Beautiful Geniuses All

The “hooray for everyone,” loser cheerleading, self-esteem boosters of the interweb have been abusing our language with their, “everyone is beautiful and a genius in their own way” routine. It’s downright Orwellian, and I, for one, think it’s double-plus-ungood.

Beauty may be subjective, but that still doesn’t mean that everyone is beautiful. Some people are ugly. Sad for them. However, many of these people compound their unhappiness by holding out for partners completely out of their league. They shitcan aesthetic standards in self-evaluation, and yet cling to them when judging potential fuck mates.

“Why are the beautiful people I desire so superficial?”

It’s really too bad, because it’s only after you bed a really beautiful person that you realize physical beauty is highly overrated. Beautiful people don’t need to learn how to fuck well. Besides which, sex is tactile and emotional. Gunning after beauty for its own sake is trophy fucking and ego. We don’t need to rewrite the dictionary to make everyone beautiful, we need to stop idolizing the superficial.

Further, if you’re going to say “everyone is beautiful” and mean this on an inner level you would be wrong too. Emotional cripples fixated on beauty standards that fill them with self-loathing tend to be rather unpleasant in a multitude of ways.

Then we get to this whole genius business. If everyone’s a genius, then I guess that means that some are more special than others.

If we keep this up, we’re going to wind up with words even more meaningless than they already are. It all gets melted down into grey, tasteless pablum.

And that would be adjective:(. Adverb adjective:( indeed. *unhappy face emoticons included so you know I mean “adjective” in its negative sense*

Hitchhiking

by Balls Malone

She’d have been a very big woman even if she weren’t fat, and she and Mr. Christie had definitely been around the block more than once. She lay there, like a manatee in a Walmart negligee and then slowly, teasingly, pulled her knees wide open.

Her cunt was huge, shaved, and wet. I got right to it. It glistened before me like a big plate of thickly sliced Virginia ham, all layered up. I never even knew her name.

Marvelous.

America’s Gay Circus

It has been observed that how a society interacts with its prisoners is a measure of that society itself (Foucault?). So what does it say about the United States, that it is so committed to a penal model that obviously does not work? Clearly, the American penal system is failing in its stated purpose: rehabilitating offenders and preventing crime/drug use. So it follows that it must be serving other, not articulated, needs.

Of course, the State and the prison industrial complex do very well for themselves with their war on drugs and monetized penal system. That is not my topic here. My question is why so many normal people support this clearly failed system? What need of theirs is it serving?

We all know the fat man who complains about fat women; the narcissists who despise celebrities and yet can’t stop talking about them; the drunks who hate junkies. Self-loathing is thrust out onto an external scapegoat. Prisoners are that for the collective. Even better than just being a metaphorical straw man, these scapegoats can actually be punished.

As to that punishment:

It seems that when you scratch the surface of moral, proper America, we get a fixation on homoerotic BDSM rape. The Romans used lions in their circuses; Americans like prison gangs.

These people might claim that the system has no control over such things, yet they also take (often not so) secret pleasure that it happens. “Let’s see how smug that punk is once he’s thrown in prison with all those [racial epithet deleted].” And they can go about their day with the happy knowledge that the bad people are being punished. With forcible sodomy. Kinky fun for church pew daydreaming.

Hell, the porn for this is piped direct to the masses on basic cable. “Cops” for foreplay, and then “Lockup” for the happy ending. You have to imagine the penetration, but it’s all the hotter for that, I’m sure. The brain is, after all, our biggest sexual organ.

Like the bread and circuses of that other fading empire; only now it’s oxy and rape.

credits

weren’t the credits supposed to roll?
after the lock clicked home
in that room where they send
people like me

wasn’t the story over then?
a cautionary tale
or a morbid show for
them who feign disinterest

but I awoke
deprived an end
given a future
empty as tundra

do I write an end?
or fill that void
make something
just so there is a thing

all I am now is something
overlaying nothing
in the space where
there should have been credits

and it’s pretty good