On the job I combine highly professional and skilled work with aggressive and horrifyingly repulsive guerrilla flatulence.
I am a bona fide expert at fucking up opportunities for sex. (Believe it or not, I have had them over the years.) Whatever I have going on, it must work for women in that initial attraction stage, because since high school I’ve very rarely been turned down when I’ve asked a woman out.
At first I fucked up simply by missing the signals. (“No, I shouldn’t come in for coffee. It keeps me awake.”) My early attempts at romance were rife with such blunders. Finally, I had the misfortune to partner up for ten years of monogamous (so I thought) hell with the first woman psychotic enough to wrestle me to the ground and jump my bones. That’s all another story, however.
After recovering from my blessed release from the torments of my first true love, I got a lot better at reading the signals. At parties and whatnot I would see the opportunities and make my move. If the venue was quiet enough for me to work my mojo (I need to be able to communicate effectively) I generally would be successful at getting to the next set of signals. All there was left do was hang around until things wound down, listen to her talk, not say anything too terribly stupid, and I would get laid sooner or later.
Again and again, I couldn’t do it. The sex was simply not worth tolerating the person providing it, even if only for a few hours.
Now don’t confuse misanthropy for misogyny here. Eighty percent of humans are simply not worth bothering with, male or female. It’s just I don’t want to fuck the males. The lesson I took away from this was that my sex drive does not trump my dislike of most people; there is no reward great enough for tolerating any amount of bad company in my free time.
I simply cannot eat out someone who takes American Idol seriously.
When you’re in someone’s house for the first time and you see they own a set of bongos, it’s very much like finding an improperly stored firearm: this person is trouble.
Pick a side. Doesn’t matter which; it is about as relevant as the name on a concert t-shirt. The important thing is that you have a brand to engage your tribalism with.
Now that you know what side you’re on, it’s time to go hunting! Get out there and scour the web for the stupidest, most ignorant, ill-adjusted, mentally unstable people you can find from the opposing side. Expose these troglodytes to the cleansing light of public condemnation and mass cyber bullying. If you’re not lucky enough to find one of these people yourself, then just pile on with the rest of your tribe.
This is fun, isn’t it? Oh, they make you so angry, don’t they? Such a delicious mix of moral outrage and strident self-expression. It’s important work you’re doing: digging the rot out of society, one shitty person at a time.
The goodness doesn’t end here, though. See, what you can do now is take these shitty people and use them and their words to condemn the thinking and philosophy of the other side. Make that person your opposing faction’s mascot. They can be your brush to paint your enemy entire with.
Do not allow the enemy a chance to confuse your conviction with thoughts and arguments; nuance and context. The underpinnings of their philosophies are meaningless. The deep thinkers who spent decades crafting their notions are dust in the wind of your righteous fury.
No, finding the most debased, slack-jawed cretin that claims adherence to their philosophy is all that you need to extinguish its credibility forever. For you have destroyed them! You have exposed and crushed them!
Isn’t victory sweet?
Now, you may occasionally feel a pinch. Sometimes you may look about at your words and those who fight on your side, and realize that you share more in common with those enemies you fixate on and attack than with the philosophers who formed the arguments you regurgitate.
You may come to suspect that those who spend all their time fixating upon, baiting, and fighting with the lowest cretins from the other side are in fact the cretins of their own. That in playing a game, we share more in common with our opponent than the philosopher that crafted the pieces we play with.
This is nothing, though. A passing spasm. Don’t reflect too deeply on it, lest you realize you have been playing checkers on a chess set with the village idiot as opponent.
Push these thoughts aside and carry on, brothers and sisters. Carry on.
The important thing is that you’ve won so many games!
Party Goers: *Start talking about their tattoos*
Me: “Oh look, there’s dip over there. I’ll be right back.” (I’m not coming back.)
Oh, what’s this? There’s been another mass shooting in the United States?
Well, of course there has.
Winnipeg is cold. Okinawa gets typhoons. America has mass shootings.
Anyone who knows Japan at all knows that Okinawa gets typhoons. It’s a given. On a long enough time scale there will certainly be another one along. The only unknowns are the frequency of events and their intensity.
And when they come around, we send our thoughts and prayers out to those affected folks in Okinawa. Those victims of this predictable, natural, unstoppable phenomenon.
Thoughts and prayers. Because after things are cleaned up, that’s all there is to do about it. We can’t stop the weather.
Winnipeg is the shits. Okinawa gets typhoons.
The United States has shootings.