To ask it politely: “Who are these silly people?”

Surely, their lot has taken the “See Rock City” bait, hook, line and sinker. I imagine they’re having hourly powwows, trying to figure which rock to crawl out from under.

They are at home in those hills. All those rocks complement the ones in their heads.

Last time I checked, I have not been canceled. 

Whew! What a relief.

Aunt Jemima, Uncle Ben and Cleveland’s Chief Wahoo (Indians) have all been permanently retired. Friends from other areas have inquired: “What do you think will happen with the Braves?”

That’s easy: If they hit and pitch like they did last year, there’s a good chance they’ll play in October.

We’re canceling Mr. Potato Head. He’s now “Potato Head.” All right, who’s the pervert who took this action after peeking under his peel?

Meanwhile, the president is doing a great job imitating Moose from the Archie comics. You can see the bubbles floating from his brain as he attempts to answer questions.

Dr. Seuss books are persona non grata. It’s censorship, sure, but I never heard of those six canceled books. Theodore Geisel is big money. Those titles weren’t.

We’ve got a straight from the South “Y’all come!” sign at the Mexican border with refuges in designer duds storming the castle. Does anyone, with the exception of those getting a free pass, think that’s a good idea?

It’s my turn to do some kicking out. I’m now forming my own cancel culture:

Health insurance companies: Try making sense of seeing your doctor for your annual physical, being asked a question and getting a bill for the physical AND an office visit. I suggested to the finance woman that now it justifies ignoring your doctor. 

Telemarketer/scammers: Now they’re emailing invoices for bogus antivirus purchases. It’s ironic they request you grant access to your computer so they can plant a virus. I’m asking Prakesh, our reformed ex-telemarketer, to teach them the error of their ways by planting a cobra or two in their clapboard office.

Loud neighbnorhood trucks: This one roars at 5:30 a.m. every day. In reality, I need to get up anyway, but I’d rather wake up to “Hotel California” instead of NASCAR decibels. How about you and I going to Midas and cutting a deal. What do you say, Tyler?

Nancy Pelosi: I have yet to hear a “Yay Nancy! You get’em Ms. Smiley. We’re with you.” Doubtful we’ll ever hear that.

Incumbents: They interview for the job, get the job, then don’t show up for work until four years later. How would that work in the real world? Wait, maybe the teachers’ unions are up for that strategy.

TV attorney ads: They’re not “For the People.” More like “For the Payday.”

Marauding lumberjacks: That’s not a hockey team. It’s the faction that is hell bent (all for a price) on making Cumming a tree-free zone. All along Ronald Reagan Parkway, especially around Costco, trees are disappearing faster than ribs at a Sunday afternoon cookout. Now, when asked where I live, it’ll be true when I answer “Atlanta.” It’s starting to look like it anyway.

Local traffic: The official vehicle of Forsyth County is painted yellow and it’s not a bus. Scores of skip-loaders, dump trucks and all things earth moving congregate like inner-city gangs ready to rumble. That’s exactly what they do, loudly tearing up the former Forsyth foliage as the traffic snarls. Yep. We’re more and more like the ATL every day.

TV preachers: Since we’re looking at tax returns, let’s take a peek at yours, Reverend.

1800 KARS FOR KIDS: I loathe the jingle and the commercials with those little twirps doing a horrible job of playing air instruments. Greg thinks my dislike is hilarious. He turns up the volume every time one comes on.

Vape stores: What a ridiculous way to blow smoke up… in the air. I swear it looks like your car is ablaze.

Dr. Fauci: It’s simple what you need to do: Move to China… or maybe to Rock City. Either place, you’ll be with friends.

Mike Tasos’ column appears every other weekend. He can be reached at miketasos@earthlink.net. He is also on Facebook.