How I Subverted The Sedition Act (Of 1918) Or Re-Read Chris Hedges’ “American Fascists”


Thoughts after first read of this book here.

Obviously I’ve subverted nothing. I mean, come on. How can worst-writer, leader of the uselesseater union of the world and advocate for forced early retirement (as long as the women-folk and their feminism pay for it), subvert anything? Unless, of course, subversion is defined by how one throws stale German Brötchen against an unfurnished wall in order to measure the velocity of freshness. But all über-seriousness aside.

There has been another exuberant display of bat$hittery in my beloved #Americant. The display, for whatever worst-reason, made me re-read Chris Hedges’ book. A nineteen year old pre-perpetual man-child, i.e. a teenager with an AR-15, is yet another example of growing up in meaninglessness run amok. Never before has born-to-die been so obvious. It’s what #Americant provides. Nothing. Nothingness. And then death by an almost cult following of the act of killing. Considering future perspectives of so many man-children and their trigger fingers, the new measurement of achievement in their useless lives corresponds to under-achievement. Which raises this question: what’s it like to live in a cult-of-death run by Haves so spiteful towards Have-Nots? Or. Put another way. The only way a man in #americant can find meaning is if he subjects himself in a slave-like manner to the whims of both biology and greed. Biology and greed, if you don’t know, are the main ingredients of mindlessness and/or WWE-TV.

Enter Religion.

When I refer to a nineteen year old, I’m obviously referring to the latest mass shooter in my beloved #Americant. As usual, the dumbed-down voting populace of the united mistakes of #americant will be no better informed about WHY these types of killings take place so it really means little to go beyond there being a nineteen year old with a military-grade weapon who can run around like all deplorables should. I, for one, am still asking questions about what the hell happened at the last mass shooting in Las Vegas. Not many answers there. And so. We’re all deeply ill-informed about HOW-WHY these things happen. Yet we are overwhelming informed about AR-15s and the fatness of Kim Kardashian (she is so disgusting looking I’m worst-surprised I could type her name). Btw, it’s never about how one can buy an AR-15 or gluttonous ammunition or extended magazines, etc. Nea. It is about something else. Go figure. But I digress.

“The decline of America is described as the result of the decline of male prowess.” -Chris Hedges, American Fascist

I guess I decided to re-read American Fascist because, well, criticism of the political right is the only way I know how to deal with this stuff. Indeed. After every mass shooting I blame republicans because of how they’ve perverted conservatism. I mean, I hated conservatism back in the day of W. Buckley. But at least Buckley & Co. weren’t totally bat$hit. Of course, without Buckley & Co. there wouldn’t have been Dubya & Co. and now President Stupid Comb-Over. Also. I don’t blame republicans because they’re the easiest to blame–especially when it comes to the free-for-all of mass shootings. I blame then because they are sore winners of the worst type. And when I say “winner” I mean winning in the race to the bottom. Congratulations, suckers.

Religion loves all.

For those stuck in the world of #americant bothsiderism, i.e. blaming both the Democrats and Republicans as equals for #americant’s ills, there is no rational discourse. These are the people who would like to be republican but are unable at a minimal level to see through all the craze. I suppose bothersiderists have speck of rational thought left–I’ll give them that. Yet, when I question bothsiderists I’m invariably faced with the issue of religion. Specifically the perversion of religion–which is best exemplified in my beloved (and missed) #americant through eyes of utter terror and fear and an ice-cream cone filled with pistachio banana chocolate and briefly named Daisy by the child carrying it. With that in mind, three things seem to intertwine in my worst-writer brain when I search for the blame.

  • Money
  • Power
  • Religion

Pretty simple list, eh? Keep in mind that the above list is not in any particular order. Also, obviously, the other side of the political spectrum lusts after the elements in the list, too. The difference, though, is that in my lifetime taking each one to new, higher levels via über-greed is the result of so much complacency or, as I like to put it: consume-to-survive. Of course, in the context of this post, the only item from the list that is truly relevant, and that which drove me to re-read this book, is religion. Not unlike the radicalised issue of abortion (or forcing women to be subjects of wannabe men-Gods), these people are not different than a mob with torches trying to hunt down a monster they don’t understand and will kill everything to get to it.

And so.

The man-boy that shot-up the school, killing seventeen of his peers, obviously wasn’t near money or power. But he was very and most certainly near religion. Now, I’m not saying that he was religious. I have no clue if he was or not. It’s just that when you don’t have money or power (or even if you do) then all that’s left for you is belief, faith, blind-will. To me, these mass shootings are all intertwined with the three elements listed above as utilised by men-boys who govern. When considering all the hate I feel for right wing politics, religion is the one that gets under my gander the most and it should not be given a free-pass just because someone saw a painting of a bloodied Jesus standing with a slit-throat lamb.

“Fundamentalism is the religion of those at once seduced and betrayed by the promise that we human beings can comprehend and control our world. Bitterly disappointed by the politics of rationalised bureaucracies, the limitations of science, and the perversions of industrialisation, fundamentalists seek to reject the modern world, while nevertheless holding onto these habits of mind: clarity, certitude, and control” -Karen McCarthy (as quoted in American Fascist by Chris Hedges.)

I’m betting that the WHY of these shootings is being systematically suppressed because the powers-that-be know full well that if words gets out about the true state of affairs of a once great nation that has so many mass shootings there will be mayhem of an apocalyptic scale never seen before–but wished for by religious $hitbags. Just read the last chapter of the New Testament. The difference to Biblical apocalypse, though, will be that the rich will finally have to pay. That is, Money and Power are tolerating Religion right now because the latter provides a brilliant filter, screen, airport security check–for the masses of Deplorables #Americant has become. For you see, dear worst-reader, by controlling the story, the narrative of a world where EVERYTHINGISWRONG, you control the meek, i.e. Deplorables.

“Since life has a way of not respecting these artificial lines, since ambiguity, inconsistency and irrationality are part of human existence, the only way believers can push forward is to pretend that these troubling aspects of our internal and external reality do not exist. They create a parallel reality, one that allows them to escape from reality-based world into world of their own creation.” -Chris Hedges, American Fascist

When you live a life of EVERYTHINGISWRONG where do you turn when the guns start slinging? Money. Power. Religion. You pay your money. You subject yourself to power. You fall for the Deity standing above you with his shinny halo and birch leather seat and a cock the size of your best mind. He tells you to contribute to his church and you do so. You reach in your wallet, digging into the forest within and you find a small toy out of your childhood that reminded of how things once were. How simple they were. Of a time when ice-cream didn’t feel so bad after it was consumed and excreted. The world you’ve created in your hiding place isn’t enough so you go deeper. Your wallet is big enough, it is empty enough. The green forest now brown within is a lost place and when you go to the next window to ask for direction you meet another salesman who tells you your credit cards aren’t full yet. So you switch from your wallet to your credit card. The forest within isn’t as greedy but it is as blinding. And the next methamphetamines fix is good.

“The hierarchy fears romantic love. Love, especially eroticism, in its most passionate, romantic form, threatens the iron control of the church leader. In Freudian terms, romantic love allows the id or the “it,” to be unleashed in a drive to satisfy uncontrollable passions. Restrain and self-control over these desires and passions are disarmed by romantic love.”. -Chris Hedges

I know it make no sense to go in this direction, but one thing that really struck me from my first reading of this book was Chris Hedges POV of love. Through out the book he refers to the act of love as an extension of God but also of people. He writes about how his father was accepting of gays and how homosexuality is not something to fear. I got the feeling that true love is embedded in Hedges’ religion as means of acceptance and tolerance. What a nice thing, eh! Indeed. Love. The way it should be treated/used/accepted. Of course, if one spent any time at all with deplorables, one also knows the vehemence against gays or even a wrong look at one’s wife. The insecurity of sexuality is rampant among conservatives. It’s as though Biblical fig leaves have become brain cells. And so. Perhaps there is a fourth element, sexual repression, that should join Money, Power, Religion. But for now I’ll leave it out.

Rant on.



What Happens When You Cross Dorian Gray With The Devil Wears Prada? Worst-Writer’s Thoughts On Emma Tennant’s Faustine.


The only problem worst-writer has with this wonderfully imaginative novel about The Feminine is how, if it were a quilt, it would be sewn together with a single thread. That thread, unfortunately, is the opposite of The Feminine. I suppose, if pushed to answer what that opposite (thread) is, I’d have to say this book is not exactly about women. Ironically–or not, very few men play a role in this book, except, of course, the antagonist–who only appears at the very end. In other words, this might just be a book about questioning womanhood post ca. the 1950s. But don’t quote me on that. Wait. Hold a sec.

Women and The Feminine are two different things. Right?

According to her Wiki post, Emma Tennant uses magic and mystery in her work. I was disappointed how neither really played a roll in this book. Even though Tennant brilliantly integrates the Faustian bargain into the story, instead it is really written with a quilt in mind. And that is rather confusing to me. Feminising Faust just doesn’t seem like a worthwhile endeavour–even though Tennant writes with excellent craftsmanship. I’m saddened to say that this story tries to deliver something but in the end all there is–is all that’s ever been: predestined, self-perpetuating social norms and gender roles that so many have embraced since Biblical apples galore. Nor is this book very entertaining. And that’s why I love it and plan to hold it dear for the foreseeable future.

Indeed. The feminisation of Faust. Is that enough for a book of this sort? A chick selling her soul to the devil, in and of itself, could be a huge mystery–or even a great piece of magic. Yet there is only reference to a beauty farm that manages to change a grandmother into a rival for her daughter’s lover. Then there’s a TV repair shop with back room. Like so many other places where women choose to go in their world of wanton patriarchy, we get nothing from Tennant about it–or darkened backrooms. It is here that the author tears clear from magic and mystery and instead goes off on a soap-opera-like tangent–which is probably best palatable to the author’s taste. But then again, if asked whether or not she’s a feminist, this book would make me answer: she is not.

On the other hand, if, like me, you’re the least bit curious what goes on in the mind of a woman (and you’re a man) that has nothing to do with the act of procreation or porn-like good-fucking, this book might be for you. Also. I can’t help but feel that faith (or is it destiny) had this book waiting for me at exactly this moment in (my) life. The reason for that has something to do with the #MeToo movement, Harvey W., and desexualising everything to the point of it being so uninteresting that it’s interesting (again). But I digress.

The writing in this book is brilliant. That can’t be said enough. It is truly a work of art chiseled out of a raw piece of… dare I say… feminine granite. It also reminds me of a combination of Oscar Wild’s Dorian Gray and the film The Devil Wears Prada (or M. Streep in that movie). Even though it takes Tennant almost two-thirds of the book to get to the point she’s trying to make (about feminism), the thing that kept me reading it wasn’t what she was writing about but how she writes it. There is much to learn from Emma Tennant.

Rant (and read) on.


Is You Afeared Yet?

reality winner or reality show from hell screenshot.jpg
Screenshot from around 4:30am

Was up around 3am and walking around my little apartment angry and spiteful at the snow that had fallen during the night. This has been a hell winter, dear worst-reader. And speakng of hell. As indicated in the pic above, there is a certain irony to living in hell. Especially when that hell stems from what is supposed to be a bright city on a hill. Indeed. How far will my beloved (and missed) #americant fall before realising the race to the bottom of the abyss has no bottom? Oh wait. Why/how does realising anything actually mean anything–in the race to the abysmal bottom? But I digress.

Welcome to #americant where a girl named Reality has a match on Wikipedia with the bat$hitery of exactlly that which makes her story either compelling or frightening. I mean. Seriously. When I searched for Reality’s wiki page, a link to a wiki category of “reality show winners” accompanied it. What better example is there of why and how everything is so f’d up these days, eh dear worst-reader? In other worst-words: Welcome to your reality TV nightmare come true. Or. How is it that when state secrets are revealed the state-owned news covers them day-in and day-out and yet Reality is never mentioned as its source? I’m worst-writing about all the news covering #Trump’s collusion with Russia to win the previous presidential election (by losing the popular vote). Thank goodness for news via the Interwebnets. Yea, baby. Reality in your face is like that wanted cumshot that tells you: oh thank goodness! At least I’m not gonna get knocked-up by this guy.

(Where that last sentence came from is a mystery to even worst-writer! But let’s go with it.)

So here’s worst-writer’s question: Reality Winner is supposed to be more of a threat to Make America The Greatest than, say, a general that leaked secrets to his mistress (Patreaus)? The most shocking thing about #Americant government institutions trying to prove their worth (the over-reach of arresting Reality Winner and treating her in this way) is how they all seem to be swinging (as in bats) at balls that ain’t never been pitched. Seriously. It’s like playing baseball without the balls. And what’s worse: #americants are watching the game, watching the commercials that go with the game, buying the merchandise from the game, etc., etc. The thing that Reality Winner was supposed to have leaked has been part of the daily newz cycle since #Trump grabbed you-know-what. Doesn’t that kinda make her a hero?

Just try to imagine all the government officials, all those automatons, who have been, through out their automaton “careers”, smacking at little ants with both shoes in their hands since the day they graduated with degrees in How-To-Be-Stupid. And people like David Patraeus, or even President Stupid’s children, waddle around with their grimmy hands full of secrets (as in getting security clearance). While all that’s going on, Reatliy Winner has been locked up in a dungeon at the united mistakes politburo. Of course, the biggest question is this: when will the government and its automatons come get you? The way things are going, it’s just a matter of time before Reality sinks in.

Or maybe not. Now go buy something.

Rant on.


Links that motivated this post:

Another Night Of Not Finding You-Know-Who Or How I Beat It Before Turning Sixty One Last Time

Ok. Obviously there are better things to be done on a Friday night before flying to my beloved homeland Sunday morning. The only question that remains is: what the hell to do Saturday night? In the mean time, here another fabulous quote as I re-read a book.

“When individuals are finally emasculated and alone, bereft of the help of competing collectives, they cannot defend their rights or question the abuses of their overlords. When there is no other place to turn for help other than the world of miracles and magic, mediated by those who grow rich off those who suffer, when reality to an ideology becomes a litmus test for individual worth, tyranny follows.”

-Chris Hedges, American Fascists – The Christian Right And The War On America.

Rant on.


Things You Hope Are True–Especially When It’s About How To Shower Goldenly With A #Sexexpert

golden rain golden shower trump

Or should it be “sexpert”? Yea. Sex-expert has too many syllables.

More on golden showers here.

Glanced across a headline yesterday about a person stuck in Thai jail saying she can spill the beans about #Trump’s pee tape. Or something like that. Actually, dear worst-reader, I’ve been trying to forget about President Stupid and his antics. It’s the only way to deal with what’s going on the world today if you know too much about failure, losing and all things worst. But then I got up this morning with certain things on my mind and ended up doing a quick news scan and to my surprise there was nothing to find on my obsessions this morning–that were probably caused by that damn article yesterday. Luckily there’s the search tools of yore. So I searched for “Russia Thai Trump” and the link below was hit #1. Cool, eh. It was the same article that I glanced over yesterday. And it’s not from some simpleton click bait source. Does that mean one should take it seriously? Could this person really spill the beans–if journalists help her get out of Thai jail–on Trump’s pee-tape? Say… if only someone could find the sheets like someone found that blue dress. Boy, would that be cool.

Link that motivate this post: Russia Thai Trump.

Rant on.


Lightening Bold Error And Everything Not Fine. #Uselesseater Happenings In #Eurowasteland Galore. Proper powering An RPI.

Been fiddling with a Raspberry Pi 2 for a while now to get the best sound possible to a save-some-money audio system. Even though these little, credit card sized mini-computers are über rocking cool, the only thing I can figure them for is as clients for servers. I currently have two running. RPI 3 is a media client and the RPI 2 is the same, albeit with with a HifiBerry DAC+ Pro is mostly for my audio listening needs. For example, as I worst-write this I’m listening to Robert Plant’s Dreamland. Oh. And before I forget: More on audio on the cheap here.

Although I was able to get the Hifiberry to work from the get go, there was always some software adjustments that it needed and since I’m really, real lazy when it comes to software stuff, it’s taken me a frustrating while to fish through it and not just get some get-go but get it going get-go real well. Which brings me to this post. As you, dear worst-reader, may not note from the pics above, two pics were taken while on a relaxation, i.e. clear head walk in order to figuring out how to configure the config-txt file on both RasPlex and Volumio so that the sound card (Hifiberry) can take full advantage of the RCA cables from it. Then all I had to do was set the client software (i.e. RasPlex) to send 92khz signal (it’ll go up to 196!) through the Hifiberry Dac and bing-bong, whoopsidaisy. Then the next problem.

While on the walk to clear my head, I saw a dead bird and a fishing lure where no bird or lure belonged. The lure belongs no where near the friggin Rhein River where I was walking. In fact, that is not even a river, lake or fresh water fishing lure. But what do I know about fishing–I’m on my third marriage or so? As far as the dead bird goes, I couldn’t help but stare at the thing for a long while wondering if there was a connection. Indeed. I first saw the lure then the bird. On top of that, the bird somehow looked familiar to me. But, like the lure, I couldn’t place it or how it got there. Nomatter.

The remaining pics are from the damaged package I received from you-know-who. I had ordered two 5 volt 3,3 amp powers sources for my RPI/Hifiberry setup. As you may or may not know, RPI require only 5 volts of power. The amperes of the 5 volts, though, determines what you can run with or, as in this case, on the RPI. It seems that the error that I was consistently getting from both RPIs was due to electric inefficiencies. I had been running both PIs using old iPhone USB chargers and whatever USB A to USB micro that I could find. The RPIs weren’t getting enough electricity. These new powers sources seem to have solved the problem. Audio is fantastic. Thank you Robert Plant!

Rant on.


PS Of the USB pic, the one on the left is the proper micro connector. It’s both longer and, because it’s transformer is permanent, seems to provide optimal 3 ampere power to the RPI with the HifiBerry DAC+ Pro, which requires more than an RPI without it.

PSS My next project is to try another RPI 3 with the HifiBerry Amp2.

Pseudo Book Review Of “Fire And Fury” Or If Only There Was More Space Between The Lines

scary author pic
Are you serious with this pic on the back of your book, Mr. Wolff? (Taken with iPhone6s directly off back cover.)

Books with scary pictures of authors on inner or back covers should be avoided at all costs. I suppose that goes for worst-writers, too. At least that’s what I used to tell myself–about real writers that actually get paid to write stuff. With that in mind, hats off to you Mr. Wolff. Which brings me to this worst-question: did Michael Wolff pick the pic (above) for the back cover or did some corpo automaton pick it for him? Answer: Nomatter.

Just don’t let you kids near this guy–or President Stupid.

And by-the-buy, I didn’t buy this book. Never in my wildest thoughts did I ever seriously consider even going near this book. What can one read about President Stupid that one hasn’t already had stuffed down his/her throat with gulps of desperation? Either that or one can just watch some moronic TV, preferably WWE or reality-tv, and one can be just as informed. And that’s not all. One can also watch redneck, white trash #americant. Indeed. Watch it or read it. For between the lines of this book might just be a chronicle of the end of the beginning… Or is it the beginning of the end? Nomatter. At the least Wolff is a damn good writer.

I mean, he can spell and he knows how to use some big words. Or maybe not.

Kudos to my son for gifting me this book for my birthday. It’s his thing, don’t you know. I mean, gifting books during gifting season. As best as I can tell he’s mostly only gifted me, his stepmom and his mother, books. Wait. He gifted some bath oil to my better-half recently. So I could be wrong. Jeez. He’s twenty now. I don’t really know what he’s up to anymore anyway, what his motivations are, youthful prodigy confusion, etc. Yet he gave me a book that he should be reading. Yes. This book is for the youth of tomorrow. For those who would see how things shouldn’t be. Oh my. Confusion. Ditto. Confusion.

Let me begin this pseudo-review with some outtakes.

  • Chapter 20 (about The Mooch): “He had paid as much as half a million dollars to have his firm’s logo appear in the movie Wall Street 2 and to buy himself a cameo part in the film.”
  • Chapter 19(a): “Donald Trump’s sons existed in an enforced infantile relationship to their father, a role that embarrassed them, but one that they also professionally embraced. The role was to be Trump’s heirs and attendees. Their father took some regular pleasure in pointing out that they were in the back of the room when God handed out brains. Their sister Invanka, certainly no native genius, was the designated family smart person, her husband Jared the family’s smooth operator.”
  • Chapter 19(b): “The real swamp is the swamp of insular, inbred, incestuous interests (of Washington DC).”
  • Chapter 16: “In presidential annals, the firing of FBI director James Comey may be the most consequential move ever made by a modern president acting entirely on his own.”
  • Chapter 13: “The world of the rich is, in its fashion, self regulating. Social climbing has rules.”
  • Chapter 8: “It became almost immediately clear that the common purpose of the campaign and the urgency of the transition were lost as soon as the Trump team stepped into the White House. They had gone from managing Trump to the expectation of being managed by him–or at least through him and almost solely for his purposes. Yet the president, while proposing the most radical departure from governing and policy norms in several generations, had few specific ideas about how to turn his themes and vitriol into policy, nor a team that could reasonably unite behind him.”
  • Chapter 7 (on how money laundering works): “One way the process can work is, roughly speaking, as follows: an oligarch makes an investment in a more or less legitimate third-party investment fund, which, quid pro quo, makes an investment in Trump.”

Chapter 7 is a particularly interesting chapter. It contains five theories on Trump’s Russia collusion which is, probably, the most significant aspect of Trump–other than his regime increasing the US debt to new highs. Of course, dear worst-reader, I read the book in February 2018. The book doesn’t really contain anything new as its content pretty-much ends around the fall of 2017. With that in mind, it does feel like the book is the script from which all news is being reported now. Yet some of it kept me almost enthralled.

This book is, at best, a well chronicled history of the first six months to a year of President Stupid and more importantly President Stupid’s… Trump-ism. If you are anti-Trump then you can easily stomach this book. If you’re pro-Trump this book doesn’t matter because, well, like Trump, you probably don’t read anyway. Also, Wolff does a good job of hiding his biases in this book. Yet when one watches him try to sell it on tv or when he appears on the Interwebnets, it might not be so obvious if he is anti-Trump. Oh how the appearance of being objective might help sales. Except, of course, for the child molesting pic he put on the back cover of this book.


Even though I did find myself struggling through chapters here and there, skipping huge parts of Wolff’s attempt at making something interesting that obviously isn’t, I’d recommend this book. Reason? Trump is literally a projection of not just a weak, spoiled mind, but also of an America that is just as rotten. I mean, come on. How else could such a person get elected? And I’m not sure that was Wolff’s intention. This is certainly no prize-redeeming piece of work. Indeed. Wolff has done nothing more than chronicle a huge $hitshow. And he’s done it fairly well.

Good luck suckers.

Rant on.