American Patricians

Sometimes I have to take a moment to sit back and marvel at just how committed American conservatives are to being awful. Their thorough attention to detail in this regard is incredible. They don’t miss a beat!

It’s not just them selfishly doing everything they can to make the world a worse place, to despoil everything they come into contact with; it’s that they take so much obvious pleasure in doing so. For these people, it seems, their greatest source of joy is causing pain.

However, this is nothing new. We can look all the way back to Rome to see their type at work. Roman patricians at the Coliseum, watching people tortured to death by the dozen, then going home to rape their slaves. Pillars of their community, these people. Fine, upstanding Romans all, who spoke of family, duty, and religion.

We might look back at those Romans, at what they did and what they regarded as entertainment, and ask ourselves: how could they have done that? Who were those people?

Well, they weren’t so different from some of ours. They just didn’t bother hiding who they were. They made a show of it. Took pride in it. Used their cruelties as a stark warning to all who would stand against their might.

Our rulers are a little less honest about it. Our cruelties are done behind closed doors. The bloodletting takes place out of sight, with the output packaged neatly in cellophane for thoughtless consumption. Our slavery institutions are systematized in more subtle ways: through corporate capitalism and the criminal justice system.

Our patricians speak of family, duty, and religion, too. They speak of their faith in Jesus as their friend; taking license from him to do what they want. Ignoring his words that make it clear they and their works are the antithesis of what he preached. That their kind of people were the ones who put him to death.

That their plebeian followers would have been in the crowd cheering the Christians martyred.

No, nothing new, these people. Just different symbols. Different spectacles for the plebs.

At its heart, the world is the same as it ever was.

We are the same as we ever were.

Pick a Side

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 Pooper

Back when I was quitting drinking (barely even out of the DTs yet), I encountered a series of enabling women who tried to drag me out to bars. What a fuckery life is! When I was drinking I couldn’t get laid out of a bar if my life depended on it, but now a parade of bar sluts present themselves to me; a chorus line of assholes beckoning me back into the drink.

Interestingly, they almost always used the same line: “Oh, come on! You don’t have to drink to have a good time!”

In one of those all too rare moments in life, I nailed my response to this the first time I heard it, and it has been my go to reply since:

“In a bar I sure as fuck do.”

And I don’t drink, so connect the fuckin dots on why I’m not coming out. I’m glad that you can feel special in your ability to enjoy the bar environment without alcohol, you vibrant, unique flower, you! Lucky you to have a brain chemistry that allows enjoyment of that scene without enhancement. Or, perhaps, all the attention from the drunks continually trying to get into your pants has something to do with it. Either way, whatever you situation might be, I’ll thank you not to tell me about mine. Particularly not in an attempt to use me to play out some complicated pathological drama about addiction’s role in your life.

That these people actually regarded this abuse as some kind of support is the ultimate in douchebaggery.

I’m sorry, but you and your scene are just not very interesting. That you always congregate in alcohol distribution venues too noisy have a conversation in should maybe be a clue. It doesn’t hold up well in, say, a park, does it? So don’t go telling me it isn’t about the booze and the drugs, even if you aren’t partaking yourself.

However, if I’m missing the signals on a play to get me into bed, then let me suggest the unsolicited blowjob as a more direct route. I’m just saying: that kind of overture really cuts through a lot of red tape.

Otherwise, have fun. Maybe give me a call when you’re doing something that doesn’t revolve entirely around something that will kill me.

Quality Television

It’s rather interesting how much of American television is devoted to the themes of sexual assault, violent crime, incest, and the worst kinds of interpersonal backstabbing. And that’s just the reality TV.

The fiction gets even better. It seems you can display the most unbelievably vicious rape and snuff porn, so long as you don’t show specific naughty bits or say the few taboo swear words, and have intrepid investigators catch and punish the “perp” at the end of the episode. Exposure and punishment meted out by police characters whose “character development” is repeatedly thrusting their aggressive opinions and childhood trauma in people’s face like an ass-lubed cock in a porn orgy. Ass to mouth for the psyche.

Yay! Angry Detective Numer 1 is pistol whipping the rapist! I wonder how his IA interview is going to turn out? I’ll just bet he tells that smarmy, liberal lawyer bitch where to stick her due process! Maybe next week we can find out after watching some ethnic minority jerk off on a toddler.

Are we not entertained?

(In case anyone is wondering what brought this on, my wife watches Law and Order: SVU. I used to call it her “rape show,” but she didn’t care much for that take on it, and I’ve learned from bitter experience that such wife baiting is a one way street into a cul-de-sac of misery and despair. Now I just wear headphones and blog about it. The twenty-first century, first world experience in a nutshell, I expect.)

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*