Month: August 2018

Tyre vs Tire Or Summer vs Winter

Pics as follows:

  • 2017 Mini Clubman jacked-up for tyre change
  • Michelin CrossCountry all-weather tyres; the ones with the sticker on the top tire
  • Bridgestone “Run-Flats” with around 5000km on them after being removed and now in my basement on top of a flat/folded moving box ready for sale or whatever else their fate has in store (size 225/45/R17)

First, dear worst-reader, for worst-moi, after all these years living within the Germania  tribe of #Eurowasteland, it’s “tyre” and not “tire.” Coming from an American expat that may not sound like much to you but according to (expat) folklore it is an indication of having gone native. Thank you for letting me get that out of the way.

I can’t remember ever considering changing from summer tyres to winter tyres while living in my beloved & missed #Americant where I owned three cars (before expating). Usually the vehicle you consumed determined whether or not you had season oriented tyres. Keep in mind that I grew up on the mid-Atlantic coast, which has a fairly mild climate. Although we had snow once or twice a year and ice more than that, the costly idear of actually changing tyres for seasons…? Whaaaaaaa? I mean, get this. #Americant is a country that still allows krappy, cheap retreads. Ever wonder why #Americant highways are so polluted with exploded tyre rubber? Ever get caught on a motorcycle riding behind a tractor-trailer going sixty-five mph and one of its retreads explodes? Seriously. Retreads shouldn’t be allowed on public roads. Nomatter. I’m waaaaay off subject.

I’ve been tickled, don’t you know, with our new Mini Clubman. In fact, every time I get in it and take off, I can’t help but say to myself: wow, this is a great little car. We’ve put a bit more than three thousand kilometres on it so far (we bought it with two thousand kilometres). And although we’re pleased with it, there is still one major thing left to do. As the lawmaking goes in #Eurowasteland, winter tyres are mandatory now. And although it’s a bit early to worry about snow season, we’re about to embark on a trip to Croatia with our big-little Mini. That means we’ll be crossing the Alps in Austria in late September. I know. I know. I’m sure it won’t snow then, plus, the summer tyres will be fine in Croatia but… I’ve got to get winter tyres anyway. How ’bout doing so now and thereby killing two birds with one stone?

Did you know, dear worst-reader, Germans are brake-drivers. That’s is, they drive their fancy, leased, German engineered and sometimes über high-powered cars with their brakes. Unfortunately, with the current state of Autobahns, there isn’t much choice to drive fast anymore because you’re constantly driving through construction. The good news is, because of the enormous cost of driving a car here, people are going with smaller, less powerful, less heavy and less super fast vehicles. That means, people don’t need to change tyres all year round–if they go with so-called all-weather tyres–which are nothing more than detoxed (if you will) winter tyres. Hence the two birds I’m gonna get with one stone, don’t you know.

Keep in mind, this isn’t a review of tyre brands. Even though I picked the Michelin brand, I could have easily gone with Goodyear or Bridgestone or Continental, etc. The only thing that was important to me was to get a major branded tyre. There are a lot of tyres out there to choose from. But I will never forget changing from a cheap brand of tyres to a major brand a few years back and boy was there a difference. That said, the price difference between major brand to non-major brand isn’t enough to sway my prejudice to the cheaper tyre. So Michelin it is. But first a few thoughts on the run-flats.

The Mini came with Bridgestone “Turanza” summer run-flats (RF). Some years ago, I had a run-in with run-flats on a drive from Stuttgart to Munich. Half way through the drive the onboard computer of the Mercedes notified me I had a flat. At a rest top I checked the tyre. It didn’t look flat to me. At the time I had not idear what RF tyres were. So I got back in the car and drove the remaining distance to Munich. When I gave the car to the leasing company to deal with the “flat tyre” notification they asked how long I had driven on the flat. “What flat,” I said. The guy explained the RF concept to me–all the while holding back any (deserved?) ridicule of stupid American drivers. The only problem is, I was stuck with that car for a while and it needed a new tyre–NOW. The guy said it would take three weeks to get the same brand tyre. Whaaaaaa? I had to drive two days later from Munich to Köln–with that car. “No problem,” the guy said. So he replaced the tyre within twenty-four hours with another sub-brand RF tyre.

Go ahead, dear worst-reader. Call me a stickler. I’m spoiled. I want better. With that in mind, I don’t care what you think (of me). So get this: I can’t stand the idear of driving a four hundred horsepower Mercedes Benz on the fcuking German Autobahn for hour after hour and that vehicle not being in tip-top performance condition. Running three Continental branded RF tyres with one no-name RF tyre–that had a totally different tread profile, as well–just pissed me off. But of course I went with it. I was working for the man. I could only bitch (rant) at the world so much. Did the Mercedes drive differently? Of course it didn’t. Did it look different? Well, yeah, kinda, on account the profile of the one tyre was different. But I don’t care. In fact, I might even tolerate two different brands front and rear but… three brands to one? No. No. No. (Talk about provoking my tourettes.)

Anywho. RF tyres cannot be repaired if they’re punctured. They have to be replaced. That means, if I don’t have to, I don’t want to be in the predicament again where I have to wait (for weeks) for a tyre maker to deliver me the right tyre or have to then choose between buying a brand new tyre that doesn’t fit to the other three. But there’s one other thing.  RF tyres are extremely uncomfortable–even with the proper suspension. You see, RF tyres have something akin to metal lining in their walls. That’s how you can drive on them if they go “flat”. The metal lining prevents the tyre from buckling completely so you can continue (at limited speed, of course) without the wheel rims ruining everything. But then… Those metal walls, when filled with air, are as hard as rock.

The Mini Clubman is pretty bumpy and unnecessarily uncomfortable with the RF summer tyres it was delivered with. Also, the Mini is far from being a performance vehicle. The Bridgestone tyres are simply too much tyre for this car. With that in mind, the significance of “performance” only plays a role, IMHO, with vehicles that can also deliver that performance. By-the-buy, don’t get me wrong, I’ve since learned that the BMW 1.5litre, three cylinder turbo-charged power plant is a lot stronger than I thought it would be! But the Mini still does not perform in a way that requires anything more than solid, well built, good running tyres. Although I’ve only gone a few kilometres with the new Michelins, I have already noticed how much more comfortable the Mini is now. And. Since the tires are all-weather, I definitely killed those two birds.

-Rant on

T

PS Did you catch that last expat mis-spelling?

Missing The Hitch

“Given this overwhelming tendency to stupidity and selfishness in myself and among our species, it is somewhat surprising to find the light of reason penetrating at all. The brilliant Schiller was wrong in his “Joan of Arc” when he said that “against stupidity the gods themselves contend in vain.” It is actually by means of the gods that we make our stupidity and gullibility into something ineffable.” -God Is Not Great, Christopher Hitchens

-Rant on

T

Everything Is A Joke Until It Isn’t

Kundera The Joke cover.JPG

Subtitle: Thoughts on re-read of Milan Kundera’s The Joke (the 1982 English translation)

“Optimism is the opium of the people! A healthy atmosphere stinks of stupidity! Long live Trotsky!” -from The Joke by Milan Kundera

According to Ludvik the quote above is from a postcard he sent to woman of interest as a joke. I suppose when written to a person while in the midst of love-lust confusion and during the striving days of the Soviet Unions’ new-beginnings in early 1960s Czechoslovakia, Milan Kundera considers the twisting of Marx’s Religion is the opium of the people more than just a joke. But what can one do if/when the thing you are really joking about is a system that depends on the control of not just words written but also of words thought?

As I ride it gayly and march ambiguously into the twilight of western democracy’s funny-train (the #Trump-era), I’m often wondering if I’ll see the day when the same type of total control (totalitarianism) that Kundera deals with, I’ll also have to deal with. Considering how things have turned out since 1991 and the fall of the Soviet Union, I also wonder if the whole socialist experiment was just one big joke played on humanity by some dirtbag she-goddess with a grudge–that stems back tens of thousands of years because of how males grabbed females by the HAIR and dragged them into caves. You know, as in, grab ’em by the… But I digress.

“You used to say that socialism sprouted from the soil of European rationalism and skepticism, a soil both nonreligious and anti-religious, and that it is otherwise inconceivable. But can you seriously maintain that it is impossible to build a socialist society without faith in the supremacy of matter? Do you really think that people who believe in God are incapable of nationalising factories?” -from The Joke by Milan Kundera

Then again, of the political and economic systems alive & kicking in the world today, there really is only one that has past the test of (recent) time. If you’re thinking Capitalism is that system, dear worst-reader, you’d better think again. Socialism is kicking butt right now. From both sides of China’s Great Wall to Vladimir Putin’s total ownership of Red Square to the various interpretations of Socialism in the vastness of #Eurowasteland’s epic confusion, Socialism is way ahead of #Americant… Sorry. Way ahead of Capitalism.

“‘As Communists we are responsible for everything that is going on here.’ I nearly laughed in his face. Responsibility was unthinkable without freedom, I told him. He said he felt free enough to act like a Communist and that he had to prove, would prove himself a Communist. His jaw trembled as he spoke. Today, years later, I can still remember it clearly, but now I realise that Alexej was not much more than twenty at the time, a child, an adolescent, and his destiny hung on him like the clothes of a giant on a little boy.” -from The Joke by Milan Kundera

In worst-short, Capitalism in its current iteration is nothing but a reimagining of Feudalism. Feudalism was a system of lords and serfs, including inbred monarchs. What lead to Feudalism was Slavery. Slavery had the longest run of the three. Slavery goes back to Egypt, don’t you know. It was also used in Ancient Greece, Rome and, of course, it was used to build my beloved & missed #Americant. But then $hit started to hit the fan as that whole Enlightenment thing took hold after the 16th century. Btw, I will always admire the French for one-upping the US when it comes to social and political revolutions derived out of human oppression. Indeed. The French nailed it. (Well, they nailed it in the revolution but fcuked it up in the counter-revolution.)

“Rationalist skepticism has been eating away at Christianity for two millennia now. Eating away at it without destroying it. But Communist theory, its own creation, it will destroy within a few decades.” -from The Joke by Milan Kundera

The thing to keep in mind when worst-writer says that Socialism is currently outlasting, winning, kicking the a$$ of capitalism, is the state of things in the strongest Capitalist strongholds, the US and the UK. Is it any concern to anyone how small these remaining Capitalist nation-states are? Or should one consider how large China is? So even if my claim here is kinda out of whack, the fact remains, China is on the verge of over taking #Americant as the largest economy in the world–and it is far from being a Capitalist nation. Will we someday soon consider Capitalist nations and their extreme isolation a joke? Think about that worst-thought.

“Nobody liked people who relied on pull.” -from The Joke by Milan Kundera

It’s all a joke. Seriously. The state of things in the Capitalist West is a fcuking joke and it can only be comparable to the fcuking joke of the former Soviet Union (and its failure) and to the success of China along with a few places in #Eurowasteland. (I’ve always said that Germany is the last Communist State in the West.) And the thing about a joke is sometimes you’re in on it and other times it’s in on you. I mean, come on. Crooked, lock-her-up #Hillary won something like four million more votes than #Trump and she wouldn’t have done much to counter the chilling effects of the post FDR years where Capitalism has pretty much run amok. Is that not a joke? The Capitalist democracy joke? Is the manipulation of #Americant’s electoral college combined with bailing out banks that act like loan sharks the joke teller? Jokes galore, dear worst-reader. An audience of joke lovers.

Milan Kundera’s idear of the perfect joke: Helena, one of Ludvik’s lovers, attempts suicide by stealing pills from a young man. It turns out the pills are laxatives hidden in a prescription jar of pain killers. While in a panic and trying to save her, she is found hysterical sitting on toilet.

The Joke was Kundera’s first book. Although I started reading it years ago, I never got around to finishing it. Having read three others (Laughable Loves, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Immortality), I knew that I would eventually get around to this one again as it waited patiently for me in my Kundera collection. After picking it up the other day and having a first sitting with it, I realised that I had actually read more than I initially remembered. All the markings, underlines, etc., that I had made so many years ago woke my memory of having read through it one night while gloriously penetrating a bimbo I met in Amsterdam. Yeah, Dankyavel was her name. I would fcuk her for a bit and while in my refractory period I’d read from this book. We’d then fcuk some more and with each subsequent fcuk I’d need a longer refractory period where I could read more. Hence I feel safe considering this a re-read. Btw, the only thing I miss from youth is cumming in or on or around a woman smarter than me ten times a day.

“Pray tell, dear friend, Why doth this honest groom desire to take this honest maid to wife? Is’t for the flower or the fruit?” -from The Joke by Milan Kundera

Most of The Joke is a joy to read. But I can understand why some might consider Kundera’s narrative style a bit cumbersome. (At least that’s what my wife says.) To me, Kundera is an author that has unlimited creative prowess, he maintains a thread that permeates all his work (which I really dig), and his word sculpting never ceases to amaze. But the thing that always brings me back to Kundera–let’s say as a reference source, especially in times of trouble where Mother Mary doesn’t come to me–is the fact that I have always been touched by his exasperations regarding Stalinism. Along with Vaclav Havel, Kundera introduced me to a new reality of political thought. The fact that Kundera is able to combine (his) musings about love, passion and desire from the POV of political oppression, makes his work even more interesting. (Btw, that’s the thread that permeates.)

When I first started reading Kundera, back in the early 90s, capitalist and/or economic oppression hadn’t shown its #Trump face yet. In other words, Reaganomics hadn’t made the full turn to ugly (Deplorables) yet. The Soviet Union was in free-fall but the former oppressed were suddenly free to buy jeans, Marlboro reds, travel, etc. Yet the whole time I couldn’t help but feel that the oppression of the Soviet Union wasn’t isolated nor was it bound by politics. Oppression is oppression, eh. As we all now know, the only thing the peoples of the Soviet Union really wanted was jeans, Marlboro reds and…. blah, blah, blah. What was once authoritarian oppression has now become economic oppression–the difference between the two being jeans, Marlboro reds, blah, blah, blah.

My first read of Kundera was The Unbearable Lightness of Being and it was like being struck by lightening. From the get-go, Tomas became my secret hero. His heroism, btw, has nothing to do with his fight against the Soviet-Man. No. Tomas was about love and the conquest of love and then eventually losing yourself in love. Tomas, to me, was the kind of lover I sincerely wanted to be. Was I ever able to find my Tereza or my Sabina? Of course not–although I did enjoy trying (to find her.) But until the power, the anger and the need to fcuk finally subsided (resulting in the true cute ugliness of feminine payback aka marriage), all I ever wanted was to fcuk like Tomas. The real beauty of Kundera’s The Joke is that Ludvik is Tomas’ predecessor, if not Tomas’ character in spirit. It’s almost like reading Tomas in a beta version.

“Yes, suddenly I saw it all clearly: most people willingly deceive themselves with a doubly false faith; they believe in eternal memory (of men, things, deeds, peoples) and in rectification (of deeds, errors, sins, injustice). Both are sham. The truth lies at the opposite end of the scale: everything will be forgotten and nothing will be rectified. All rectification (both vengeance and forgiveness) will be taken over by oblivion. No one will rectify wrongs; all wrongs will be forgotten.” -from The Joke, Milan Kundera

Kundera’s The Joke is really one big joke. It’s brilliant!

-Rant on

T

Links that motivated this post:
– Opium of the people | Wiki

Gourmet Festivals And Bee Stings

The bourgeoisie have been let loose, dear worst-reader. This weekend in D’dorf was the yearly Gourmet Festival. The entire Königsallee is filled with all kinds of food stands, food trucks, etc., where you can indulge in fine dining galore or examine fancy-built grills. You can even be astonished at a “farmed” yellow fin tuna from Malta that is probably worth a few grand (if not more). Of course, getting to such a festival is the hard part. It begins with the night before and watching Steve McQueen in The Cincinnati Kid. Although not the best film to watch, Ann Margaret is worth every moment–especially her biblical consumption of an apple while lying on a bed in a negligee. After a good nights sleep dreaming about Ann Margaret (or was it Biblical apples) I hopped on my trusty e-bike and before I could even get very far I was stung by a bee that got caught in my shirt. Luckily I was able to get the stinger out before it got too deep. I can’t say that I’m happy to be reminded about how much a bee sting hurts. It’s been a long time since I was stung. I was stung, btw, on my side, just above my hip. Yeah, that smarts extra. And before I forget. If you ever happen to make it to this street festival, steer clear from the fancy stand with the colourful, luscious olives. We bought two bags of olives and some incredible tasting dried tomatoes. It cost us more than thirty friggin Euros. But that’s the Königsallee for ya.

-Rant on

T

Worst-Writer Clairvoyance Or Conspiracy Cupcake Premonition

Disclaimer 1: I started this worst-post with something in mind and didn’t quite get to where I wanted or hoped to go. Posting it anyway because, well, worst-writer can. Good luck.

Disclaimer 2: If you want to get to the nitty-gritty about why the above pics are here, move down to Moving On.

Disclaimer 3: there is some NSFW language in this worst-post.

I was probably twenty or so years old. I was ticketed three times on the same highway at approximately the same vicinity and all within six months–for speeding. I can’t remember how fast I was going but it was probably between seventy or seventy-five mph in a fifty-five zone. Of course, I paid the fines and took the points on my license and even dealt with the increase in my car insurance premium. It’s what we sheople must do, eh. But then I got a letter in the mail that I was to appear before a sheriff regarding my transgressions. It was an official summons and if I didn’t show up my driver’s license would be revoked immediately. I showed up for the appointment and sat before the Sheriff. While waiting for him to respond to me, I inquired about the necessity of such a summons. He began to scold me. He told me that I was only to speak when spoken to and that I should immediately turn over my driver’s license to him. When I asked why he wanted my license he said that it was being revoked for six weeks because of my transgressions. “But I paid my fines,” I said. He was silent filling out some form on a mechanical typewriter. When I told him that I would be out of work on account I couldn’t get to work without the ability to drive, he said that I should have thought about that after the first speeding ticket. Then he proceeded to lecture me on the fact that in the state of Maryland I need to show more respect for the privilege of being allowed to drive. When I questioned the validity of privilege juxtaposed with need, he immediately upped the six weeks to three months and whispered “smart-asses don’t get far in life.” But then came the real question.

“How do I get home from here if you take my license and my car is parked outside,” I asked.

“You should have thought about that before you disrespected the privilege to drive in this State, you little shit,” was his response.

I was, of course, in total shock. How can this be? What kind of “State” is this? And then I thought, perhaps even slightly whispered: Fcuk you, you piece of shit authoritarian nazi. Indeed. It was a very slight whisper. Anywho. Long story short: The Sheriff gave me a handwritten note that said he had my license and then told me to drive home with it (the note) and if I were stopped by a police officer to show it (the note) to the officer. He then added that I should wait for a letter in the mail from his office and that if in the meantime if I were caught driving, my license would be revoked for up to two years and I would be required to pay up to two thousand dollars in fines.

“Do you understand? Answer with yes or no, (you little shit).” -The Sheriff (the parentheses mine)

That happened, dear worst-reader, after paying ridiculous amounts of fines because I was driving on an empty highway and for a few seconds while descending a rather long hill I went from driving the speed limit to exceeding it (yes! three times) not to mention there was not one car in my lane or the opposing lane–no car even passed us (the police man and me on the side of the road; three times!)–and, other than one ticket two years before, I had a clean driving record. Yeah, that is how pseudo-authoritarianism mixed with power hungry small-town, small-minded bureaucrats and administrators wield power over the powerless. It is truly a ridiculous display of meddling in the lives of others via arbitrary state sanctioned mechanisms–that must somehow prove their value (to society?). I am from a place where people, especially the down-trodden, are literally nickeled & dimmed, picked at and prodded, insulted and teased, faced with inhuman tendencies and mind’s that have never surpassed the fifth fcuking grade. It’s really no wonder that so many #Americants are now blowing fuses and resorting to extremes to somehow fight back–or just consume-to-survive. It’s also reason as to how/why a un-man like #Trump can rise so high.

Oh, my beloved & missed #Americant is and has always been one fcuked up $hitshow. I mean, don’t get me wrong. If you can afford not to get caught up in the triviality and superficiality of #Americant and its pettiness and thereby avoid local governance and its arbitrary administrativeness, it’s a fun place. Indeed. That’s what it’s all about. Fun and what you can afford. And so. Lost between the confines of authority and control, both dictated by wealth and position, bureaucracy and administration, #Americants must now wave and weave in a world of ignorance galore of its own making and all for the sake of submission to a remarkably dumbed-down system, i.e. $hitshow.

Yet there are those who weave through this mess with ease, eh.

Which brings me to the following question: How much nickel and dimming has the likes of President Stupid had to deal with in his un-life?

Answer: President Stupid has been dealing with the #Americant $hitshow his whole life. He is both the sheriff and the highway transgressor. For some this is amusing. You know, the folk that voted for him. For others, he is an outcast. Indeed.  In his native NYC he is an object of ridicule by most rich assholes that are so much more capable than he is. In fact, my worst-guess is, he has spent his entire life trying to get some respect–and has failed miserably to do so. As the oldest ever inaugurated President, that won an election because of a Constitutional glitch (the electoral college) and not by being elected by the people, you’d think he would/could find some humility and at least realise that there’s still a chance to earn that respect that is otherwise a hole in the middle of his ugly, disgusting motherfcuking soul. Wishful thinking, eh. But don’t listen to worst-writer. Try this (on for size) from a former Republican, then a former Democrat and currently an Independent–but also a real billionaire, i.e. a rich NYC guy that earned his keep and really, really hates President Stupid:

“Given my background, I’ve often encouraged business leaders to run for office because many of them share that same pragmatic approach to building consensus, but not all. Most of us who have created a business know that we’re only as good as the way our employees, clients, and partners view us. Most of us don’t pretend that we’re smart enough to make every big decision by ourselves. And most of us who have our names on the door know that we’re only as good as our word. But not Donald Trump. Throughout his career, Trump has left behind a well-documented record of bankruptcies, thousands of lawsuits, angry shareholders, and contractors who feel cheated, and disillusioned customers who feel ripped off. Trump says he wants to run the nation like he’s run his business. God help us.” -Michael Bloomberg 2016 DNC Convention speech saying he’d vote for #Hillary; link to full text of this speech below; underscore from me.

Moving on.

But what does any of this have to do with my driver’s license being revoked forty years ago? Well, forget about the driver’s license stuff. Or just remember that I kinda like typing a bit too much. Or keep this in mind: it’s the nickel & dimming, dear worst-reader. It’s the poking and prodding, the teasing and ridicule, the shame and the shameless. Donald Trump and my beloved & missed #Americant that gave us this man is all of this and more. And when I say more, I mean lots more. And so, get prepared worst-readers. Here’s what’s coming next.

Look carefully at the pictures at the top of this post. What do you see? There is a beautiful, idyllic young woman in one pic. In the other is an ugly white-man. (Well, there’s three ugly white men but we’re focused on the man in the centre of the three). And then there’s the pic of President Stupid. According to the newz, the ugly white-man (centre, second pic) impregnated the idyllic beauty and when she aborted he paid for it. But does she really look like a girl (or even a gold digger) that would fcuk the likes of that ugly white-man? Does he even look like a man that can grab a woman by the pu$$y? Worst-moi think not. Which means, who is the cause and who is the source of the $1.6m paid to this woman for aborting her… idyllic? Here’s your worst-writer clairvoyance (premonition) for the coming months.

Since we already know that President Stupid has a preference when it comes to how the pu$$y he grabs looks, i.e. like his daughter. It’s safe to assume that Elliot Broidy (the ugly white-man in the centre of the pic of three ugly white-men) is not the one who planted what would eventually be aborted in Shera Bechard (idyllic pic pure). Take a look at the pictures again. As unappealing as #Trump is (third pic bottom), I’ll admit there is something alluring about his ugliness. This Broidy guy, though, what does he have to offer–or am I missing his grand allure because I’m too far distorted from gold digging diggers galore? Ok. Can gold-diggers be choosey? Come on, let’s not split hairs here–am I wrong?

If the November 2018 mid-term elections don’t favour getting not only republicans under control but President Stupid, too, it will be revealed that the bimbo pictured above got a krapp load of money to abort Trump’s baby. Which brings me to my final worst-question:

How much more of this disgust do rational minds have to put up with?

Good luck suckers.

-Rant on

T

Links that motivated this post:

The Glory Hole Of Rubbernecking And The Only Voice Spoken For You

crash.jpg
Screenshot from the #interwebnets

Loved it when Robert De Niro took a moment at this year’s Tony Awards and said what need be said. I’m worst-writing, of course, about his vivid criticism and ornery dismay of a world where Donald J. Trump, aka President Stupid, is for real. But then again where could the GOP, republicans, conservatives and their old-money go after…

  1. first black president and
  2. bigoted misogyny galore, i.e. too much un-love for #Hillary?

Is it not inevitable that the likes of President Stupid emerge and that mouths, souls and eyes bleed with foamed goo-hate? Or did you ever think that the bumbling idiot Dubya (Bush) couldn’t be topped by electing an even stupider president after a beautiful, brilliant president (Obama)? That’s right, dear worst-reader, there is a way to fix stupid:

  1. leave it up to #Americant uglies (deplorables) and
  2. lighten up on what stupid really means.

Indeed, dear worst-reader. We’re dealing with a whole new level of stupid here. For example. Obviously Trump has done well with his inheritance from a racist, paranoid, ugly, greed-mongering stupid white-man father who represents all the uglies of at least two generations. In fact, Trump has done well enough to have avoided the prosecution he deserves, which is what he really should have inherited. Or does he just deserve a good, humiliating tar & feathering in a public space? But on that note, I digress.

We’re not really dealing here with the opposite of “smart” in the intellectual sense, are we? Indeed. Anti-intellectualism in my beloved & missed #Americant has reached epic proportions. What else can happen in a land where words like creationism and intelligent design are part of the norm and not part of the abnormal? Is it not this abnormality Trump rides upon–as he does with so many deserving gold-diggers–that got him elected via the GOP? I’m worst-writing, of course, about the evangelical base that will forgive him for anything. Finding absolution from clergy has found a way to circumvent advances from the middle ages and even the enlightenment. Yes. They will forgive him for anything he’s done and have already forgiven him for what he will do. The religious right-wing of #Americant, baby. It is so forgiving. Forgiving stupid is as limitless and mindless as anti-intellectualism plus faith.

Stupid? How to find it? Where to look. Or, as Elvis once sang: Stop! Look and listen, baby, that’s my philosophy. It’s called rubbernecking, baby…

Rubbernecking is the act of staring at something of interest. The term rubbernecking refers to the physical act of craning one’s neck, performed in order to get a better view; it has been described as a human trait that is associated with morbid curiosity; it can be the cause of traffic jams, sometimes referred to as “gapers’ blocks” or “gapers’ delay”, as drivers slow down to see what happened in a crash. -Wiki

A crash, dear worst-reader. #Americant is in a state of perpetual crash with everybody incessantly staring at it. Behold the minions staring with their morbid curiosity at the crash they’ve made. Which brings me to the following: How else can the taped conversations of Omarosa & Co. be interesting? Have you heard them, dear worst-reader? Those crash tapes. Listening to them is not unlike trying to watch Faux-Newz. The stomach starts to churn first. Then come the gaseous expulsions followed by pre-throw-up. The next thing you know, while some dimwit stupid white person is telling you what to do, what to think, how to behave and how to follow, you throw-up like never before. But I braced myself for Omarosa, especially the tape with John Kelly. Even though the tape with President Stupid’s son’s wife was also chilling and followed the/this pattern of stupidness, the one with Kelly is a jewel. Reason? If you listen close enough (if you can stand it; throwing-up before-hand will help) you can hear your life being spoken to you, if you’re one of the minions. Can you follow me on that thought, dear worst-reader?

Let me explain anew. Omarosa is quiet in the tape with Kelly. Kelly does most of the talking. I imagine her craning her neck as Kelly talks by her, beyond her, above her. For it does take two to tango in such a crash, doesn’t it? You need the crash participants and you need the rubberneckers. And Kelly delivers his part brilliantly. Kelly is the crash with #Americant. He represents not just #Trump but those who made him. The bumpers and wheels and transmissions from a former glorious Detroit rock-city where cars ruled the world. And now they just are a crash. The tone Kelly uses in his crash. The words he chooses. The texture in his voice. The cadence of his and #Americants’ sound. It’s as though humanity reached a peak at one point (the enlightenment?) and since then has been on a long journey of spiralling down from the top of ladder of failure forever reached. And as I had listened enough I realised that what I was really hearing was not a conversation between two people (of intellect) but instead wasted minds shivering about the ills of space & time run amok where nothingness plus money is the only thing there is. The sound of corporate, power-hungry voices stuffed full of guilt, no-shame and limitless inhumility. Oh, how my beloved & missed #Americant has fallen. And we can thank Omarosa for one thing during this fall: allowing us to hear its decline galore in ugly corpo-voice.

Thank you Omarosa for the world you and your ilk have made. Enjoying choking on it.

-Rant on

T