Eric Fartwell has certainly made an impression on the voting public before. Some time ago he made sure to inform the public that their rifles were hardly useful against the government in the event of another American Revolution because, as he explained, the government has nuclear weapons and the public does not. It’s difficult to tell where he was going with that. Was he proposing that the government should use nukes on civilian populations in the event of an uprising? That’s not a scenario that ends well for anyone – least of all the government. In any event, it was a stupid comment. We’ve been in Afghanistan since I was in my early 20s, and what are they fighting with? Largely crappier weapons than American civilians are likely to have – save for fully-automatic versus semi-auto. Asymmetric warfare doesn’t require the same level of armament technology precisely because it’s asymmetric.
But whatever. I’m not going to claim I’m an expert on war. That’s for folks like Tom Kratman to go into. It’s not really a subject for me, and definitely not one for Eric Swalwell, whose familiarity with war – as with most Leftists – is quite possibly a negative number. No, today let’s talk about the other nuclear weapon in the room: the fart heard ’round the world on air. Fartgate: a political Hiroshima centered on Eric Fartwell’s ass. And damn, is he handling it poorly. It’s one thing to drop a buttquake, but quite another to do it on air. I give this one a solid 8.5, it was robust, had a nice reverberation to it, it was the kind of fart that Eric probably would’ve enjoyed (as Fat Bastard said in the Austin Powers movies, everybody loves their own brand) were the circumstances different. I always thought this guy looked like the sort of dude who Dutch Ovened himself and enjoyed it. Give it a watch, if you haven’t already:
Look at his face. Now, I may not be an expert in war, but let’s just say that I know gas. My diet is atrociously bad – or at least it used to be, I’m trying to fix that – and so I am no stranger to late night Taco Bell runs after a few beers. Or eating practically everything on the IHOP menu at 3 o’clock in the morning. Sometimes, I’m surprised my wife hasn’t divorced me – but whatever. Point is, look at the strain on his face. This is a dude who ate something he shouldn’t have, and he knows it. He’s trying to keep it together. There was a second civil war going on in his lower intestine. And brother, the South was winning this one.
Then there’s that pause and the expression his face – like Geordi LaForge in Star Trek the Next Generation when he realizes there’s a warp core breach in progress, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. The Enterprise is doomed, Captain Picard. She’s going down. Launch the escape pods and abandon shit. That buttquake is happening, it’s an 8.5 on the sphincter scale, and there’s not much else to do but dive for cover and hope the buttquake didn’t come with any aftershocks.Eric, of course, tries to continue like nothing happened, and later he tried to deny it. But my friends, trust me on this. I know who dealt it – because in most cases, that would have been me. This guy is guilty. I’m the expert witness, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, and you better believe my testimony. In the matter of lobbing chemical weapons from behind that are worse than anything the Germans lobbed into the trenches at Verdun, I’m your guy.
The mic set to record speech picked this thing up. It wasn’t small, my friends. Hell, the Japanese would probably start running away from it. I imagine after the interview, Eric had to check his shorts and toss his underpants into a biohazard bin. But I’m sure whatever he had to say about Trump was totally important, right?
Now, could it happen to any of us? Yeah, sure. But if it happened to me – fat chance, I’d probably never go into politics – I’d own it. Hell, it could be hilarious. Don’t be embarrassed about it. “Hey, sorry, I ate too many burritos last night. And that’s why I’m so bullish on Mexican immigration! It’s climate justice, you know? Mexico has a pollution problem, and America hasn’t absorbed its fair share of methane and sulfur. It’s time for that to change! Riiiiiiiip. I’m doing my part!”
Make sure to end on a long, thin squeaker for that last little bit of comedy.
But is all seriousness, own it dude. Everybody farts. Even women who claim they don’t fart. Ever been to a women’s public bathroom? It’s a disaster area, usually. Smells like somebody was eating ten-day old lo mein and decided to wash it down with some ex-lax and a bag of those sugar-free gummy bears Haribo sells on Amazon, much to the consternation of the public. You know, the kind that lead to reviews like this one:
Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Did Eric feast upon these little turd-Nagasaki-in-the-making treats before his interview? Wouldn’t that be the ultimate troll? Fox News should have a whole bowl of these little devil bears in their waiting area for whenever a Democrat interviews on the network. Then make them wait through lunch, just so they’re really hungry. Then put an “out of order” sign on the bathroom. Can’t be any worse than giving Hillary the debate questions in advance, right? And it’d at least be a good bit funnier.
Look, Eric, give it up. You farted. It’s human. Admit it, laugh about it, and move on. It’s only truly embarrassing if you lie about it. Everybody farts. Granted, not on live TV, but hey… roll with it. Make a Fat Bastard joke. “What the Hell? I didn’t eat any corn!” Or “wafting… wafting…” Whatever you do, though, don’t go back to California. With all those fires raging everywhere all the time in the state, you’re a MOAB, a mother of all bombs just waiting to go off. You’ll take California from roundabout the fifth circle of Hell straight to the ninth. The lesser demons would banish you to the domain of Lucifer himself, saying something along the lines of “fuck, dude, that smells like you sold your ass to the devil.”
On second thought, head to San Francisco, will ya? The political Right wouldn’t mind buying you a ticket, supplying you with the carbon offsets so you can preen about it, giving you some nice cigars and one of those big torch lighters to ensure a proper anal detonation smoke.
The article follows from the headline, but feel free to read it if you wish.
This was always going to happen.
Nassim Nicholas Taleb once wrote about the power of intolerance, and the concept is very applicable here.
Let’s say you’re cooking a meal for a group of friends, and you chose pork. Now, everyone who can eat pork is obviously okay. The Jewish guy might not eat the pork due to his religious beliefs, but he’d probably attend anyway. Maybe he’ll bring something he can eat along with him to cook up or just pick at the non-pork side items. His religion forbids him from eating the pork, but his religion does not concern your eating habits. Invite an extremist Muslim, and he’d want to kill everybody for eating the pork (a moderate one may just refuse to attend).
To be intolerant toward a practice personally (the Jew in the pork example) does not give you any power over the guy cooking the food. But to be intolerant toward it generally (the Muslim in the pork example) gives you veto rights over the meal, unless the host chooses to be fine with not inviting you (and the attendant social consequences).
How does this relate to Chick-Fil-A? I mean, besides the fact that “attendant social consequences” in their case resolves to roundabout 50% of their entire customer base?
Well, Leftists are intolerant generally with regard to patronizing organizations who go against their political orthodoxy. Chick-Fil-A has been losing some amount of money – only they probably have a good idea of how much – due to this intolerance. Furthermore, the price continues to go up. Leftists continue to make a bigger and bigger issue of this. Leftists actually got restaurants blocked in some places over this. At some point, it could easily threaten the company’s existence, and the leadership knows this. They pay X dollars for staying closed on Sunday, and were fine with that. But to donate to the ‘wrong’ charities costs them an increasing and ultimately unknown future price which could eventually drive them out of business.
Rightists may, for a while, be lackluster about Chick-Fil-A after caving, but ultimately they lack the Left’s general intolerance, and their desire to eat good chicken will overturn any Rightist boycott. It’s not enough to overturn Leftist boycotts – at least, not forever.
Thus the Left wins, and the most intolerant wins.
Rightism suffers from a weakness which has long been exploited by the political Left. Ultimately, Rightists generally believe that politics must serve man. Eating well supersedes the political beliefs of an organization in all but the most extreme cases. Leftism reverses the order. Man must serve politics. Each organization’s political stances are hugely important, and perhaps more important than the products and services offered.
Remember GamerGate and Brianna Wu? Brianna was a “game developer” who made an atrocious game called Revolution 60 (although nowhere near as bad as Zoe Quinn’s Depression Quest). With poor graphics that looked like the game came from the mid-90s (despite using a modern game engine), and atrociously terrible art, design, and plot, Revolution 60 was a failure in every respect.
Yet while Brianna Wu stood against the supposed racist, sexist bigots of GamerGate, SJWs continued to praise the game. When Brianna Wu made a political misstep, I remember the SJWs turning on her and saying “finally, we don’t have to pretend to like her game anymore.”
Politics above all else. That is the mantra of the intolerant Left, and it guides them to what they must support, and what they must boycott. And until that changes, expect every organization that is challenged by them to eventually cave-in to their demands. Some may last longer than others, and all things considered, Chick-Fil-A lasted a very long time indeed.
But in the end, all will surrender to them, unless Rightists become equally intolerant in turn.
Politics has become exhausting to me of late. It is quite difficult to summon the energy required to care overmuch about it these days. Everywhere I look, it’s the same story. When Leftism has the reins of power, they push through plenty of their agenda. When Rightism has the reins, Leftism manages to stonewall, delay, throw up procedural roadblocks, etc… preventing much, if any, claw back.
David Hines is fond of explaining that Leftists are just better at this game. They hustle more, they organize better, they are more ruthless and practiced in the Machiavellian arts. Frankly, it’s all true. Rightist intellectuals – for what utility the term might have – tend to be antisocial to some degree. It’s probably related to our preferences toward individualism. It is difficult, if not impossible, to muster our full strength the same way Leftists do.
And so the Overton Window slides ever-further leftward, and there’s very little any of us can do to stop it. Sometimes, with Herculean effort, we can slow it down for a time, but that is all.
Leftism has won. It won a long time ago. It won before I was born.
Much of the frustration we see from Leftists directed toward Trump is probably because they thought the final demographic victory had come, and even our ability to slow them down was a thing of the past. All that remained, they thought, was the mop up action. Our final bastions, like the Second Amendment (and the First) would be surrendered.
Trump summoned some hidden reserve of Rightist strength for a final defense. American Rightists, and the President himself, are now under political siege, having decided against surrender. Assault after assault has been made against the walls. Tunnels have been dug underneath them to soften them. Quisling traitors from within the gates have been propositioned and tempted into action. It has been relentless. Yet so far that final siege continues on. For how long is anybody’s guess.
Can a repeat of the 2016 miracle happen again? I don’t know. Can Trump stave off impeachment? Can the hung Congress be held another term? Your guess is as good as mine.
But Leftist victory is still assured in the end, eventually. Why? Because our actions are almost always defensive in nature. This means that whatever territory they gain becomes a permanent gain for them. Until recent years, even defensive action was deemed too hasty. Better to voluntarily surrender things to the Left at a relatively slow, but consistent pace. David Hines is right about that much, at least. If Rightist tactics do not change, if they cannot organize, they will fall, no matter how well-manned the walls are against the enemy.
Give the Leftists credit for their unceasing dedication to their cause. When one avenue of attack fails, they immediately seize upon another, and another, and another. They never stop. They are political terminators and we are the collective John Connors. Of course, Girrrrrrlpower Hollywood made sure to kill him, too, in their latest craptastic sequel.
This won’t continue forever, of course. Leftist regimes eventually move too far to the Left (see: Venezuela) and collapse of their own internal contradictions (see: USSR). But does that do any of our generation any good? Does it even do any good for our kids? It will probably be a struggle for generations. And there is no guarantee we will ever claw back to freedom again, though one hopes.
I’m sorry to be such a pessimist, but I don’t see the United States lasting much longer. And I don’t see Rightists winning back their country, not even through bloodshed, for despite all the talk of the boogaloo, and the many arms we possess, we lost the Culture Wars, badly. In any armed conflict, we will be the bad guys. The moral high ground is theirs. Most Rightists know this at some level, that’s why there has been no boogaloo, no one willing to fire the first shot, or light that powder keg like an Austrian Archduke.
That doesn’t mean I think this is hopeless, mind you. I just don’t see any political way to fix this mess, and I don’t see any violent way to do it either. Which means we probably have to wait out the inevitable Leftist collapse; keep something of our views and way of life intact (and arms buried) for the time when the Leftists grow overconfident, when they begin their inevitable infighting and self-cannibalization, when their economic system falls apart like a house of cards.
Maybe then a boogaloo would work. Or maybe then a boogaloo wouldn’t even be necessary (though perhaps some helicopters would be).
Or maybe we just need to get off this rock and colonize space. Leftist lunacy is ultimately incompatible with the natural world, despite their obsession with environmentalism. Sooner or later reality must intrude on their little fantasies, and only our vast wealth and technological sophistication enables them to be so damned wasteful. Ancient tyrants could only marvel at the amazing levels of wastefulness we have been able to sustain.
Waste of that sort is fatal on the frontier. Even the Puritans had to give up their pseudo-Communist fantasies when presented with life on the frontier. Learn or die, those are the only two options. It may very well be that freedom can ultimately only sustain itself on the frontier, where the punishment for totalitarian, utopian ideas is death.
But that is all speculation. For now, exhausted as I am of all this, I suppose I must go back to the walls and do my part to slow the Leftist advance. Damnit, friends… there’s a shitpot lot of them out there.
Americans have a mixed relationship with celebrities. In some ways, they are our icons, our saints, a replacement for religious worship in a time of increasing secularism. In other ways, they are our devils. Miley Cyrus urinating in the streets, Kardashians videotaping their antics under the sheets.
Celebrities have usually been constructs, their public personas at odds with their private eccentricities and foibles. Marketers and media talking heads craft their images, setting them up as icons against a backdrop of quasi-religious mockery. Beyonce is fawned over by her attendants as some kind of goddess.
But once upon a time, celebrity fame was at least tied to something real. Elvis could sing. Elizabeth Taylor could act. Cindy Crawford was beautiful. Talent and hard work were prerequisites to success. By many accounts, Michael Jackson’s family were slave drivers, pushing him, prodding him. Many celebrities likely have similar stories.
The formula was talent + hard work + luck. You needed that last little bit. Some talent scout in that dive bar you were singing in, perhaps. Or a friend of the family who knew someone in Hollywood. You needed that break. But only those who had the gifts and put in the work could take advantage of that break when it came.
The Kardashians proved that talent wasn’t really needed anymore, and it was questionable how much “hard” work they really did. The Kardashians were among the first to be famous for being famous. They were the chicken and the egg rolled into one sexually-charged, quasi-pornographic package made for mass pop culture consumption.
But even if we cannot resolve the Kardashian paradox easily, there was something there. Some preexisting OJ Simpson-derived fame. Some kind of bizarre facsimile of “work” at maintaining their circular fame. They were somehow anointed by the media and by popular culture, but something was still brought to that table, even if weak and ephemeral.
Greta Thunberg and David Hogg represent a new breed of celebrity, a wholly-fictional creation of marketers and journalists: the anointed activist. In David’s case, we may say that at least he was there when the shooting took place that supposedly drove him to activism.
Greta further lowers the bar.
She merely recites talking points delivered by others of similar political mind. She is a kid at the spelling bee, rattling off her letters. Her winnings? A Nobel prize nomination, for one. A great mural put up to honor her, for another. What has she done? What new thing has she created? Where did she come from?
In popular culture, we may create icons out of wholly fictional cloth. Or we may cancel those who actually did something over a mean high school tweet. Cancel culture allows those same marketers and journalists to cancel the fame of anyone they do not like. Although, at least for the nonce, journalists can likewise be cancelled.
They giveth. They taketh away. If we’re lucky, they get taken away too.
All of this is artificial. The Right and the Left argue over the statements Greta spews over the airwaves. But it’s rather like arguing whether or not you like the cut of the emperor’s clothes.
Who will say that the emperor has no clothes?
Like the Kardashians, when you strip away the pop culture iconography, when you wash away the anointment oils of the media, there is nothing left. The product is the packaging. There is nothing here. The emperor has no clothes.
Zoe Quinn, a “game developer” who created what is, in essence, a barely-formatted word document for all of its “complexity” cheated on her boyfriend with five guys. When her boyfriend later wrote a screed about how bad this was, and what she did, this triggered a chain of events that had Zoe Quinn, fake game developer, being granted an audience at the United Nations.
For what? A domestic dispute in which she was the abuser? Not only is talent or hard work no longer a prerequisite, there appear to be no meritocratic standards at all.
Journalists and marketers reserve for themselves – or at least try to – the ability to manufacture fame, or to cancel it, for any reason whatsoever. It is trivially easy to cancel anybody. Ever said something hasty on the Internet? They will find it. Ever made an insensitive joke? They will find out. If you pass that test – somehow – then surely something can be taken out of context. Scrub a word here, cut off the beginning there, and you have a racist quotation. Unless you’re Mike Pence, have you ever been alone with a woman who wasn’t your wife? You could be a rapist, Mr. Kavanaugh! It doesn’t have to be true. It doesn’t have to be substantiated. It could be some typical childish stupidity from a high school kid. It could be nothing at all.
Whatever. It will become gospel, and it will be terrible, and you will be cancelled from polite society. Even if you retain your great station, half the country (or more) will hate you forever. That might even be true for Greta, save that the halves would be reversed.
But it’s all nothing.
The emperor has no clothes.
But journalists will tell you how beautiful the clothes are. They will paint your murals on the walls, sing your praises at all the townhalls. You will be the mascot, you’ll get your book deals. Until you’re cancelled for some idiot’s bad feels.
It’s all fake, and everybody knows. There’s politics at stake, even if the emperor has no clothes.
Saint Augustine tells us (along with Gandhi, many years later) to love the sinner, and hate the sin. Conceptually, it’s easy enough to grasp. Practically, it’s not always an easy task. Drive down the freeway during peak traffic hours and tell me how many folks drive you crazy with poor driving antics. Certainly road rage wouldn’t be so prevalent if most folks managed to live by this rule. However, making the attempt to live this way is worthy even if we cannot always live up to it.
Social Justice orthodoxy demands that we hate the sinner for the sin. Paula Deen famously used the word “nigger” after being held up at gun point, and admitted that she may have said it in other contexts at some point or another in her life. This stain is considered permanent in some sense. Once you use the word, you are forever guilty, as if the offense were like committing a felony. Your record cannot ever be expunged. Forgiveness is impossible. You will be hated forever. You are an unperson, erased like a man in a Stalin-era photograph.
Fascinatingly, the author of the piece does not appear to have a problem with Joe Rogan himself, per se. Indeed, his opinion of Joe is high enough that most of the piece is about the author’s attempt to live likewise, and Joe’s ability to relate to the common American man. Rather, he takes issue with the fact that Joe Rogan would dare to talk with sinners, with the unpersoned. The money quote:
Joe likes Jack. He likes Milo Yiannopoulos. He likes Alex Jones. He wants you to know that he doesn’t agree with much of what they say, but he also wants you to know that off camera they’re the nicest guys. If we all have fatal flaws, this is Joe’s: his insistence on seeing value in people even when he shouldn’t, even when they’ve forfeited any right to it, even when the harm outweighs the good. It comes from a generous place, but it amounts to careless cruelty. He just won’t write people off, and then he compounds the sin by throwing them a lifeline at the moment when they least deserve it.
Once a man is unpersoned, the shunning is supposed to continue forever. You must hate the sinner, and if you do not, this itself is a form of sin. It is, in the author’s own words, Joe’s fatal flaw. Talking to the sinner is forbidden. Forgiveness of the sinner is forbidden. It does not matter if the sin was three years ago, or thirty years ago. It does not matter if the sin was a casually insensitive joke, or a Virginia governor donning blackface in a yearbook. Although we might suspect that Governor Northam may have been given some level of a temporary pass for his Democratic party allegiance. Political expediency may delay your final unpersoning, for a time. Then again, it may not. Courts of public opinion are fickle, prone to whimsy, and as cruel as any schoolyard bully. There is a reason the justice system is not put to popular vote, after all.
His invitation to Jones was indefensible, and his defense was even worse. I had assumed going in that Rogan would explain himself at the top, similar to what he’d done after booting the Jack Dorsey interview. But he didn’t. He went the other way. He promised a “fun” interview with Jones, as if it was a joyful, long-awaited reunion rather than offensive for even existing, and he assured his listeners that “you’re gonna love it.”
Even before Jones sat down, Rogan seemed unpierced by the genuine anguish that Jones had caused the parents of murdered first graders. I won’t quote anything Alex Jones said on the podcast, so just picture a walrus with a persecution complex, or a talking pile of gravel. They got the Sandy Hook stuff out of the way first—Jones evaded responsibility, Joe grumbled about the media—and then they got into what Jones was really there to talk about: aliens, suicidal grasshoppers, Chinese robot workers, that kind of thing. My breaking point was at the 21-minute mark, when Jones apologized for “ranting” and Rogan replied, “It’s okay—I want you to rant.”
Alex Jones is presumed by the author to have caused genuine anguish to the parents of Sandy Hook shooting victims. First, it bears mentioning that this claim is extremely dubious. If somebody doesn’t wish to listen to Alex Jones, he doesn’t have to. I’m not exactly in the Alex Jones fan club, and I generally avoid listening to him. Similarly, if Joe’s interview of Alex Jones starts to cause somebody distress for whatever reason, well, you can watch something else.
Similarly, the author notes that “Jones evaded responsibility.” What does this even mean? Alex Jones was not responsible for the shooting. There are many things one might conceivably pin on Alex Jones, to include those scam supplements sold under the InfoWars brand. But Sandy Hook – and the feelings of the victims and their families – isn’t one of them. To the author, however, it does not matter. Alex Jones is a sinner. He should therefore be unpersoned, and anyone who even talks to the unperson is himself guilty of a sin.
Perhaps a sin worthy of unpersoning as well.
I’m glad, though, that the men of America have Joe Rogan to motivate and inspire and educate them in limitless ways, including how to recognize a moron. Whatever gets the job done. It might unsettle some of us that we must rely on his fans to separate the good stuff from the bad, but that’s the hard work of being a responsible adult in the modern era—knowing what you should consume and what you shouldn’t. We all need to decide for ourselves, but trust me on this one: You can skip the mushroom coffee.
In the end, the author comes around – perhaps reluctantly – to the view I took above. For this I give him some credit, for I get the general impression from his writing that this view was difficult for him. He likes Joe at some level, but he is conflicted about his status as a sinner. But he does explain that you are responsible for the content you choose to consume. Joe Rogan’s time to be unpersoned has not yet come, at least in the author’s view. For now, perhaps, the court of public opinion has not ruled against him.
But once the you are deemed have offended the sensibilities of popular culture sufficiently, well, your time will come. There is no appeal, no forgiveness, no coming back from your unpersoning. Once a sinner, always a sinner. Once a sinner, never a real person again. You just become another caricature, a guy in a Hitler mustache, a cartoon villain, upon whom anything may be blamed, up to and including school shootings you had nothing to do with.
Hate the sinner, regardless of the sin: the new mantra of mob justice.
This is just a rant, but why have a blog if you can’t rant and rave about what irritates you?
I’ve tried to articulate for some time just why SJWs and other assorted Leftist culture warriors irritate me. Oh, their predilection to call everybody literally Hitler is surely annoying. And so is the fact that many of them can’t even determine what gender they want to be tomorrow.
But above all else, one attributes stands tall: they dramatize everything.
Every time regular people want to have a good time, drama queen SJWs have to fuck it up. Are you playing a video game, my good man? Why, did you know the butt crack depth of one of the main characters indicates that one of the designers objectified women (this was from 2017, but a classic)? Checkmate!
For the moment, let’s concede every point the SJWs made. Maybe the guy who designed Tracer liked butts with deep cracks, and objectified the hell out of his character design. AM I SUPPOSED TO CARE? Why is this supposed to interfere with my enjoyment of some video game?
Some football player calls Nike and tells them the Betsy Ross flag is racist or something, and they ought to not sell some special overpriced shoe with that flag on it. Why does anyone care?
Hell, why am I even writing this right now? It gives me a headache just thinking about it.
I’m tired of giving even enough of a fuck to even respond to charges like this. Even if everything the SJW said was true, why does it matter? With them, everything is outrage, all the time, about things that approach meaninglessness.
But it’s not just SJWs who do this. It’s a trait of the West in general, I suspect. When I’m DJing, sometimes a person will come up to me and say I should play some song because “it’s my song!” Look, I get wanting to hear something you like at the party/club/whatever, but it’s not your song. It’s not your personal life soundtrack.
Maybe this sounds pedantic, but I’m really trying to make a point here. The way a lot of folks act, it’s like they are living in a movie, like they have their soundtracks, and their dramatic moments, and their great quests and battles – but these are nothings. Trifles. It’s some drunk girl wanting to hear Beyonce. It’s some SJW fighting “the Nazis” (mostly just regular people who actually have jobs). It’s some grifter shouting on about sexism in video games.
It’s all worthless. A waste of time, life, energy, everything. If the life of someone like this was made into a movie, it would be the most boring movie ever made. And even there, it would get worse. Make an atrocious movie like the girl Ghostbusters remake, and when it bombs you can claim oppression. You’re not a shitty movie-maker, you’re a warrior fighting sexist Nazis.
And that’s part of why every enemy of these folks is a Nazi. Vaguely disagreeable person doesn’t sound so dramatic as NAZI. Regular Joe just doesn’t have the same dramatic impact as literally-Hitler. Even Donald Trump, as bombastic and seemingly-dramatic as he can be, is too boring and normal for these people. He must be elevated to Adolf Hitler status for the dramatization fantasy to continue.
“I’m fighting the Patriarchy!”
Give me a break, you’re probably an overweight slob pissed that she’s not getting top quality dick.
“I’m fighting racism!”
You’re probably out protesting because some dumbass got high and charged a cop, because clearly if you think the cops are out to get you, the best idea is to charge them and give them an excuse to shoot you.
“I’m punching Nazis!”
The people uttering this usually look like their fists would shatter if they impacted anything more solid than a plate full of jello.
“So today, they want to pretend to be a superhero punching Nazis, and tomorrow they change their minds and want to go on a drinking binge in the club district and find the most Nazi-like human they can, and have sex with him. They are all heroes of their own little fantasy narratives, like every song is a personal movie soundtrack, and every event is a momentous struggle. Hailing a taxi cab is the equivalent of the Battle of the Bulge, getting up the stairs in a drunken stupor is the evacuation of at Dunkirk, losing weight is a quest Jason and his Argonauts would fail.
I guess burn more calories than you eat isn’t as dramatic as a quest to the ends of the Earth.
A poop swastika splattered on the wall of a University bathroom is a racial struggle reminiscent of the Million Man March. Enforcing border security is the same as Auschwitz. Donald Trump is literally Hitler. PewDiePie is a fucking Nazi. Calling an obese woman fat is the same as stoning them to death for being raped. Making a sexual joke is literal rape. Abortion is sacred, but everything we do is For the Children ™.”
Today, we have folks clamoring about Student Loan debt, saying that it’s horribly unfair, and they can’t possibly pay it off, so they need the taxpayer to step in and wipe the slate clean. Look, I’m the first one to admit the universities ripped these people off (and the fact that student loan debt can’t be cleared by bankruptcy is a tacit form of indentured servitude), but it’s still an overly dramatic take. I really loathe this notion of “I can’t get out of debt.”
Yes, you can. It may be unpleasant. You may have to suffer, relatively speaking of course (who really suffers poverty of the absolute sort in the West?). But you can do it. Save more than you make (and put it toward debt) isn’t a hard concept, and can be done even on extremely modest incomes. It’s just like losing weight, except with your finances. Burn more calories than you take in. Not an impossible concept, but one that requires willpower and exchanging the dramatic fantasy world for the real one.
Moreover, why should I trust some SJW college grad who can’t pay his bills to change the world for the better? Please, you can’t even change your own life, what makes you think I want to grant you power over mine? You fucked yours up.
Browsing Instagram, you see overweight body positive models saying that they are true beauty and all that. You see thirsty men lining up to say “I love you, you’re so beautiful” as if this 300lb Internet random was going to say “oh, wow, thirsty comment 7512.5 of the day, I should totally give this guy my phone number.” Yeah, your inner beauty really shines through when you’re texting dick pics to randos.
Go to social media, and every political post is serious business. Pick a topic – any political topic, really – and you’re sure to see a flame war over it. Oh no! Someone disagreed with me on the relative sales tax rate in Hillsborough county BURN THE HERETIC… ER… HITLER!
It’s not even an exclusively Leftist thing. Yes, I know, the Right has been losing the culture war for decades. Hell, long before I was ever born. But despite all the Leftist advances, your quality of life isn’t that bad. Everything that goes wrong in your life isn’t because of a Leftist boogeyman.
Yeah, I don’t like them either (my endorsement of helicopters should have been the first hint), and I sure as hell don’t want them anywhere near the levers of power. But let’s be real. Your life isn’t that bad yet. We’re not Venezuela. Could we be at some point? Sure. Put enough Communists in charge and you could fuck up a whorehouse in a Thai port. But it’s not there right now. The boogaloo isn’t tomorrow, okay? Somebody chill out.
But at least Rightist over-dramatization has some basis in some fact, somewhere. Communists really do turn productive places into shitholes. Leftist dramatization has completely left the reservation. I remember when some nutjob of a “scientist” was outraged that black holes were described as black.
More headaches. Does anyone have time for this shit anymore?
Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs apparently demands that, once people have reached our relative level of prosperity, everybody needs to invent drama to feel relevant.
Maybe the Internet and Social Media has exacerbated this. Emojis and all-caps arguing abounds. Collective attention spans have seemingly dropped like a rock. Go on Facebook and it looks like every idiot you know is living the high life, even the chick protesting that she’s not getting a $15/hr minimum wage. Even that woman somehow managed to snag a selfie in Acapulco last year. But she’s suffering! And she needs your help!
Some woman takes a picture of her beer and hashtags it #craftbeer! Who cares? Drink it, or don’t. Why is this a big deal? Everybody posts pictures of vacations, and new cars. Look at me! I’m so awesome! Envy me! That time some chick staggered home from a night of clubbing, hard drinking, drugs, and anonymous sex naturally skipped this process. The piles of bills rolling in every month for credit cards, car loans, etc… those don’t make the Facebook grade. But hey, sure, you’re a real winner at life, I’m sure. We should all be just like you.
Saw some t-shirt the other day that proclaimed an overweight black woman as “the queen.” Yeah, okay, I presume I should bow? And I love all of this wine paraphernalia. You have to have a bunch of $10 Target signs proclaiming you like wine for some crazy reason I can’t fathom. Can’t just drink it and enjoy it? No, it’s got to be a status thing.
Drama, drama, drama.
I’m surprised sometimes that people can sustain this level of dramatization in their lives. I couldn’t, I’m far too lazy to contemplate expending that much effort on fantasy. I’d rather shut my door and not talk to anybody for a week. Gods, wouldn’t that be a vacation? I wouldn’t post it on Facebook if it happened, but I’d damned well enjoy it.
I don’t know if all these people really believe in the dramatization that surrounds them. I don’t know if the fantasy is real to them, or if under it all there’s an inner cynicism driving all of their status-signalling actions. Is it instinct or learned behavior? Is it both?
I don’t know. And I’m not sure I can summon a sufficient number of fucks to care.
But one thing is certain: there is far more drama, far more outrage, around us than is necessary.