The Word Mob Or How Worst-Writer Learn Bout Bad-Bad

A quick search in the #Interwebnets provided a kickstart to this worst-post, dear worst-reader. It was originally supposed to be just another quick quote-post as I was so tickled how Hannah Arendt uses the word mob. Putting all my worst-silliness aside, though, I eventually came around to thinking about all the ways the word mob can/should be used. To my worst-surprise, it’s quite a versatile word. First, there’s its use in behaviourism. As in. You know. One can use the word mob when a group of stupid people get together to do stupid things. That’s pretty nifty considering how the riff-raff of my beloved & missed #Americant raid Walmarts on sale-days and/or try to over-throw democracy after an election. (Seriously. Is there a difference?)

Then there’s the word mobbing. As in. What people have to deal with if/when they subject themselves to corporatist employment, i.e. modern, consume-to-survive, careerist subjugation. For. Don’t you know. As a corporatist your greatest achievement is having survived all the mobbing. Am I wrong!

Which brings me to its use as an acronym. Or did you not know that MOB is the fun-name of the Swiss Railway? But even more important than all that, I want to address the use of the word mob in the context of a society hellbent on systemic political dysfunction–you know, #Americant. But before we go there, just one more worst-thought?

Did you know that mafia and mob are NOT interchangeable? That is, they are not synonymous. Or are they? I, for one, have always been kinda confused when thinking about whether or not there’s a difference between mafia and mob. Could that be due to having been raised on films like Godfather or all those TV police shows? You know, Dragnet, Hawaii Five-O, etc. No? No. For, don’t you know, dear worst-reader, films and TV have raised a nation. As in. My beloved & missed #Americant is a nation-state of big-screen dunce minds all hellbent on law, order and big boobs. Hence. Once Reagan’s bat$hittery took over the $hitshow that is the new & improved real-politik, and has since lost its fail-upward way, what’s left? That’s right. All that’s left are the ingredients of a mob: hate, spite, bigotry, etc. And so. The whole idear of questioning whether or not you’re a criminal (mafia) or just a bunch of morons (mob) is kinda mute. Or is it?

Let’s be clear. In worst-writer’s world there’s a huuuuuuuge difference between mob and mafia. Simply put, Mafia is Italian and is inherently connected to that whole Italian mother-obsessed il-duce thing. Indeed. Where would the Godfather/Mafia be without the Roman Catholic Church and a bunch of sexually repressed mother-lovers lust-driven to the hilt of confusion?

Mob, on the other hand, is #Americant through and through and requires much less history than, say, Italy. Maybe that’s the reason so many TV shows and movies don’t use the word mob and thereby misuse the word mafia. Sopranos anyone? Also. The word mob is kind of a perfect fit for such a young nation-state. So much less mystical and religious history than Italy. Then again. Unlike the Italians, where would #Americant be if it weren’t allowed to fcuk its mother, hence the land of motherfcukers. Or am I the only one to worst-assume #Americant invented that (word)?

What really perturbs me as I’m trying to worst-(re)define things is when #Americant media stretches truth a bit too much. Like labelling former president piss-hair as a mafia boss when, in fact, he’s really more of a mob boss. But. Wait a sec. Let’s not shoot our load too fast here. I don’t mean in anyway to give credit where it’s most certainly not due. #Trump is not smart enough to even be a mob boss. And you certainly can forget about applying the whole Italian mafia thing his way. I mean. Seriously. A mob boss with that hair-do? Really? Also. Considering how/when he was able to become the 45th president–and I mean considering everything, especially Hillary & Co.–and then looking at what he did with such a privilege/opportunity…. Wow.

The man is truly a fcuking moron galore.

Or is there such a thing as a mob boss moron? But on that note I should die-gress because, well, we want to get back to the differences when labelling the perpetrators of not only worldly crime but also worldly stupidity.

My worst-point in this worst-post is this. Not only is there a huuuuuuge difference between mob and mafia but there’s a whole lot more history to one over the other. Hence the Italian mother worshipping thing combined with church idolatry–yeah, it’s a recipe of mega (#MAGA?) stupid. Or? That worst-said. This also brings me to even more worst-confusion. Namely, could there be a huuuuuuuge difference between a Mob and the mob? Have I stretched things enough for ya, dear worst-reader? With that in mind, let’s purge a bit and move on. Ok?

Puff! (It’s all gone.)

Having just finished Part One, amply titled Antisemitism of Hannah Arendt’s The Origins of Totalitarianism, I can’t help but give a worst-thought or three about the word Mob. Of course, it is probably below Arendt to spend any time on such a trivial word. Instead, she thoroughly and concisely details the history of post enlightenment #Eurowasteland by explaining how and where and with whom hate derives. You know. As in. Europe has done a pretty good job of establishing the parameters of hate and bigotry and spite since (insert your century of choice here, but I’ll go with) the seventeenth century. And so. Almost like an epiphany, I couldn’t stop the thought of how relevant Arendt is today–especially when I’m so preoccupied with how my beloved & missed #Americant can get to a place that has #Trump as president. Or. Let me rephrase that.

Hannah Arendt wrote the book of #Trumpism and the GOP and the Mob that is the 74m people that voted last November, 2020–for the grand wizard of idiocy–even though he lost his re-election bid. And she did it long before the likes of Limbaugh & Co got his fangs in the neck of all the fun-wheeling STUPID that is the privilege of white-man country obsessed with holy water splattered all over ovulating bimbos in t-shirts that love dancing on tip-toes as they sing their sweet songs of fcuk-me-motherfcuker, fcuk-me-motherfcuker.

Or maybe not.

Here’s a a bit of text from Arendt’s Antisemitism that threw me for a loop and got me (re)thinking about the word mob. Considering that she wrote this in the 1950s as a way of comprehending the likes of Hitler and Stalin should also make one think WHY she’s not required reading today. Oh wait. Could you imagine a #MAGA hater reading this stuff? Na. Me either.

Friedrich Engels once remarked that the protagonists of the antisemitic moment of his time were noblemen, and its chorus the howling mob of the petty bourgeoisie. This is true not only for Germany, but also for Austria’s Christian Socialism and France’s Anti-Dreyfusards. In all these cases, the aristocracy, in a desperate last struggle, tried to ally itself with the conservative forces of the churches–the Catholic Church in Austria and France, the Protestant Church in Germany–under the pretext of fighting liberalism with the weapons of Christianity. The mob was only a means to strengthen their position, to give their voices a greater resonance. Obviously they neither could nor wanted to organise the mob, and would dismiss it once their aim was achieved. But they discovered that antisemitic slogans were highly effective in mobilising large strata of the population.

Of course, from the text above, one can easily replace petty bourgeoisie, all mention of religion and all mention of anti-semitism with pretty much everything modern day #Americant has done from a Republican/GOP POV, including its amateurish but well unorganised Putsch attempt on Jan. 6, 2021. And so goes the culmination of #Trumpism. Or?

Throwing worst-writer for a loop doesn’t stop there, though. Here’s more:

Where discrimination is not tied up with the Jewish issue only, it can become a crystallisation point for a political movement that wants to solve all the natural difficulties and conflicts of a multinational country by violence, mob rule, and the sheer vulgarity of race concepts. It is one of the most promising and dangerous paradoxes of the American Republic that it dared to realise equality on the basis of the most unequal population in the world, physically and historically. In the United States, social antisemitism may one day become the very dangerous nucleus for a political movement(*). In Europe, however, it had little influence on the rise of political antisemitism.

Here’s the footnote (*) that belongs to the above text and really, really, really threw me for double loop on account, well, WTF! Was Hannah Arendt clairvoyant–along with being so friggin’ über-smart?

Although Jews stood out more than other groups in the homogeneous populations of European countries, it does not follow that they are more threatened by discrimination than other groups in America. In fact, up to now, not the Jews but the Negroes–by nature and history the most unequal among the peoples of America–have borne the burden of social and economic discrimination. § That could change, however, if a political movement ever grew out of this merely social discrimination. Then Jews might very suddenly become the principal objects of hatred for the simple reason that they, alone among all other groups, have themselves, within their history and their religion, expressed a well-known principle of separation. This is not true of the Negroes or the Chinese, who are therefore less endangered politically, even though they may differ more from the majority of Jews.

Source for all text quoted here from: Hannah Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism; bold text is from worst-writer.

What goes around comes around, eh, dear worst-reader? What was—will be again. And so. Maybe there should be a bit more room in this worst-life of consume-to-survive that allows people to study-up on history–and how it can so easily be repeated and/or fulfilled as though it were a premonition.

Or maybe not.

Rant on.

-T

On Human Wickedness And Such

Human wickedness, if accepted by society, is changed from an act of will into an inherent, psychological quality which man cannot choose or reject but which is imposed upon him from without, and which rules him as compulsively as the drug rules the addict.

-The Origins of Totalitarianism, Hannah Arendt

I’m about three hundred and fifty pages into The Origins of Totalitarianism, dear worst-reader. It’s one of them books that kicks me in the arse for not having read it already. Boy is it good. More quotes to come.

Rant on.

-T

Pepé Le Pew Or Beavis And Butthead?

 

There you have it, dear worst-reader. #Americant cartoons. What else is there to explain to the aliens–when they finally arrive–how the human mind/intellect functions? I mean. We don’t have to explain much on account, well, it ain’t Star Trek and I’m sure most aliens don’t speak California English. And so. By simply showing the aliens how we educate our masses of #MAGA morons and man-children reared by eternal-perpetual child-brides that can only propagate the idear of white anglo Saxon milf-dom…. Hold a sec. Restart.

Perhaps it’s better to start this worst-post with that other weak link that is the #Americant intellect. Namely, the #Americant intellect has its origin in the likes of #Eurowasteland. That’s right. In case you’ve forgotten. Or you’ve misplaced in the trash bag you’re currently throwing away from some fast-food joint, everything (that is) my beloved & missed united mistakes stems from the ultimate motherfcuker: the big, nasty, bad-mood, ugly-tit, smelly biatch aka Europe. Or should we just blame Engaland since it’s the only remaining part of history that still has a useless monarch and also the only remaining $hithole across the great pond that cartoon-intellect #Americants can actually relate to? I mean. Don’t you too just love those accents? If only an accent could be turned into a cartoon. Oh wait. What about that French skunk?

Indeed. Probably should have included the British monarchy in the worst-title above, eh, dear worst-reader? But has #Americant ingenuity cartoonized the queen? I mean. Come on. Is there anything more cartoonish than monarchs, prince and princesses, Dukes and/or Dianas? Indeed, baby. There is no better example of a cartoon than the Engaland monarchy. Ok. Maybe the Swedish monarchy. And the Dutch one, too. Etc. And so. As a monarch hater, if you couldn’t tell, it’s kinda hard for me to include anything except revulsion towards hereditary privilege–in which case cartoons are a good way of explaining humanity. Then again, in terms of privilege, where would my beloved #Americant be today if it weren’t for the gradual progression of LAND OF FREE TO BE STUPID–where there’s a bit too much f-you money to NOT go ’round–that so well emulates British monarchy–as a cartoon? As in. You know. Stupid only begets more stupid–especially if you’re one of the inheritors of wealth (or privilege) that goes around cracking itself on the head with a caveman stick. Eh? Indeed. But I need to move on.

Let’s be clear, dear worst-reader. Since I was born in 1963 (or there abouts), it’s pretty obvious that I was reared by idiocy–and cartoons. That is, among the various layers of #Americant middle-classes (that reared me), I’m from one of the lower ones and we were fed cartoons more than the others. But. Again. Lower or higher among the rungs of middle-class #Americant, the amount/level of idiocy is the only thing that connects us all–cartoon or no cartoon. Yet. What is obviously clear when taking a look at class structure–especially in the context of consume-to-survive #Americant–is that there is something above and beyond… a/our/the hyphen (that connects us and our classes). That’s right. If you’ve read anything in this worst-blog you know that that connection is all-things STUPID. But I’ve said that too many times already. And I want to really get-on about cartoons.

How could anybody pick on Pepé Le Pew? I mean. Get this. I’m sympathetic to the fight against rape culture. Truly I am. But Pepé was (and is) an insult to the French. At best he is/was an insult to either romantic or lustful flirtation. But to label Pepé as a rapist? Come on. Please. Dear worst-reader! Give this a thought or three: Post WW2 #Amercant was/is obsessed with the French appeasement of Nazi Germany to the point of… well… to the point of I don’t know what. But #Americants go from freedom-fries, to garlic smells to funny-nosed goblins that eat children when it comes to the inability of understanding the French and/or European history. Does any of that justify a cartoon’s behaviour towards women? Of course it doesn’t. But before I go too far and provide someone with the idear that I’m on the side of right- or left-wing cancel culture run amok….

Can you believe it, dear worst-reader? I mean. Have you gotten a load of what’s been going on in the newz of late? Or did you miss the whole inbred monarchy bull$hit being perpetrated by an #Americant billionaire (Oprah Winfrey) and thereby continuing the saga of error so many generations of inbreeding via the f’n queen of Engaland can’t seem to shake–nomatter who or what she arranges for her dunce children and grandchildren to marry? Of course, let me be clear on one thing regarding the American (Meghan Markle) that a British queen grandchild recently married. This is all so friggin stupid and repetitive (didn’t Prince Andrew go through basically the same thing?) that my head is spinning just thinking about how much I loved Pepé Le Pew (when I was nine). And since I’m on the worst-subject of #Americants marrying into the dentally challenged cartoonish British monarchy…

I really, really, really felt for Meghan Markle when she had to enter that Church all by her lonesome as she was about to marry Privilege. I actually stood up from the couch (or was it from my desk chair) when I saw how she exited that fancy car–alone–and then proceeded to walk up the stairs to the church–alone–in order to marry into–alone–privilege. And ain’t that ultimately how it’s all gonna end, this cartoon of life that oh-so entertains the women-folk, dear worst-reader? You know. We’re all alone in this dream of unicorn crocodile tears as the song of weddings intrigues our feminine worst-minds. But enough of my distraught frustration at having been born so poor but still being able to respect a speck of what Markle is (could be) above and beyond the pink inside that men somehow have to marry (to keep getting into the same pink that is inside). And so. Moving on.

The thing is this, dear worst-reader. As the audience of life goes about its cartoonish ways, enjoying the hissy and the pissy of foul marriages and rich-people interviewers, the political right-wing of my beloved & missed LAND OF FREE TO BE STUPID has been gettin’ on about one of my favourite cartoon characters from when I was a poor middle-class shit-kicker. And that kinda ticks me off. You know. Why drag the innocent into all this? Unless, of course, you really want to call out the cartoons that turned stupid into STUPIDER.

I’m not bad. I’m just drawn that way. -Jessica Rabbit

Which begs the question: Why ain’t anybody complaining about Beavis & Butthead? But I die-gress.

How easy it is to get caught up in the riff-raff of television $hit-talk, dear worst-reader? It makes one forget about the real $hit that is #Americant life. In this case, though, as far as $hit-talk goes, I’d take sexist, pseudo-rapist Pepé Le Pew over the likes of Beavis & Butthead. Or am I splitting hairs? I mean, at least with Le Pew you know what you’re getting. With Beavis & Butthead, it is hard to tell it is a mirror if it doesn’t look back at you, eh. With that in worst-mind, why draw cartoons into the mix that is right-wing, dimwit, dip$hit #Americant mis-information? Because it might be a sign of someone or something–especially an ideology–having reached its proverbial end? Considering the cartoon-like antics of those that marched on Jan. 6, 2021–most of whom were probably reared by Beavis & Butthead–on the cartoon Capitol of the land of FREE TO BE STUPID–and those that made it all happen–i.e. #MAGA and prez piss-hair–is it any wonder that right-wing blowhards are turning to cartoons to help them conjure blame?

Yeah, baby. All that’s left for at least two generations of #Americants–Boomers and Boomer parents–is the run-away machine of the ultimate vehicle of (their) intellects: who/what to blame? The problem is, has all the blame run out? They can’t blame the poor anymore. Been done. They can’t blame Jews anymore. Been done. They can’t blame women anymore. Been done. Will they be low enough to blame their ugly and disgusting children? Or what about their mothers–who all have been unable to teach their sons the difference between flirtation and sticking it in after she says no? Perhaps. And so. The privileged, fail-upward, white-man disease must find blame anew. It’s all like a colossal beast-monster that feeds on both stupid and ugly and is best exemplified in the intellect of Beavis & Butthead–and no longer being able to blame the French and the image of a smelly skunk that digs pussy(cats). And so. What’s left to feed it? Oh wait, some blowhard white guy says: Why not blame the cartoons that still stick in our minds like smouldering donut dough left in the sunshine of Tucker Carlson’s mother’s ugly and teethed pussy(cat)? Yeah. That’s the worst-writer ticket, baby. They (the Tucker Carlsons) are not only raised by the intellect of cartoons but they’ve never been able to get out of Toon-town. Am I wrong.

On the other hand. What can one expect when one thinks thrice again and again and again about how #Americant actually elected a guy like #Trump to serve as el Presidenté of the LAND OF FREE TO BE STUPID and all its information resources can come up with now to discuss is a carton from the 1950s. Or maybe not.

Long live Pepé Le Pew!

Rant on.

-T

Links that may or may not be applicable:

Error Of Past Goes On And On And On And

“The error of those who reason by precedents drawn from antiquity, respecting the rights of man, is that they do not go far enough into antiquity. They do not go the whole way. They stop in some of the intermediate stages of an hundred or a thousand years, and produce what was then done, as a rule for the present day.”

Source: Thomas Paine. Writings of Thomas Paine — Volume 2 (1779-1792): The Rights of Man

The Cuckoos Nest Flew Over The One

nurse-ratched

What does it take to change the story(line), dear worst-reader? You know. Change the story so that it fits the/your narrative. As in. My beloved & missed #Americant can’t quite figure out what to do with the mischief of its toddler man-children in the here and now that has become a $hitshow of greed and deplorable-ism run amok. Since it’s already beaten the bee-jee-zees out of most its people in the past two centuries, what’s left to do in order to maintain a certain level of control of the mind–that, of course, only benefits the few? With that in worst-mind, am I starting to sympathise with the events of January 6, 2021?

No. I’m not. But if I were….

As much as I despise the misconstrued anger and bespoke bigotry of the idiot white men who stormed The Capitol–and I also hope they are all punished for their transgressions–something makes me wish that at least part of their voice(s) could be heard. For here’s the thing these men have never (will never) learn in their measly, deplorable, mendacious lives:

Violence begets….

Blah. Blah. Blah.

Even though no gun shots were fired from the storming deplorable masses, does the question need be asked as to why their other half was the only one to have fired a gun–and thereby needlessly kill a person? Indeed. Only one shot was fired–and it was from the pawn of the oppressor, i.e. the Capitol Police. For don’t you know, dear worst-reader, if you lined all the people up from both sides of the January 6, 2021 $hitshow, and lined them up naked, don’t you know, would you be able to tell them apart? Ah. The wrath of ugly deplorable white people all looking the same, naked. Moving on.

Many of the participants of January 6 were, of course, wielding weaponry–even though the Shaman and his viking wannabe weaponry was more akin to elementary school show & tell. My worst-point is this: in a country where guns and mass shootings are commonplace, why wasn’t there more shooting from those who think they were so righteous? I mean. I don’t know about you. From what I’ve read about history, revolutions end up killing lots of people. Am I wrong? I mean. On January 6 only five people died. Could that be the ultimate fail/pass grade of #Americant politics culminating in #MAGA and president piss-hair? Or. Where have all the Patrick Henry testicles gone?

Better yet: WTF?

Which brings me to a worst-analogy that’s crossed my thoughts recently. When was the last time you watched One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest, dear worst-reader? I mean. For the past few weeks this movie has been on my mind–along with January 6. That is. Is there anything from this movie that reminds you of January 6? Murphy (Jack Nicholson) is Deplorable, is he not? Or. As sympathetic as Murphy is (in the movie version), can Deplorable be wrapped in sweet gold fun chocolate, aka take the inmates out for a fishing trip, get an inmate laid, and perhaps even become your drinking buddy? Nurse Ratched (Louise Fletcher), on the other hand, is the State. She was indeed recruited to run the asylum wing of said State. No? None of this analogising working for you, dear worst-reader? Well, how ’bout this? I recently (re)watched One Flew Over The Cuckoos nest and I did so because, well, I think a little voice told me it was/is totally comparable. Do you ever hear little voices, dear worst-reader? Sometimes all they do is giggle to me you know. But not this time. Moving on.

In worst-writer’s humble opinion there’s only three things one needs to know/remember/concern one’s self with… when trying to make a worst-comparison between #Americant’s newest form of idiocy-governance run amok and a film appropriately titled: One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest. Let’s list them, shall we.

  1. The antagonist of the film is a woman with power.
  2. All of the crazies in the partly voluntary asylum are white men.
  3. All the conflict in the film lead only to a sub-character, the Indian, escaping.

And so. This latest viewing of the movie has re-channeled my POV regarding Nurse Ratched and January 6, 2021. Although it’s been probably ten or so years since I last watched Cuckoos Nest, for whatever worst-reason, this viewing has opened my mind to the idear that Ratched might not be so bad after all–and, perhaps, not all the morons of the January 6 pseudo-putsch, as dumb as they seem, are as bad either. Oh. Hold a sec. By-the-buy. Only after this third or fourth or fifth viewing of Cuckoos Nest (in early February 2021) did I hear that Ratched and her, let’s say, somewhat antagonising character, has been rejuvenated in a TV series. I haven’t seen the series as of the writing of this worst-post but be assured I intend to watch it as soon as it’s available (to me). So let’s put that aside, eh.

This most recent viewing of Cuckoos Nest has showed me that Nurse Ratched (Government and/or state authority) ain’t so bad. In fact, now more than ever, I believe that Nurse Ratched is a pretty sympathetic character, including her treatment of Murphy (Deplorables). Keep in mind, the reason Murphy is in the asylum is not because he’s trying to avoid prison but instead because he thinks:

  1. He can outwit the system.
  2. He is in control of inner demons that only know that violence begets….

In the novel there is much more insight to the origin of Murphy’s violence and the reason he has been incarcerated by the State. That worst-said, I still prefer the movie character, especially the brilliance of Jack Nicholson and the foresight of the director (Miloš Forman) to exclude any character development of Murphy. That said, Murphy is simply a vehicle to a much larger message which may or may not be the subtext of the movie. Namely, #Americant manhood is doomed to a life of subjugation–with or without a lobotomy.

Now. Getting back to January 6. Is it me or has anyone else noticed that the only person killed by the State during this amateur attempt at a revolution was a woman? In this worst-writer context does that then bare the question: what if Murphy actually killed Ratched? But on that must die-gress.

Indeed. The only person killed by the State on January 6 was an Air Force vet who tried to break through a window while inside the Capitol in order to get on the floor of the House of Representatives to show her hate of Nancy Pelosi. Now. Considering the idear, via the Rolling Stones, that there’s a fine line between being a cop and a criminal, do we really need to differentiate good and evil within the confines of Empire run amok, aka #Americant? You know, even though I hate the bothsideism thing in #Americant politics, the one time it is applicable is when comparing a mob of deplorable white people storming the Capitol with the poor souls tasked with protecting it.

Just as every cop is a criminal, And all the sinners saints, As heads is tails, Just call me Lucifer, ‘Cause I’m in need of some restraint, (Who who, who who) -Rolling Stones, Sympathy For The Devil

So. Like. I guess. I’m wondering if January 6 can contain the great missed message of the the film One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest? You know. Not only are criminals and madmen made (Murphy) but they are also convenient (Ratched)–especially in a State on the verge of wanton madness. The only question that remains, then, is: since #Americant has lobotomised most of its people via lack of education, religion, anti-intellectualism and consume-to-survive, who/what/where is the one sub-character to be set free?

Yes. Indeed. Things to worst-ponder.

Rant on.

-T

PS Here’s a thought I wasn’t able to work into this worst-text. For worst-posterity I’ll just jot it here. Who knows. Maybe it’ll stay in my head for a while and I’ll be able to use it again somewhere else. Or maybe not.

The moment the class-clown stops your laughter is the moment you realise your lobotomy.

Links that motivate this post:

Covid Update: E-Bike Ride, Want Machine, Things Learned In #Eurowasteland

Source of pic: #Interwebnet screenshot

It’s what I’m feeling sometimes, dear worst-reader. In these Covid times. Even though I try my worst-best not to live off my emotions–you know, like my #Americant rearing dictates–these times of restrictions galore tempt me. For example. The other day I screwed up real bad via unbridled temptation. I mean. Since I’m not a regular consumer of Germania media, either visually (TV) or text (newspaper), I quickly realised that I’m quite uninformed when it comes to dos and don’ts while out and about during quarantine. I mean. Of course I know there’s a special kinda lock-down going on, but I’m also quite unaware of exactly what that lock-down entails. With that in mind, let’s worst-write on.

While on a get some fresh air e-bike ride the other day I wondered into two places. The first was a motorcycle dealership where I had noticed through the front window the bike I’d buy if I could in order to get back into riding. Yeah, it’s been twenty years since I’ve ridden, don’t you know. After noticing that two people had exited the showroom, I locked up my e-bike, dawned my mask, read the rules on the front door–about social distancing and masks and whatnot–and entered. I immediately squirted some sanitiser on my hands and then proceeded to sign-in on the tracking register. But before I could enter my full contact details an employee entered out of nowhere and started berating me about how I was breaking the rules and that I couldn’t just enter the place. Shocked, I quickly realised that I was in the wrong–even though I didn’t quite know why or what deserved such vehemence. Also, with masks it’s difficult to see/read all of the emotional distress I was causing. Not being a native German, all I remember is hearing the native berate me in his guttural German–along with those German eyes. It was kinda horrifying. I tried to tell the guy that I was sorry and that I just saw two people walk out of the place but he insisted on berating me at the top of his teutonic lungs and that he didn’t feel like paying a fine for my stupidity which was somewhere around twenty-five hundred Euros and he said that I am a… but didn’t actually use the word… idiot . The whole time, of course, worst-writer is smiling and quivering under my mask and on my way out I manage to snap the following pic. She sure is pertty, ain’t she?

Actually I’d prefer it in black but if any worst-readers are willing, I’ll take the grey.

The good news is, when I got home I caught up on the details of German quarantine rules and also started to wonder if the Germans are gonna track me down for breaking those rules. Remember, I did sign the tracking form when I entered the dealership. Wow. Paranoia in the land of paranoia. The bad news is, while having ruined my e-bike ride for some fresh air, on my way home I stopped once again at one of my favourite places to find some soul solace: a cemetery. Keep in mind, dear worst-reader, other than lots of archaic and mind-bending human mis-history, there are only two things today that one needs to experience in #Eurowasteland. Conveniently these two things are related. Have you guessed what they are? Ok. Here’s a hint: Churches and cemeteries. Indeed. #Eurowasteland is awash in mysticism and deserved human rot. But on that note, I must die-gress.

Here’s the thing, dear worst-reader. During some of my e-bike treks every once-a-once I like to stop to talk with the souls of the dead to hear what they have to say about the living. This particular cemetery, by-the-buy, is also one of the regions largest. And. With another by-the-buy. Since expatriating to Germania, I’ve attended three funerals at this particular cemetery. Two of those people I knew, one I didn’t. Yeah, I guess in these waning days of worst-life, it’s time for me to pull a Harold & Maude and start attending funerals–just for the hell of it. And so. While walking my e-bike around the graves I decided to see if I could find a new exit. Usually I just went from one end of the cemetery and exited out the other–as it was also a short cut even though, out of respect, I walked my e-bike through it. Yeah, that’s how big it is if you have to ride around it. But I’ve always wondered if it was such a large cemetery was there another exit? When I began to realise that there probably wasn’t, and while in a dank corner amongst misty gravestones, I happened across what is now my favourite grave of all-time. See the pic at the top of this worst-post.

I was truly taken aback by the caged grave I had discovered. I had never seen such a grave before. It’s like a grave prison, dear worst-reader. And that really befuddles me. At least I’ve not seen, in this region of Germany, a grave that makes such a profound statement. Yet, as I thought about statements, I got hung up on two possibilities as to what that statement is. The first possible statement from the grave is thus: what’s in here needs to stay in. The second statement is, and this one really gets my croissant boiling: no, you can’t come in and join me.

And now for a bit of back story regarding my desire to communicate with souls. While living in Darmstadt many years ago, which is a few hours south of Düsseldorf, one of my favourite places to go to talk to the souls of the dead, was Frankenstein’s Castle. For you know the story of Frankenstein, eh, dear worst-reader? I mean the book, not the movie(s). Indeed. The castle is a grand place, especially if you go there when there are no tourists or it’s not late October. For if you wish you can tease the souls of the dead about how they are the ones that have given us this $hit world, i.e. the future they made. Which is what I like to do. In fact. While talking with souls I used to tell them I would be seeing them soon–with a vengeance. For someone has to make the past pay for what it has done to the future. Or. If you prefer, dear worst-reader, you can just go to Frankenstein’s Castle and chill, smoke a joint and ponder Mary Shelly’s mindset that lead to The Modern Prometheus. But on that note, again, I must die-gress.

In short, so that one may make the connection, the legend of Frankenstein or The Modern Prometheus was ALL about grave robbing. But Mary Shelly got a bit caught up in audience driven story telling before she could really jot all that down. In fact, grave robbing back then was so popular that the living conspired all the time about how to protect (their) graves. If you could afford such an elaborate cage, though, why not just pay for a tomb, which also had a certain level of protection? Indeed. Many just made sure that they were buried naked and with nothing to accompany them. Or could it be that the cage-grave is from someone who thought more like the Pharaohs? You know, bury your corpse with everything, even the key, so that when you (re)awaken, you still have it all. Who can know, eh.

So let’s ponder the statement of caged graves once more. Is the cage for keeping something in? An appropriate question as the minions and compulsive behaviourist of today go about their useless eating lives emulating so well the pitchfork morons of yore. Or is the grave statement about keeping something out? Considering how the world is currently devolving via capitalism and greed-mongering run amok which has turned so many into cannibal-like goons, is the time nigh when we have to start digging up the dead? I can’t shed the thought that it’s only a matter of time before we start once again what Mary Shelly was afraid to finish and/or write–so she covered it all up with evil pseudo-doctors and monsters. Instead I’ll just ponder the possibility of what the cage-grave is stating while studying the rules and regulations in Germania about quarantining and the idear that, even at almost sixty, I’d like to get back on a really, really cool bike and do a few laps of the Nürburgring.

Rant on.

-T

Call A Spade A Garden Tool

Source of pic: see link below.

The right-wing narrative regarding the Jan. 6 insurrection at the Capitol is an old rhetorical sleight of hand that has a long history of use by American conservatives: they call it “waving the bloody shirt.”

How much are you lovin’ the whammy-tool of post Jan 6, 2021 rhetoric in (my) beloved & missed United Mistakes of #Americant? I mean. I’m certainly digging it. I’m digging it because, well, I’ve known for the better part of my life what the essence is of the greed $hitshow so many refer to as #MAGA. Yet, there is something interesting happening of late. I can’t quite pin it down. Is it the changing of the guard? Is it realising the reflection of your life is actually a mirror (image)? Are you finally calling a spade and spade, which is ultimately nothing more than a gardening tool?

A few articles stirred me this morning. One is about the $hitshow of Republicans and their masturbatory freak show known as CPAC where former president piss-hair made his first appearance since having his arse handing to him by the likes of what happened in Georgia. The other is about a blue-dog Democrat that couldn’t be a better example of the establishment $hitshow, who just happens to run the state where former president piss-hair comes from, and now it’s been revealed that he’s probably the same wolf but in less uglier sheep skin–and let’s hope he goes down for it. And then there’s #Americant’s über successful dislodgement regarding its past where we once again have to think thrice or twice about krapp like… who we really are. Namely, a country that was and continues to exist on the backs of others. Indeed. How grotesque can it all be? Well, leave it up to #MAGA and the privileged establishment to tell you more.

Otherwise…

Rant on.

-T

Sources: