I think I’ve written over a hundred pieces for OpsLens. Out of all of them, this has the most potential for bad puns, prurient word play, and sophomoric jokes. I will try to resist the temptation. I will do a piss poor job of it.
When Brazilians were recovering from Fat Tuesday yesterday one subject may have been cascading through their otherwise faith-based focus. The matter at hand was that, in a criticism of the pre-Lenten Carnival festival, their president Jair Bolsonaro posted a tweet of…well…um…of guys urinating on each other at the event. In what is almost humanly impossible, it gets worse.
He then followed it up with another tweet inquiring as to the definition of a “golden shower.” I did not make that up. Really, I didn’t.
His ostensible point was that Carnival has gotten so out of hand that pervy displays like the one he posted are normal fare these days and something should be done about it. Given the history of debauchery during the shindig, his words should be taken as water under the bridge.
However, the immediate criticism was torrential.
One Brazilian newsie told the conservative firebrand president to get “medical help urgently.” The opinion was not isolated. It’s like your Dad is trying to tell you about the birds and the bees when you’re eight years old, and then he pulls out hard core porn as an audio-visual aid.
Regardless of my flowing wit, what we’re seeing here is the disconnect between hard-line social conservatives and other parts of the movement. It’s not as if the rest of us right-wing reprobates indulge in romantic water sports. Gross. Yet neither would we circumspect albeit fun-loving starboardists opine about it one way or another. It’s mortifying, weird, and the very comment is itself pervy. If you want to discourage inappropriate practices during the street soirees, fine. But at least don’t creep everybody out when you’re doing it. In their dour cultural ardor, awkward brigade conservatives can at times do just that when they broach specific subjects best left to the Marianas-like trenches of smut.
Certain dams are not meant to be breached, lest the briny liquid of unintentional comedy and party crashing come down on your head. The presidente is likely learning that today.
Someone get him a towel.
