Screenshot of Louis Cypher. The man who could sell you a soul at a really great price. The American soul.Schadenfreude is not my thing. Nor do I wish any one ill-will. Live and let others live better–that’s my motto. But there are times, moments, where I giggle and smirk at the goings and cummings of my beloved #americant and of those still trapped in all (her) confused greed-dollar-tendrils. On the other hand, of course, I don’t laugh out loud at what happens within those tendrils. That would be rude. Or would it? Actually, when I rehash it all in my head, I guess it wouldn’t be rude. I mean, all things considered, what is “rude” these days? A bubble world in which the participant’s lives are determined by the behavior of all participants–hence compulsive behaviorism, corporatism, cronyism, etc. It means that eventually there will/can be no difference between rude and not rude. Which brings me once again to The Donald. I can’t remember that last time I travelled to my beloved #americant and found so much excitement when turning on the boob-tube. I am, you know, a cord-cutter. But when I’m in America I can’t help but turn on the boob-tube. Obviously I’m not alone. The boob-tube runs twenty-four-seven here. Or? §Usually when I’m in the united mistakes I check the news, maybe see if tits are showing somewhere on HBO, or, at the least, bear witness to the cummings and doings of faux newz so that I may continuing standing on my limited raised pillar that keeps me a head above the rest. The good thing is, the rudeness can’t stop with The Donald or his adherents. Which means there will be entertainment forevermore. The bad thing is, as The Donald overwhelms the airwaves (and the fragile minds of the dumb-downed via ever higher levels of rudeness), there are so many other examples of why/how things are so so so bad. Or are they not so bad? Does rude equal bad? Obviously not. So. Are things good? Has my beloved #americant caught the curve, beat the bear around the last turn, sucked it up? I certainly don’t know. I’m only here for a few painstaking days then its up up and away eh in my beautiful balloon. I have to return my expat comfort where I have never seen a doctor bill, a dental bill, a psyche bill. Of all my gold fillings, none of them are ear-marked by a creditor or bank controlled location beacon. I most certainly don’t have to worry about the same beacon being put in the car that you will never own–volunteering as an indentured servant. But I’m off subject–as usual. This post is supposed to be about the articles below. About the people in the articles below. Who are these people? What are these people? Where do they come from? Where are they going? The simple answer is thus: America. The complex answer is thus: Money is God. Or maybe not. Need I mention the simple fact that the united mistakes of #americant is not only the sole perpetrator of giving the world a middle class but now it’s also the one to take that middle class away. Indeed. And don’t get me wrong. I could give a rats ass about the middle class. Seriuosly. Fuck it and fuck all those who adhere to it. I mean, hell, the middle class is where I was reared. I have seen all it has to offer. I have seen it naked and puking and defacating upon its mothers and its children–having convinced its prey that what it’s doing is Disney World. The middle class is the ugly picture of white men of Euro-heritage. They are perverts and simpletones who have found a way to rule the world. All because they prey on the fear of those who might wake to the true reality of their Disney World. Which means, in my worst-mind, in my worst-fantasy, the American middle-class should be left somewhere on the side of the road so that it may wither away or become the homeless it deserves to be and then, like us all, finally, finally, fucking die. Or maybe not. I mean. Why bitch & moan & rant. Why should any white man die? Someone has to survive. Survive this experiment in greed and idiocracy. Survive so that a child can sit on a perverts lap and wish for everything in the world as the tree gleams of snow white and her seven owned dwarfs. Which brings me once again to The Donald. The ultimate white man. The ultimate Santa. Yet even I, dear worst-reader, underestimated the size of the lust from which The Donald has emerged. Lust, you say, dear worst-writer? Yes, lust, dear worst-reader. For what is lust? Well, lust is what we all try desperately to fulfill as though it was the empty bucket that is our minds and our souls. The #americant dream, baby. Or. If you prefer, dear worst-reader, check out the articles below. Check out the personalities featured in them. Here we have the top of crop. The entrepreneurs. The college educated. College drop-outs. Those who are driven. Yes. Those who are driven. Look at what they do. Look at what they sell. Look closely. Look at who taught them. OYG! Good luck suckers. Rant on. -Tommi
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