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My Apologies...


Miller
 IJR Opinion is an opinion platform and any opinions or information put forth by contributors are exclusive to them and do not represent the views of IJR.

I’m sorry (oops) but I feel the need to address the recent spate of apologia logorrhea by the “Me-Me-Mea Culpa Generation.” It would appear that modern American life can best be described as the minimal downtime between insisted upon/self-preserving apologies.

Now that our subconscious has indeed found a coat rack on Twitter, every 1/32nd of a notion, every rem flutter, every wispy contrail on an electro-encephalogram is being placed on a black velvet jeweler's cloth and subjected to a loupe inspection just this side of an IMAX colonoscopy. Twitter…never have lives less lived been more chronicled. If only Lewis and Clark had kept journals this assiduous.

Be it the lilac swirled empty cone that is Kelly Osborne or that all too easily cowed waste of an apostrophe Martin O’Malley (insisting he misspoke when he sacrilegiously asserted that “all lives matter”) ex post facto reputation armor-alling has now replaced simple whining as our new national pastime.

Granted, Donald Trump has many rough edges hidden in that cranberry juice cocktail logo of a coiffure but isn’t it cathartic to see a man mis-speak yet stay wallenda-ed out there on a limb all by himself? Not seeking the absolution of a collective that, quite frankly, ridicules, disparages and reviles as a default setting when settled into its own sanctum sanctimonious.

Whose feelings, by the way, are assuaged by these metronomic caveat-empties that sound like a POW reading a prepared statement in the presence of a looming captor? Always delivered in that flat coroner dictaphone monotone that makes the disembodied computerized tram voice at Atlanta/Hartsfield sound like Adele.

The main problem with the present day inquisition squad is that many of our “open-minded” watch guards are among our most close-minded citizens. You know something? In a world that on a daily basis appears to be degenerating into a Hieronymus Bosch litho, if you can get a bug up your ass about anything a comedian has to say, your ass is certainly bug adjacent.

And beyond comedy, who really cares if idiocy is spouted by an idiot? There are now more documented opinions floating in the air than there are mycelium on a moist toadstool. Isn’t someone doing you a big favor when the first thing that publicly flies out of their pie-hole is inane? MOVE ON! Don’t click and become their “Follower” so you can ride the easily aggrieved pickets waiting to be bruised by their next load of tripe.

We have become emotional hemophiliacs, “I’ve got the vapors” junkies, seemingly gauging our self-worth by

overreacting to the most easily ignorable mental burps imaginable. Our need to throw ourselves on the tepid grenade of minor insults is akin to Munchausen by Proxy Syndrome. The empathy class’s urge to intercept the slings and arrows that oft times are ignored by the very people they’re intended for is

staggering.

To think in a scant 240 years we’ve gone from “I regret that I have but one life to give to the aid of my country” to “I regret if I offended anybody by inferring that Caitlyn Jenner is not Eve” plots a downward trend on the graph I’ve not seen since I bought JDS Uniphase at $1,227.

As I said earlier, I’m sorry…but somebody had to say it. I’m also sorry that I’ve said I’m sorry twice in such a brief missive…and I’m sorry I wrote this over-explanation of saying sorry twice…and it’s a sorry state of affairs that brought me to this level of agitation. Again, I’m sorry…and yes, as I type this, I’m wearing a sari…and no, I’m not saying I’m wearing a sari as any sort of denigrative callback concerning Caitlyn Jenner but rather because the word “sari” obviously apes the notes of the word “sorry”…and if all this seems superfluous, I’m…