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I'm Taking Off My Belt
The words fuck, shit, bastard, cocksucker, pussy, bitch, faggot, and the whole gamut of swear words could be seen as mindless hollering from people too incompetent to rationally explain why they deserve recognition, or humbly admit that they are wrong. Flaccid mudslinging and hollering of ad hominems run rampant when something goes awry, and our fellow man is unable to immediately come up with a response. As time goes on, threats and curses become more obsolete, as humans are trained to ignore these hollow hollerings, stale swears and general tomfoolery. In a pinch, every word can be ignored as one recedes into their own mind and their own temple of righteousness, not taking in any more information.
Every word can become stale, then. All threats can be scoffed at.
All except “I’m taking off my belt.”
That, boys and girls, is the warning of reckoning. It is not something that is said merely to scare one into obedience; it is a boiled, meditated, measured and venomous statement that spells trouble for all. Do not—I repeat, do not!—take this lightly.
When you hear these words, shut the fuck up. Stand at attention. Give the belt-wielder your undivided devotion, for they are the queen (and sometimes king) of that situation. If they tell you to do something, do it, or face the consequences.
It doesn’t even matter if they have the belt! The pen is mightier than the sword, but the belt is mightier than all; it is best not to take any chances with it. And why is this?
Because Mama will find you, and she will make all of your disobedience, all of your primal rage, impotent.
If one ever says “I’m taking off my belt,” don’t look to see if they have a belt on. If you decide to be a smartass about it and point out that they don’t have a belt, then they will make a belt materialize. They will have one nearby; I’ve yet to discover how, but they will have one nearby.
You may not use belts anymore, but trust me when I say that these are the scariest weapons. They are wielded by people who’re out to get you. Other weapons can intimidate; these viper-tongued monstrosities will only be out to get you. All will be silent—no gall, no name-calling, not even an argument—until it bites you in the ass.
Politicians, generals, philosophers, scientists, music artists, and the most curmudgeonly people you can think of—they are all at the mercy of the belt.
And if you can’t escape you fate? Don’t run. Don’t move. Let it have its way with you. Because if you try and run, Mama will find you. And she will make it worse. It’s a symbiotic relationship. The belt has a host, and that host’s name is Mama.
I still look over my shoulder to see if Mama’s there with her pet belt.
You may think you’ve outgrown it. You may think that you’re too wise for it. You may think that you can ignore the pain. But you can’t. The belt supersedes all arguments, ignores every fiber of your personality except for whatever agitated it. It doesn’t just go after your skin, either; it strikes you in the heart.
Oh, how does it strike. I’m sorry, Mama, I won’t do it again, I swear!
I still feel the sting.
Heaven preserve me.
Listen, those who feel like all opinions can be ignored, who think you are the apex of humanity, that you can ignore all others and do whatever you want: the belt will find you. It comes out when you call to it with your actions. It will find you. It is the most powerful tool in a Mama’s arsenal, for when Mama pulls it out and does what Mama wants, you will be reduced to a broken shell of your former self. When someone takes off their belt, they are declaring that you have royally fucked up the natural order. The worst part about it? You will deserve Mama's bite, and the belt will deliver it full force, whether you get away or not.
Every word can become stale, then. All threats can be scoffed at.
All except “I’m taking off my belt.”
That, boys and girls, is the warning of reckoning. It is not something that is said merely to scare one into obedience; it is a boiled, meditated, measured and venomous statement that spells trouble for all. Do not—I repeat, do not!—take this lightly.
When you hear these words, shut the fuck up. Stand at attention. Give the belt-wielder your undivided devotion, for they are the queen (and sometimes king) of that situation. If they tell you to do something, do it, or face the consequences.
It doesn’t even matter if they have the belt! The pen is mightier than the sword, but the belt is mightier than all; it is best not to take any chances with it. And why is this?
Because Mama will find you, and she will make all of your disobedience, all of your primal rage, impotent.
If one ever says “I’m taking off my belt,” don’t look to see if they have a belt on. If you decide to be a smartass about it and point out that they don’t have a belt, then they will make a belt materialize. They will have one nearby; I’ve yet to discover how, but they will have one nearby.
You may not use belts anymore, but trust me when I say that these are the scariest weapons. They are wielded by people who’re out to get you. Other weapons can intimidate; these viper-tongued monstrosities will only be out to get you. All will be silent—no gall, no name-calling, not even an argument—until it bites you in the ass.
Politicians, generals, philosophers, scientists, music artists, and the most curmudgeonly people you can think of—they are all at the mercy of the belt.
And if you can’t escape you fate? Don’t run. Don’t move. Let it have its way with you. Because if you try and run, Mama will find you. And she will make it worse. It’s a symbiotic relationship. The belt has a host, and that host’s name is Mama.
I still look over my shoulder to see if Mama’s there with her pet belt.
You may think you’ve outgrown it. You may think that you’re too wise for it. You may think that you can ignore the pain. But you can’t. The belt supersedes all arguments, ignores every fiber of your personality except for whatever agitated it. It doesn’t just go after your skin, either; it strikes you in the heart.
Oh, how does it strike. I’m sorry, Mama, I won’t do it again, I swear!
I still feel the sting.
Heaven preserve me.
Listen, those who feel like all opinions can be ignored, who think you are the apex of humanity, that you can ignore all others and do whatever you want: the belt will find you. It comes out when you call to it with your actions. It will find you. It is the most powerful tool in a Mama’s arsenal, for when Mama pulls it out and does what Mama wants, you will be reduced to a broken shell of your former self. When someone takes off their belt, they are declaring that you have royally fucked up the natural order. The worst part about it? You will deserve Mama's bite, and the belt will deliver it full force, whether you get away or not.
Seems this one has no review yet. I'll go first, then!
This appears to be an extended rumination on warnings, and one warning in particular. The conceit is pretty easily understood and I smiled when I read the line, “I’m taking off my belt.”
But then it kept going. And going. The rest of the story was just the narrator explaining how everyone fears the belt. There's no real story here, that I can discern.
The hook was daring, but I'm not sure everyone will appreciate the shock value of leading like that. It was lukewarm for me.
I don't usually use tiers to rate stories, but if I had to give one here, it would be 'misaimed.'
This appears to be an extended rumination on warnings, and one warning in particular. The conceit is pretty easily understood and I smiled when I read the line, “I’m taking off my belt.”
But then it kept going. And going. The rest of the story was just the narrator explaining how everyone fears the belt. There's no real story here, that I can discern.
The hook was daring, but I'm not sure everyone will appreciate the shock value of leading like that. It was lukewarm for me.
I don't usually use tiers to rate stories, but if I had to give one here, it would be 'misaimed.'
Hyperbolic much?
Honestly, I was waiting for this to subvert the idea, but it insisted on playing it straight the whole way. More variety in the jokes, instead of simply repeating the same thing over again, would definitely help.
...and surely I'm not the only one who thought 'I'm taking off my pants' might follow? I mean, I'm not sure how writing that would be a good idea, but surely it sprang to mind for someone else?
Honestly, I was waiting for this to subvert the idea, but it insisted on playing it straight the whole way. More variety in the jokes, instead of simply repeating the same thing over again, would definitely help.
...and surely I'm not the only one who thought 'I'm taking off my pants' might follow? I mean, I'm not sure how writing that would be a good idea, but surely it sprang to mind for someone else?
I have to agree with most of the comments made by Cold in Gardez and Not_A_Hat on this one. I kept waiting for the subversion but it never happened.
I wasn't sure whether I was supposed to find it funny, either. The first half did make it seem like this could be a comedy, although the 'jokes' weren't hitting hard for me, but the second half's references to Mama made me think the story was making light of abuse without enough strength in the descriptions to create proper black humour, which made me uncomfortable.
This makes little sense. It's a threat like any other if they don't have a belt. If the point is that the protagonist is too afraid to treat it as something "that is said merely to scare one into obedience", then I think Mama's presence should be foreshadowed earlier - for instance by removing the "(or sometimes king)" and by gradually referring to the 'they' holding the belt as a 'she'. Or something.
This would be a much stronger ending than the actual closing paragraph as far as I'm concerned. It's wonderfully concise and active compared to what comes before and what follows. The story in general would have been stronger if it were shorter and snappier - more like the bite of the belt it fears so much.
I wasn't sure whether I was supposed to find it funny, either. The first half did make it seem like this could be a comedy, although the 'jokes' weren't hitting hard for me, but the second half's references to Mama made me think the story was making light of abuse without enough strength in the descriptions to create proper black humour, which made me uncomfortable.
It doesn’t even matter if they have the belt! The pen is mightier than the sword, but the belt is mightier than all; it is best not to take any chances with it.
This makes little sense. It's a threat like any other if they don't have a belt. If the point is that the protagonist is too afraid to treat it as something "that is said merely to scare one into obedience", then I think Mama's presence should be foreshadowed earlier - for instance by removing the "(or sometimes king)" and by gradually referring to the 'they' holding the belt as a 'she'. Or something.
Oh, how does it strike. I’m sorry, Mama, I won’t do it again, I swear!
I still feel the sting.
Heaven preserve me.
This would be a much stronger ending than the actual closing paragraph as far as I'm concerned. It's wonderfully concise and active compared to what comes before and what follows. The story in general would have been stronger if it were shorter and snappier - more like the bite of the belt it fears so much.
At first I thought that it was some kind of snappy comedy, then a musing about how sometimes words lose impact and meaning. And then I became a bit uneasy. Then uncomfortable.
And then it deflated.
I have to agree with >>Astrarian here, it should probably have been a bit shorter and leaner to keep the emotional impact it acquired half through the piece. Compacting it a bit will make it more powerful in my opinion, and after that you'll have something with quite a punch.
And then it deflated.
I have to agree with >>Astrarian here, it should probably have been a bit shorter and leaner to keep the emotional impact it acquired half through the piece. Compacting it a bit will make it more powerful in my opinion, and after that you'll have something with quite a punch.
I’m Taking Off My Belt — C — Seems a little odd, because it was always the father who took off his belt to administer a little kinetic education through posterior trauma. Mom used the bare hand, which was almost always worse, because those hands also were the ones who took care of you when you were ill, tired, or needed help with homework. Still, even taking that into account, the stream of mental dialogue does not really hold together well. There *is* flow, which is good, but it tends to leap around, and leaves the reader a little flustered about where the story went and if it actually ended.