Ask Fred: Language

The Skinny hired me to do two things: review crap that no one else would touch, and drunkenly interview David Hasselhoff. Three years later, I’m reviewing lizards on the Royal Mile and they’ve stopped trying to reboot Knightrider. Now, I’ve been tasked with an even more important job – fixing the broken lives of you, readers. I don’t hold a PHD in knowing-exactly-which-Disney-to-have-sex-to, NOT to tell you how to sort shit out. (SPOILER: it’s Chip ‘n’ Dale: Rescue Rangers)

This month’s column will focus on ‘language’, since language is complicated. For every well-spoken monologue there’s a French man gibbering at you while you steal his bicycle. But, it’s amazing. It gives us cultural identity and allows us to convey complex feelings in the comments section of a fat-woman-falling-off-a-mechanical-bull video. Speech affords us a wider range of possible expressions than any known system of animal communication; which is probably why only 9% of YouTube commenters are walruses. Human language is unique because it has the properties of productivity, recursivity, and displacement; it relies entirely on social convention and learning, which is good news up until the point you realise our species is zoologically classified as ‘kinda shitlords.’

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Dear Fred,

I’m a fifty-nine year old stand-up from south-east London, and I’ve recently been accused of being a racist. My material stems from astute childhood cultural observations that today’s society finds offensive. I grew up with uncles and aunties who would say, “Here, you been to Woolwich? It gets dark at half past two in the afternoon” – but that was never racist. Racism didn’t quite exist when I was younger. It was cartoon racism, affectionately mocking black people; it was the type of stuff you’d do in front of a load of black people; you know like with gay people – sometimes they like to be called puffs and sometimes they don't... it's all in the Protected Species Act nowadays..

Anyways, I’m getting flack for my material. I make jokes like those pointing out what everyone else is thinking. I also do impressions of a West Indian guy; I put on a stupid accent and make him lovable. I think I’m actually aiding people in accepting different races. But no – I’m accused of being racist. And sexist too! There was a rather large woman on TV moaning about women’s rights, about all these… pop videos, and how they’re sexist because they’re showing their bodies in a sexy way and used as sex items, and I thought, “Well you’ve got no fucking danger of that, have you?”

HELP! This is threatening my career. I’ve given up drinking and drugs, and even turned to the Bible, but people keep harking on about me being a racist. Am I out of order?

Sincerely ,

JD

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Thanks for the letter JD, I can see why you’re worried. “Am I a racist” is a tricky question to answer, but turn to the nearest mirror, look yourself straight in the eye and say, “Yes. Fucking very.” How can one man misunderstand multiculturalism and ethnic sensitivity so hard? I can’t help but wonder if you were forced to watch episodes of Captain Planet in a cage filled with spiders and punches. For the love of fuck, man, people with different coloured skin or sexual preferences aren’t a ‘species.’ How do you tell jokes over the constant stream of howling locusts flowing from your mouth?

‘Cartoon racism’ died out around about the time Hanna Barbera cancelled the KKK Mystery Hour, but if cartoon racists did exist – and were trying to decide exactly how racist to be – they’d buy tickets for your show and say, “Way less than this.”

I know this may come as a shock, but minority groups have a history of victimisation and abuse. Complaining that some of them unfairly find oppression offensive is like supervillains complaining that some people they shoot at aren’t Robocop. Satire is difficult to deliver, and even harder to explain, but as a rule of thumb, if your cutting-edge humour starts and stops somewhere between “ha-ha black man” and “shoe polish,” you’re a fucking idiot.

I know the colour of things can take some getting used to, but we’ve had several thousand years to deal with the fact that your postman’s Zimbabwean and may be a better dancer than you. As a species we survived blue Smarties and The Wizard of Oz – I think we can deal with immigration and a naturally-occurring skin colour.

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If you want to stop being accused of racism, stop being such a fucking racist.

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Also, I admit, feminism can be complex to understand, but you’ll be glad to know that statements like “fat girls can’t be feminists because I wouldn’t fuck them” is exactly the sort of thing Emily Davidson would say if she was both drunk and a space monster.

Using upbringing as a defense for current behaviour is weak. In the 1700s Marie-Angélique Memmie Le Blanc spent ten years in the forests of France, living with wolves. Once discovered, she returned to non-jungle-cat society, and somehow managed to reintegrate herself into the world without eating people’s faces. If she managed to do it, so can you. For fuck’s sake, she was an unkillable werewolf – your uncle just thought The Adventures of Tarzan was Newsnight.

Although I appreciate your honesty, all you’ve really done is prove that racists are assholes, and I’m pretty sure I don’t have to put a spoiler warning on that. If you want to stop being accused of racism, stop being such a fucking racist.

Good luck with the ‘religion’ thing. Be sure and highlight the part in the Bible where Jesus points out that ‘some black people have big lips,’ you shitlord.

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Dear Fred,

I’m a young singer from Middlesbrough who won a piss-poor television talent contest. My pedestrian singing career was going great until I called a rapper who was mean to me a “fucking queer.” Apparently this was 'a homophobic slur,' and now everyone hates me. That meant something else where I grew up – but no-one believes me. He made me look stupid and I think he wants to stick his stinky dick in me. What should I do?

Yours sadly,

JA

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Thanks for writing JA. Problems can arise when communicating feelings. You see, the English language is smart and constantly developing – but it’s also a tricky bastard. Linguistically, it’s like the kid who brings a hilarious tub of peanuts to school, that’s actually full of snakes. The Oxford English Dictionary contains around 800,000 words (including around 140,000 words that only people undergoing a stroke and/or gangsters from the 50s use) and of these, over a quarter have multiple meanings. This allows for flexible communication and keeps Bruce Forsyth in delightful word-play comedy for as long as his Egyptian Curse permits.

Without homonyms, we’d never know what elephants pack to go on holiday, or why otolaryngologists get called out to examine pony throats. These delightful double meanings keep us laughing and are grammatically approved as both appropriate and whimsical. Sadly though, language is not restricted to dictionaries alone; there’s a constantly evolving black market for words making everyone think Robin Thicke wants to rape them. Our vocabulary is increasing each year and some of these co-opt on previously established words and their meanings, leading to confusion, and in some cases, hurt feelings. And dumbassery.

I understand that ‘queer’ once meant ‘strange’ or ‘unusual,’ and assuming you grew up in a 1920s detective novel, the rapper quite possibly was ‘queer’ (depending on exactly how sick his beats were and/or how often he mentioned ‘booty’). Today, ‘queer’ can be a derogatory phrase for homosexuals, and that’s not cool. Your clever “different meaning” defence falls apart around the point that you suggest the rapper “wants to stick his stinky dick in me,” but I guess that means something else too. Like how “pop star” can also mean “dip-shit who doesn’t know how to shut-the-fuck-up.”

Don’t stress. Stick with the homonym excuse. Perhaps claim some of your best friends are homonyms too.