The Stupidity Test

Nooses? Nooses? Really?

What the fuck is wrong with you kids?

The latest episodes:

At Ole Miss in Oxford, Mississippi a few pumped up, over privileged freshmen at the honored Southern university draped a noose around the neck of the statue of James Meredith. He’s an American hero for Christ’s sake. And up in New Jersey, rapidly becoming the stupidest of the Northeastern states, a bunch of wannabe wise asses on the wrestling team at Phillipsburg High School thought it would be funny to post a picture of themselves posing with a black practice dummy that they had lynched to show their school spirit. No thought process whatsoever.

There are no words.

Wait. Yes there are.

Immoral, narcissistic, dickless, redneck, racist, ignorant inbred shitbags.

I get that the families are totally screwed up and there must be plenty of bad behavior and drinking and incest and enabling and indulgence at home to create these dogbrains, but how can these fools get through 8, 12, 14 years of school and not have learned that this kind of bigoted dumbass behavior is really, really fucking stupid and wrong? Not a great advertisement for education in the USA. Plus, my god, these punks have been using the Internet their entire lives and still haven’t figured out that it’s public and is going to catch them some major shit?

I hope these birdbrains aren’t Christians and go to church with the family and pray before the big game and big tests and big events. I’ll bet they’re praying their asses off now that they’ve been busted.

Such assholes. If you are over the age of 10 and think for an instant that hanging a noose around a tree limb or a statue for giggles and attention is funny or if that this is a freedom of expression issue, then bite me; you need to be hit in the face twice, with a hammer, and sterilized. Fuck you. There are an infinite number of ways to express backwoods thinking and hatred and an undeveloped, infantile sense of humor. The noose is a dead giveaway to your true feelings and apologies, and regret and remorse when you get caught will not cut it, ever.

The good news is that these senseless failures will never be competitive for a decent job. Thanks, losers.

I always look for the silver lining.

Happy Sex Day

Valentine’s day.

It’s full of drama and demand, disappointment, discrimination and guilt. All this coy bullshit with flowers and chocolates and cards.

Can’t we just call it “Sex Day”?

Love was restrictively formalized in medieval times, exalted in purple prose by the Romantic Poets, and completely misunderstood, capitalized and denatured by the ‘60s. Love is an abstract feeling and it’s hard to define. It should probably include respect and excitement and adrenalin and kindness, but on Valentines Day it seems to come down to:

We got married.

We’re committed.

You give me stuff so I love you.

He looks like a movie star.

She’s hot.

He’s thoughtful.

She’s funny.

You can say you love your wife, husband, kids, grandparents, car, dog, music, fountain pen, underwear, implants, orthotics and pudding.

Let’s simplify it all and eliminate the abstraction of  “Love” and call it Sex Day.

“Happy Sex Day! Are you getting any?”

“Hey, have a great Sex Day. Hope you get laid.”

“Are you doing anything for Sex Day (nudge, nudge)?”

No flowers, unless it will help you to have sex. Flowers look nice next to the bed. Colorful. Nice smell. Candy’s OK, too. Small amounts of chocolate before and after a sexual interlude may enhance the experience and get the dopamine flowing.

Hell, you can even send a card:

“Thank you for the wonderful sex. Let’s do it again soon. I love your (body part).” Nothing wrong with that.

But on Sex Day the focus should be on sex; intercourse, congress, play, orgasm, enjoyment and expression. If you don’t want to have sex or can’t, that’s cool; just don’t wreck it for other people and take some time to recognize the beauty of physical fun that doesn’t require a subscription or membership card, uniforms or gear. Unless you like uniforms and gear, then feel free to choose your own wardrobe and equipment. Dress up, saddle up, wind up and plug in. It’s a personal, international, eternal and, if you’re discreet, unregulated experience.

Your parents had it and I hope they still do. Your kids are having it, or will, and you’d probably be surprised at how much they already know. Grandparents, strangers, best friends, famous people, fat, thin, old, young, short and tall may all be carnally engaged at this moment. Rejoice.

You don’t need a partner, either. If you’re alone, separated, divorced, solitary, unaccompanied, isolated, you can still take a few minutes and celebrate. Buy yourself something nice and take a half hour out of the day with a warm bath, a memory, a moist towelette.

Enjoy or abstain, but it’s a pretty terrific reality and we should celebrate it, formally and publicly, one day a year. Of course it will piss off religious fruitcakes who are terrified of their bodies, and men who fear women, and Pat Robertson and Kirk Cameron and Orson Scott Card. So what? Fuck those losers. They get Christmas, Easter, President’s Day, Super Bowl and Halloween to be drunk and angry.

Dress up or strip down; today is Sex Day.

Hope you get some.

Our Friend Satan

Listening in on another conversation at the coffee shop. It’s what I do. Fuzzy new age seekers happy that there is an all-loving entity watching over everyone and our only job as his spoiled children is to pray and seek and trust and have faith and know that there is great abundance awaiting when we arrive in the moist, oozing, spiritual hereafter.

Sounds too easy. Trivial.

Can you have a reward without the option of punishment?

If you believe in God, how can you not believe in the Devil? Satan. Moloch. Mammon. Lucifer. Beelzebub. There are more names for the Devil than for God, which indicates that we’ve been thinking about this for a long time.

If you are certain that there is a benign heavenly entity looking down on you with love, forgiveness, guidance, if He (cause it’s always a fucking “He”) listens to your prayers and grants wishes and cures disease and performs miracles and has a giant open door policy for people and dogs that die and get to ascend to rewards unimagined, all Love, all caring, all easy well-fed calm reunification with every family member and friend who has gone before, there has to be a contrasting phenomenon.

Otherwise everything would be terrific; low cholesterol, cancer free, high self esteem. If He’s in charge and is all good where the hell does all the shitty stuff come from? Bad hair and infections?

Is your deity a total dick, offering great sex and good vibes and cool movies and at the same time overdosing actors, blowing up restaurants, sexually abusing children, causing car accidents and tooth decay and AIDS?

He is one screwy bastard and avoiding Him would be in all our best interests. Right? I mean, Jesus, a schizoid, nasty, disrespectful, vindictive, punishing, whimsically cruel divinity? Nope, no thank you very much.

Satan on the other hand, makes a lot of sense. Read the news. Add up the happy stories, and then add up the horrors and stupidity and terror. Subtract the small number from the big number. It comes out to about 6 to 1 in favor of Evil.

The evidence indicates that the world is a complicated, dysfunctional place; overpopulated, dirty and terribly dangerous in many places. The randomness of birth drops some people in lethal situations permanently and forever. Lucky you if your god didn’t force you to be born in fucking North Korea.

We should be grateful for the supposed existence of Satan. The Father of Lies. Old Scratch. As long as he’s looking up at us, ready to catch us when we fall, we don’t have to question why things happen; we don’t have to debate the nature of evil and afterlife and where uncle Billy is living since he died. If the ongoing battle between decency and wickedness is tipping a little towards the Pit it just means that the other guys are winning for the present.

If Uncle Billy was an abusive asshole, he’s in hell. Unless you don’t believe in the hell, and the Devil and evil and everyone is beautiful and gets forgiven.

Then uncle Billy, the old prick, is kicked back in heaven.

Drunk.

Naked.

And waiting for you.