Is Calling Someone a ‘Cotton Picker’ Racist?
My brother used to call me a “cotton picker” all the while we were growing up together in the 50s. I figured there were a lot worse names to be called.
Since we lived in Michigan, it probably had a different connotation than if we were growing up in Kentucky. My parents weren’t racists so they wouldn’t have allowed it to continue – if they even gave it a thought.
This isn’t really important and I didn’t give it a thought until it seems that in the near future, I will actually BE a cotton picker.
Our Texas friends decided that we needed to get into the cotton business and sent Nancy the seeds. She has a great crop started. I will be tilling up the back 40 (square inches) soon to transplant the cotton. The ground temperature isn’t quite warm enough yet.
This is one of those events in a geezer’s life that we get excited about.
OMG can we handle the thrills?
It’s our start in agriculture that I foresee progressing this way:
Chicki, Nancy’s golfin’ buddy, suggested that we just start with the pot. I told her that probably wouldn’t work because we would see the profits go up in smoke.
And I will be applying for a government grant (free money that falls from the sky like a giant fireball.)
Along the same lines is Judas Priest sacrilegious? I used this in place of Jesus Christ all through high school and college. The band Judas Preist didn’t come along until 1969. So I sure don’t know where I picked up using it in the early 60s.
And why doesn’t Judas Priest have an apostrophe?
So you’ll be able to mean it when you say:
“Now wait just a cotton-pickin’ minute.”
Oh, and don’t forget to jump down, spin around. That’s the preferred method of picking bales of cotton.
@Larry: I need to send a draft of my blog posts to you for tweaking… you always add the perfect comments. Suitably irreverent but not too snarky.
Bale of cotton. I’ll be lucky to get enough for a cotton swab.