condos breaking numerous bylaws in the process. The town turned a blind eye. It was a back room deal that required the hands of the Mayor, Administrator and Council of that era.

Big deal! It happens every day, all over Canada and the world, on a much grander scale, often with devastating consequences. The point I’m telling you this isn’t because of that particular deal, as nefarious as it was. It is about my reaction, and my children’s reaction to my reaction that I want to tell you about.

Long after the deal was sealed, and the bank of condos were built and housing vacationers, I set out to build the, ‘Pissing Cowboy’. He was going to be made of logs and have his cock (branch) pissing into a pond. I had it all worked out with a recirculating pump. It was going to be erected (the cowboy – not his pecker) on the edge of our property facing the condo development, in protest of the whole debacle.

I was pretty excited about the project. I found the perfect split tree and cut the logs. The Pissing Cowboy would be no less than twelve feet tall. The branch that would be his penis was a girthy 16 inches. I already had the pump and pond liner.

Just when I was getting ready to put it together my daughters, who were in their teens, asked me to PLEASE not build it.

I asked, ‘Why not?’

They answered in unison, ‘Because we don’t want people to hate us!’

Well that set me back.

The Pissing Cowboy didn’t get built. He lay on his back beside the woodpile for years. Sometimes I threatened to put him up. Like when the developer used the unfinished  portion of the development as a lumber yard. But I never did. Finally I cut him up and piled the blocks with the rest of the firewood.

I still think the cowboy would have been a fitting tribute to the developer and his lackeys. But – What the Fuck!

If you have read this far you are probably expecting a moral to the story.

If you haven’t guessed I’m not sure about morals.

Maybe the moral is for fathers to listen to their daughters.

Who knows! One thing I do know – there is plenty of greed, corruption and injustice out there. All legal of course.

You can either say, What the Fuck – I’ll let it slide. Or you can say, What the Fuck – this is bullshit – I’m going to do something about it.

If you choose the latter, like I hope you will, remember this: the Pissing Cowboy strategy is never a good approach – regardless of how appealing it may seem.