Here’s the thing, dear worst-reader. Worst-writer has owned an e-bike since 2017. I’ve also been an avid cyclist since (about) 2007. As an e-bike consume-to-survivor, though, there’s often a bit of here and there about the industry that kinda gets under my skin. A few recent articles and a YouTube video have woken up the issue(s) once more. You know. As in. It’s good to be constantly reminded of the krapp that pisses me off. So let’s go there, shall we?
Things that piss off worst-rider:
Just like the (regular) bike industry, I hate the fact that the e-bike industry went from expensive to stupid-expensive in, like, no time.
I bought my first e-bike at the end of 2016 and had to wait till May of 2017 for it to be delivered. WTF!
I paid €4300 for a bike that only three years later costs €6k. WTF!
I have yet to find a half-decent e-bike shop that isn’t hell-bent on ripping me off just like the car industry when it comes to service
Example. A basic tune-up for my e-bike after every (# of miles) cost at least €250,-. WTFF!
I’ve since resorted to servicing my e-bike on my own (and luckily it’s all gone pretty well)
Government regulation of e-bikes is beyond stupid but, unlike regular bike regulation, at least there’s a precedent on how one could regulate e-bikes
Hint: regulate e-bikes like you regulate cars. Moving on.
In Germany, pedalec e-bikes (no throttle) are regulated to 25km/h (ca 15mph), which is what I have–and I’m perfectly fine with it. Anything above that speed and up to 45km/h (ca 28mph) is regulated like a moped. That means, even if a 45km/h bike is pedal-assist, you are prohibited from using bikes lanes and/or bike paths–which equates to literally competing with cars while peddling a bicycle. Then there’s the issue that the faster e-bikes also are required to be registered with license plates and insurance, you also have to wear a helmet, and the bikes are required to have rear-view mirrors and brake lights. Moving on.
The things is this, dear worst-reader. Why is that government folk are not only slow but utterly out-gunned (intellectually) when it comes to regulating things? I mean. I’m totally happy with a 25km/h pedalec e-bike. In fact, my wife and I gave up owning a second car for our e-bikes and we have never regretted it. The only time I use our car is when the weather is so extreme that it makes shopping errands unbearable. And now. Let me get on to the gist of what this worst-post is supposed to be about.
There are two links in this worst-post. The first is the video above. I’ve been a fan of NYC Propel bikes for some time. Chris has done a great job with his channel, too. This particular video highlights exactly what I’ve alluded to in this blog when it comes to the ills and irks of e-biking. With that in mind, though, there’s also the opposite of the goodness that Chris espouses. Which brings me to the link below.
For whatever reason the folks at The Verge are a bit confused when it comes to e-bike regulations. I mean. Don’t get me wrong. The article is acceptable as a review of the Stromer ST2 series of e-bikes. I am a big fan of rear-hub e-bikes, too–even though I own a mid-motor e-bike. In fact, I’d be the owner of a rear hub e-bike such as the one featured in the article below if it weren’t for the one-sided and slightly skewed mindset of the manufacturer–which is something that the somewhat skewed attitude of the article author misses. Then again, what can one expect from #Americants who ALL seem to be so indoctrinated when it comes to government this or government that that they may miss the entirety of the ($hit)show. But before I get to lost in worst-writing.
My point is this. What the guy at The Verge misses is the fact that I would gladly own–even pay the Apple-like–price for a Stromer e-bike if the manufacturer would wake up to the reality of EU regulations–and not just stand against them. It makes no since to me that a company like Stromer would so willingly disregard said regulations simply because, well, I don’t why they don’t offer a 25km/h version of their e-bikes. Heck, I’m sure they could just offer such a version by fiddling with their software. Again. I mean. Say what you will about stringent EU regulations and in most cases they do suck. But then again, ride an e-bike around any major European city on a sunny weekend. You’ll be glad that there are regulations. Anywho.
I’ve lost my way in this worst-post. Hopefully I won’t lose my way on my afternoon ride.
One of my favourite German words is: Klugscheisser. Roughly translated (to #Americant English) it means smart-ass. I worst-say “roughly translated” on account, well, as far as I can tell (after all these years living abroad) my beloved & missed united mistakes of #Americant has lost touch with what it means to be a smart-ass. I mean. Then again. And I may be splitting hairs here. But it seems to me that most of the western world, lead by #Americant, of course, is kinda run by smart-asses. For Germany, though, there might be a bit more to it. So with that in mind, let’s split some hairs.
Something weird happened recently in my adopted country. Keep in mind, contrary to popular belief, Germans aren’t really all-that weird. Well. Let me rephrase that. Sexually they can be very weird. Culturally they can be weird, too. But usually where the weirdness stops is when it comes to things like science and engineering or politics. In most cases boring but somehow efficient seems to rule all-things German. Unless, of course, you expect a train to run on-time or a horse to sing you a lullaby while trapped inside a candy corn box. But let’s not go there, eh, dear worst-reader.
The weird thing that happened recently has to do with a bunch of well-known German actors having recorded short videos where they try to communicate some kind of message regarding Germany’s dealings with the COVID pandemic. As you may or may not know, z’Germans have recently passed some sweeping laws where they’re trying to finally get this fcuking disease under control. The coinciding problem, though, is that most Klugscheisser Germans don’t like being told what to do or how to live–by the fcuking government–even though being told what to do (and how much tax to pay) is all there is to being German these days. Sound familiar (#Americant)? Now. Keep in mind. Even though I’m a Ausländer, I’m pretty confident in claiming that worst-writer is fully functional in the German language. I’m not very good at writing it but I can speak it and I usually can understand all of it–as long as High-German is spoken and one doesn’t use a bunch of colloquialism, like my wife does sometimes–which drives me crazy, btw. Anywho.
After watching a few of these videos I had to turn to my (German born and raised and somewhat nationalistic) wife and ask her to tell me what’s so wrong (with them) and why are some circles in Germany (the press and politicians) freaking out. After a bit of yipping and yapping here and there from both sides, my wife concluded that I am incapable of understanding German irony.
German what, I asked. But Germans aren’t good at irony. To be ironic you also have to be funny, dear.
As usual my wife grinned, turned and walked away. We spoke again later that day at dinner (about something completely different, of course).
So here’s the thing. These videos were all published under the hashtag #Allesdichtmachen, which basically means close everything. Now. Germany is having a hard time with this pandemic. They can’t seem to stop the waves. In fact, I’m not sure if we’re on the third or fourth wave right now but according to the news, we’re definitely in a wave. Also. Vaccinations aren’t going well. The whole country is pretty much dependent on being able to import vaccines on account, even though the Pfizer vaccine was developed in Germany, the Germans don’t have the capacity to manufacture it (or something like that). Worst-writer’s conclusion as to why Germany’s having such a hard time dealing with COVID boils down to the same reason Germans just ain’t funny. For you see, dear worst-reader, Germans can see/taste/smell irony, they just can’t cook it up–just like humour, don’t you know. Now. As of the writing of this worst-post, I’m still not quite sure who/what started the whole #Allesdichtmachen thing. In fact, I don’t really care who/what started it on account, well, I’ve worked with a few actors here and there. Let me just tell you this about actors. Actors literally are not the brightest stars in the sky, hence the irony they’re referred to as stars. But on that note, I die-gress.
It turns out that many of the actors have pulled their videos regarding Germany’s pandemic fiasco. Reason? Well, get this. Would you believe German right-wing politicians agree with German actor irony–that is attempting to communicate a message about the pandemic? Which brings me back to the idear that Germans can’t really cook-up irony. But if they do cook-up something that they think is irony maybe it’s actually something else. Sarcasm? Facetious? I should also add that worst-writer probably can’t understand the irony either way even though I can understand what the actors are saying along side #Allesdichtmachen. On the other hand, even though much of what Heike Makatsch or Meret Becker say doesn’t really sound like irony (to worst-moi), I’m also finding it kinda hard to just throw out what they’re saying because, well, maybe German right wingers understand less of (German) irony than I do.
Confused yet? Don’t worry. It is this exact confusion that has lead to the (western) world being run by a bunch of Klugscheisser and/or actors not knowing when to draw their own curtains as the stars fade to black.
Having a hard time reading Hanna Arendt. Reason? It’s not that I don’t or can’t understand her. She is most certainly NOT a difficult read. It’s just that…In my confused and un-trained reading-mind, I realize how little I know about so much of the history she is constantly referencing. For example, the quote above. It’s about Burke. For. Don’t you know. Thomas Paine heavily disputed everything Burke. So my confusion is about whether or not Arendt also disputes Paine. At this point I think she…? I’m confused. Then again, the quote above does say a thing or three about the stuff going on in #Americant since, obviously, former prez pee-pee-hair stole the $hit-show from the willingly STUPID.
There’s only two great political things worth mentioning in worst-writer’s life-time. That is, since I became politically aware back in the mid 1970s, only two political issues rein supreme in my worst-mind–and only one of them has happened so far. First, there’s the election of Barry-O. What an achievement. Unfortunately, that achievement is kinda blurred on account how so many #Americants reacted to it–and hence gave way to former prez pee-pee-hair. The second great achievement hasn’t happened yet but I feel obliged to mention it–in case it does. As I’ve noted here and in various other worst-posts, the ilk and filth and rot of the Republican Party thus far culminates in what it’s notoriously and systematically done to the third branch of mis-government of my beloved & missed united mistakes. Now. Don’t get me wrong. The same group has pulled the wool over the executive branch as well with the election of president ur-stupid Ronald Dip$hit Reagan. But since Reagan, mother-fcuking republicans have really done a job on the Judicial–which too me is more important because, well, need I mention it, the executive has culminated in a guy like #Trump. And so. If Biden can pull of un-packing the supreme court as well as republicans, especially Moscow Mitch, has pulled off packing the court, then I’ll be duly impressed and my short list of political things worth mentioning will be done.
Another dream worth transcribing, dear worst-reader? Not sure. But let’s go with it anywho.
I am a court jester, a janitor’s fool, some wife’s bathroom cleaner. But I am also a professional boxing referee stuck in a loop transaction of a match inside said ring. And here’s the thing that could make this interesting. No matter what I am in the ring, no matter what fight takes place, the ring always changes at the behest of the wife. That is. If the wife is fighting about my cleaning skills or lack thereof then the boxing ring is a bathroom. If the wife is complaining about my cooking then the boxing ring is a kitchen. Etc., etc. But here’s the other thing. While the situation plays out with the wife there is a real boxing match going on in the ring. So. Let’s say. I’m fighting with the wife while out on date-night. The boxing ring becomes a fancy-pants restaurant with waiters, cooking smells and candles, consumed bottles of wine–plus we are surrounded by large sweaty men throwing punches at each other which leads to bursting cheeks and slow-mo visions of flesh being crushed against bone. And while the wife is complaining and complaining and complaining I’m refereeing the match. All the while other boxers are, let’s say, somewhat perturbed with my referee skills as they too complain that the current match is taking too long. Just as one of the fighters falls to the matt after a hard right hook, he looks at me and complains, literally emulating the wife. As banal as this all may sound, dear worst-reader, there is a glitch in the matrix (excuse the pun) and we are all suddenly propelled to another boxing ring scenario. The glitch occurs when the wife takes on that I’d punch you in the face if I were man look when I turn around to find not just two but a dozen or so massive heavy weight fighters in the middle of a grocery store boxing ring. All of these fighters are fighting with each other thereby exchanging punch after punch. And note this, dear worst-reader, these aren’t trivial cartoon punches. These are, indeed, massive blows causing devastating damage to jaws, kidneys, ribs, etc. While blood and sweat spurts around the grocery store boxing ring I find myself standing at the entry way watching/listening to my wife who is in the middle of the battle. And guess what I see when I turn away to get some relief by looking outside? You know. That look every man has when he’s fed up, when he can take no more, when his Woyzeck kneels by his punched-out girlfriend, pulling the knife out from underneath his jacket. I see in the streets, outside the grocery store boxing ring, the town of this or that #Americant where really, really STUPID people are running on both sides of Politic Street. The one side is full of dumb-ass Republicans, don’t you know. The other side is full of smart-ass Dems. And both sides are wielding their weapons. I, the referee, am now watching it all from the middle of the street which has become my boxing ring. And as the two sides begin shooting–not unlike those who shoot and shoot and shoot from my previous post–I feel the bullets of #Americant go right threw me albeit filled with the yelling and screaming and angry voice of wives and girlfriends stabbed by the love they all think they’ve wasted on men. And then it all ends with a zap of the mind and risk of George Büchner’s lost pen and I’m no longer a boxing referee but instead a bystander in the war of life, liberty and the FREEDOM TO BE STUPID. The bullets flying from one side to the other go through me like the eyes of all loves lost. As I fall to the ground the dream ends and I wake up to… this.
Not quite sure why worst-writer’s worst-thoughts, when confronted with the big picture that is the enduring decline of western civilisation as lead by my beloved & missed united mistakes of #Americant, often get caught up in The Enlightenment. I mean. It’s not that I know all that much about it. Ok. I’ve read a few things from Voltaire. Then there’s Descartes, Spinoza, Adam Smith, etc. Then there are the others. Thomas Paine. Thomas Jefferson. Wait. Check that. I’ve read very few things by any of those dudes. But let’s not get too hung up on worst-writer’s pseudo intellectual inadequacies and unlearnedness. Let me just go with this on account, say, I dig typing. Ok? Indeed.
For worst-writer The Enlightenment is what it is because it’s the first time in human history where human intellect is used to counter arbitrary and oppressive social and political authority. The Enlightenment in its essence boils down to not only questioning authority, which by the 16th and 17th century had lead to massive political chaos and abuse, but it also provided a means with which one could legitimately and logically question power and authority–whether monarchial or religious. Hence it’s no wonder that The Enlightenment lead to some of the best known human rebellions in all history. Namely, the American and French Revolutions. Of course, it must also be remembered that the same intellect that pathed the way for freedom from religion and freedom from arbitrary (hereditary) monarchial rule would also be the basis for which human greed would discover its greatest asset, you know, what Gordon Gekko said: greed is good. Moving on.
The motivating factor for this re-hash of worst-writer’s pseudo intellect aka limited knowledge about The Enlightenment comes from the links below, dear worst-reader. I’m especially interested in the recent NYT article about the extra-judicial killing1 of a so-called Antifa activist in Washington (state) in September 2020. I’ve been lackadaisically following this case ever since I saw the video of the activist Michael Reinoehl defending his actions–and subsequently admitting to the killing of Aaron Danielson who was a right-wing #Trump supporter protesting #BLM protestors. Confused yet, dear worst-reader? Shall we go down the list of confusion?
Protestors protesting protestors, etc.
Actually, the story is quite simple. Michael Reinoehl wanted to support the #BLM protest as he heard that counter protestors (aka #Trump supporters that were protesting against #BLM) were coming to town. Eventually Reinoehl confronted one of the counter protestors named Aaron Danielson. It was during this brief encounter Reinoehl pulled out a gun and shot Danielson. Danielson died and an arrest warrant was quickly issued for Reinoehl. A few days later and in another town an armed police-like unit–identified by prezident piss-hair #Trump as US Marshals–attempted to arrest Reinoehl but only ended up killing him by shooting and shooting and shooting and shooting. You know, as police do these days when it comes to addressing any social or political issues. Am I wrong.
What does all this have to do with The Enlightenment, Spinoza, Thomas Paine and the American Revolution? Well, welcome to the world that is worst-writer’s mind. This has everything to do with The Enlightenment. Or, as the title might allude: Unenlightenment. Even though I’ve provided the main links (below) to the same information that I reviewed regarding this case, the one thing that really stands out in my mind is the level of stupid, as in THE LAND OF FREEDOM TO BE STUPID, that seems to permeate through everything political and social issue in #Americant today. Or. Put another worst-way: This situation may be one of the best examples yet of how the rich and powerful hold the strings of life over the powerless–and the only way for the powerless to deal with all that is to f’n get smart. As in. Be smarter than the powerful. It ain’t all that hard, you know. Especially when one studies just a bit of history. But on that worst-note, I must die-gress.
The thing is, dear worst-reader, if you watch the video of Michael Reinoehl admitting to killing Aaron Danielson (link below) it’s perhaps not difficult to confuse, or is it obfuscate, the issue at hand. The issue being: two #Americant political ideologies, one from the left and the other from the right, should not be carrying guns around at protests nor should these people be given an ounce of credit for having any cognitive ability. I mean. Don’t forget, dear worst-reader. Just a few days prior to the killing of Danielson there was a similar protest in Kenosha, Wisconsin. There an underage male crossed states lines with a high-powered rifle to aide the police who were trying to deal with #BLM protestors. And of this ring of misconstrued vigilantism? Again. Protestors protesting protestors. Seriously? This young man, btw, ended up killing two other young men who were using skateboards to try and disarm him. With all of this chaos worst-writer can only beg the question: who raises these idiots?
Yeah, baby. Obviously worst-writer could go a lot further when it comes to playing the blame-game regarding where all this STUPID comes from. That is, in part, what this worst-blog is all about. Yet. With that in mind. How ’bout this? Someone or something is being well served with all this STUPID. And if you think that someone or something is a government or a star chamber of elitists, I would beg that you think again. And so. I’ll leave you with this last worst-thought. The only thing that can save my beloved & missed united mistakes of #Americant is NOT mindless violence from children reared by children reared by children. How ’bout some good old fashion Enlightenment instead?
Yeah. Good luck with starting anew suckers. You got a long way to go.
I’m probably crossing an ideological line using the term “extra judicial killing”. But I’m gonna stick with it and admit to being, politically, kinda on the left. That said. According to the NYT article (links) the unclarity regarding who/what the police unit was that attacked and killed Reinoehl is mind-numbing. It is especially numbing when you watch/listen to Reinoehl trying to explain what he did and that he believed he was acting in self-defence. The fact that he admits to being against fascism but not in any Antifi organisation speaks for itself, doesn’t it? Or is there simply too much need out there for understanding fascism? ↩︎
How does the beast react when it’s backed into a corner and life becomes the ultimate existential question? I’ve seen it with badgers, squirrels, cats, dogs and, of course, #Americant man-children. These animals become fierce and you can see how every spec of their being is about survival as the corners are decreased and squeezed and pressed and sneezed–and there’s no one to offer them a hanky. Yet, these animals never really go on an outright offence. That is, they don’t commit to outright war and pillage and destruction in order to free themselves from the corner they’ve been squeezed into. Indeed. They simply stay in the corner, cornered, growling, hissing, sometimes even screaming–which may or may not require a hanky. Of course. The cat screams are the worst, especially when coupled with the screams of wives as they must watch the game their man-children have gotten themselves into and how it all plays out. Which begs the question, dear worst-reader. Are you getting the metaphor I’m going for here? Who/what are the animals so violently cornered? Well, without testing your attention span, I’ll just go ahead and spit it out. What we’re worst-writing about today, based on recent newz (see link below) is #Americant conservative, republican manliness run amok yet again again. This time, though, it’s not about war-mongering or about voting rights or about protecting white privilege. No. It’s about that third branch of government that these men have so brilliantly corned. At the least, the article below does explain the seriousness of what’s going on in my beloved & missed united mistakes of #Americant and its so-called third branch of government. Of course, this is but more proof that worst-writer’s predictions are (coming) true. The republicans have certainly kicked arse when it comes to occupying the corner they’ve been trapped within—or without? No matter. Gotta hand it to ’em. And what of the #Americants that have elected these corners? Yeah. Exactly. Time to go shopping baby. Consume to survive, baby.
Alternate worst-title: Surprise! Your whole life has been a scam.
Get a load of the article linked below, dear worst-reader. Can you believe what’s going around in the newz lately? Of course, it has to do with banks, don’t you know. I mean, what else is there in my beloved & missed united mistakes of #Americant? Banking here, banking there. And then there’s finance. And so. That’s right. Regulators and banks are saying that credit card contributions to former prezident piss-hair amount to three percent of all credit card fraud claims for the year of your lord 2020. Again. Can you believe it? Of course you can’t believe it. You’ve been scammed your whole life–and you probably still use #interwebnet sites like facebag to communicate and surf. Which means, for you, need there be a difference between right and wrong? I mean, is there any better way to see your life as nothing but a cog in the wheel of scam? Whether you’re having a sincere look at the real problem of getting people vaccinated–which amounts to nothing more than pharmaceutical companies gauging the needy–or you’re wondering where prezident piss-hair’s only legislative achievement has gone–namely, his infamous 2017 tax cut that enabled corporate #Americant plus the already rich to secure even more wealth on the backs of others via banking-finance krapp like stock buy-backs–you’re so deep up to your chin in greed-$hit that a simple little credit card scam that has been gauging the really, really, really stupid of the #Americant idiocracy–can’t mean much. But on that note I should die-gress. Or should I?
Here’s the thing, dear worst-reader. Like most in everything of former prezident piss-hair’s #MAGA world, unless something drastic is done there’s probably no chance of changing the scam. For the scam is #Americant, baby. #Trump is only the most obvious player in that scam. Perhaps he’s even the most successful player. Which means, whether you’re covering your face with a mask of $hit or #Trump’s cum, make sure you’re wearing the most comfortable pants you can afford, preferably pants not unlike those old fashion undergarments aka unionpants. You know the pants, don’t you dear worst-reader? Dip$hitters from the past wore them all the time. You know. The go-getters, the first suckers of industrial wasteland that would become 20th century#Americant. They loved their unionpants on account, with that access flap, they provided the convenience for not only bodily excretions but also for showing your obedience and submission to the perverse patriarchy. Indeed.
Alternate worst-title: Back in the day you could play musical cars (as in: musical chairs) at a great drive-in movie.
Disclaimer: this worst-post contains spoiler alerts for an old movie and may (or may not) be NSFW.
Back in the day, dear worst-reader, when I was still tuned in to TV, as in, you know, when I actually watched network or cable TV or even went to the cinema, I remember watching, for the third or fourth time Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Not the original, don’t you know. I’ve always preferred the 1978 version–the best version. One of the things I remember about that particular viewing–other than I had to watch it in German–was that I had also re-seen a bunch of other–let’s call them–70s dystopian thrillers around the same time. I don’t know what the issue was that caused me to watch so many old movies that may or may not be about American dystopia but let’s rack it up to Germany finding ways to allocate nighttime TV programming to the masses and/or bodies not finding better ways to sleep through the night.
The thing is. I had just moved to Germany and, even though I didn’t have a TV in my little flat, having often hooked up–you know, in that forever search for –what do girls call it?–love–everyone I met did have a TV. So. Between flirting, conjugating, waking up in the middle of the night to piss and/or continue with her, I watched whatever late night movie (on her cheap couch) that was available and when things were really good I even got some really great head until we both fell asleep, she in a warm cum soaked lap, and me with my head blown out the rear.
It took till my expatriation in Germania that I finally started to grasp the meaning of #Americant dystopian thrillers like Soylent Green, Logan’s Run, Planet of the Apes, Mickey Mouse Takes Paris, etc. No. Seriously. I saw these films while in a drunken stupor, high on fresh-flesh and within my first year of living in consume-to-survive #Eurowasteland. Of course, the one film that stood out, because I had already seen it a number of times, was Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Yeah. During my youth and college days Invasion of the Body Snatchers was shown on some channel late at night or at some cheap cinema here or there. And why not? What a great movie, eh, dear worst-reader! And as far as my experience with the movie goes, there is something aphrodisiac about sci-fi dystopian horror thrillers–and chicks on the run or, at the least, Looking for Mr. Goodbar. But on that note, I probably should (but won’t) die-gress.
Flash to now. That’s right. I re-watched Invasion of the Body Snatchers the other night for the first time in about thirty years. Keep in mind, even though I have a fairly large ripped movie library–which I try to populate with old movies when I come across second-hand DVDs–I do not have Invasion of the Body Snatchers. And so. While arguing with my little family about what movie to watch on Easter Sunday evening, I managed to win the fight. And get this. Just like so many times before, I was enamoured with this movie–as though I had seen it for the first time. I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen. When everybody had to get up and take a pee or fill their wine glass–it is a two hour film–I remained silent and in awe, transfixed on the paused screen image of Donald Sutherland, Brooke Adams, the cinematography, Spock! I can’t say enough good things about this movie, dear worst-reader. I mean. Is it me or should this movie be up there with Citizen Kane, The Third Man, Casablanca, Austin Powers? Okay. Ok. Forget that with Austin Powers. Just kidding.
What is it about these old movies that makes them so good? Is it the lack of CGI? Is it the mix of brilliant acting, direction and editing? Or is it the times? You know. As in. Man-o-man am I sick of high budget comic book movies that I’ve had to watch over the past twenty or so years. Or. Didn’t all that bull$hit about conspiracy theory really get its mojo on during the 1970s and no one can deal with it today–in movies? Hence, all the comic book movies with über-huge budgets that don’t really have much to say. Am I wrong.
For those worst-reading this but also born on or around the millennium, the 1970s were the f’n bomb in #Americant when it comes to two things. First. Oil. Yeah. Oil was scarce–or at least they (THEY!) made it out to be scarce. And second. Movies–on the whole–kinda sucked. But let me not get too much on about sucky movies from the 1970s. Smokey and the Bandit anyone? On the other hand, one of the reasons some older movies are so much better than newer ones is because, well, the newer ones have nothing new to say. Again. Am I wrong.
While I’m on the subject…
Everything that is $hitty today, as in, Republicans, greed-mongering old people, über-stupid graduating from college and fail-upwards-ness being the new career mantra, that whole mess started in the 1970s. Seriously. It did. For. Don’t you know, dear worst-reader, the high and the party and the fun-fun of post WW2 was over by the 1970s. Indeed. The 1970s was about no-fun, the re-establishment of patriarchy (as men began their fight in earnest against feminism) and, of course, making $$$$ at any cost. It’s no coincidence that the 1970s lead to the election of a two-bit actor who’s best role was hiding all his personal hate and greed and racism and white supremacy, which he learned by-the-buy from his adopted state of California and the career that did not choose him: acting. Again. For those not in the know. If the 1970s weren’t as fcuked up as they were, there might not have been a Ronald dip$hit Reagan. But on that note I must die-gress.
Which brings me back to the topic at hand. I re-watched Invasion of the Body Snatchers the other night and was just as tickled as the first time I saw it. Well, almost just as tickled. Reason? Boy does this movie bring back memories. And I mean worst-writer memories, baby. Are you ready?
I was in my late teens when I first saw Invasion of the Body Snatchers, which was right around when it was released. And, although I was afeared more of suspense than of horror, this movie subverted all that on account, as I was to be told, it was more of a… And this was the first time I had ever heard such nomenclature before. This movie was not a horror movie. It was not a sci-fi invasion movie either. It was a… dystopian thriller.
Seventeen year old worst-moi said at the time:
Two things happened that coincided with the first time I saw Invasion of the Body Snatchers. First. It didn’t scare me. But it did thrill me. Second. I think this movie was a wake-up call. Indeed. It was my wake up call to digging the idear of the dystopia I was living in. At least that’s what she called it. It was also a movie that could be viewed in various states of mind without which you don’t have to shut off your brain. Get my drift, dear worst-reader? No? Wait. Cancel that. Let me move on.
Everyone called her Beka. That was short for Rebeka Tabatha Short. Beka was my first older woman. Although years later I kinda knew she was lying about her age, at the time she told me she was thirty four. (She was at least thirty-nine, eh.) Of course, I didn’t care how old she was. Reason? She could suck a golf ball through ten feet of garden hose–and she could do it ten times a day, no matter when, no matter where.
Beka was the assistant manager of a fitness club I worked at and she was also a licensed masseuse. For those not in the worst-know, I worked two jobs to save up money for college back then. The first was tending bar in Washington, DC. That was my night job. My second job was at a kinda uppity fitness club just south of the city where a lot of really, really, really expensive upper middle class women were trying to keep their product in order. But that’s not the reason I worked there. I worked there because it paid well above minimum wage–and all I had to do for that was dance around a room providing MILFs aerobic excercise. Anywho.
Becka lived in DC only a few blocks from the restaurant where I tended bar at night. Because I was all into saving money at the time, I would drive to the fitness club, park my car, work my shift, and if our schedules worked out, Becka would take me to my night time job saving me the gas money. When I finished there she allowed me to stay on her couch till the morning when she would drive me back to the fitness club. This relationship went on for about six months. Of course, only after a short initial period, I no longer stayed on her couch. Unless a late night movie caught us.
We watched a lot of late night movies. The movies we watched were the really old ones, too. Most were also black & white movies. You know, Frankenstein, Dracula, Creature From The Black Lagoon, etc. But then, one day, after a Sunday shift we worked together but I wasn’t scheduled to work that night at the bar, she asked if I’d like to join her and some friends and go to a drive-in. She even added that it was her treat. I agreed but made it clear that she would still need to bring me back to my car in the morning. She smiled and winked. I then joined her and a few other people/couples in various cars and we went to a drive-in cinema to watch the recently released Invasion of the Body Snatchers.
That evening I learned three things. Beka was a divorcee and her former husband was a great guy and he loved movies and he was there with a new date. The second thing I learned was that I could come four times in two hours at the behest of three different women, who went from car to car, and all I had to do was stay in the back seat of one car. The third thing I learned is that after a movie, when smart people think about it, they can come up with some pretty interesting words to label it. As in. Everyone from the group that I was with that night agreed that Invasion of the Body Snatchers is not a horror movie, nor is it a sci-fi movie, but it is a criticism of where America is going: it is a movie about (our) dystopia.
But enough about worst-writer’s history of cheap love affairs and/or (intellectual) seeds that would lead to the tree of my expatriation. Or. Am I wrong.
Since, dear worst-reader, you’re obviously here for whatever else I learned from my various viewings of Invasion of the Body Snatchers, here are a few issues that stand out for me, even after this most recent viewing:
How can anyone sympathise with Americans being turned by alien gel-icky into automatons when a city bureaucrat opens the movie (Matthew Bennell/Donald Sutherland) with a nasty control/authoritarian schtick saying it’s not a caper it’s a rat turd and thereby terrorising a San Francisco French restaurant?
How is it that Elizabeth Driscoll/Brooke Adams is able to bring home an alien flower that ONLY infects her fiancé when they both sleep at the same time, in the same bed?
Why is it that the only malfunction of the pods came when the so-called hero of the movie kicked the pod that was next to the homeless guy who played the banjo and had a nice boxer (dog) as a pet, i.e. the dog with the human face?
Was it really necessary to have Robert Duvall play a Catholic priest on a swing at a playground full of kids? Oh wait. It was the 70s. They could get away with it back then!
At the end of the movie, the moment where Donald Sutherland is shown to be one of them, is it possible that he isn’t but is acting like one in order to save his own skin?
Leonard Nimoy is a great actor.
Finally. Did Donald Sutherland wear the same sweater in two movies? I mean, he did film Animal House around the same time. (See pics above.)
Actually. The (other) truth is. And I don’t mean this to toot my own horn any louder than I already do in this worst-blog, but on the/my first viewing of this movie I ended up that night with my first older girlfriend coming a fourth time after her former husband dropped us off at her place. That’s also when I first learned the word insatiable, swinging and there’s no such thing as jealously if there need not be. Oh. And if you’re ever at a drive-in and you see girls moving from one car to the other, you now know why.
Alternate worst-title: #Trump, Roger Stone, Matt Gaetz and the man-child $hit$how that is the bottom trolling of #Americant with a bit from Oliver Stone’s JFK.
Disclaimer: this post is NSFW.
Sometimes, dear worst-reader, the waters recede enough and the bottom is revealed. And what a bottom it is, eh. But does that mean you finally know why a man’s underwear is brown in the back, yellow in the front and red in-between? No. Perhaps it does not. Or. Perhaps we should stick with bottom trolling metaphors instead of dirty man underwear–which in and of itself is better than swamp-talk. This may or may not also be true (relevant) when it comes to facing your devils by having coercive carnal knowledge with a man as he turns around to give you a better view of what it is you’re about to… Indeed.
Since the election of prez piss-hair in 2016, including the reveal of his golden showers in a Moscow hotel, a scene and/or character development from Oliver Stone’s brilliant movie JFK has lingered in my worst-mind. This scene, as far as worst-writer is concerned, is a huge tell-all about what’s just below the surface of greed-mongering #Americant–that can and must lead to the likes of #Trump, #MAGA, tea-party, etc. Perhaps you remember the scene, dear worst-reader. It is the scene where Clay Shaw, David Ferrie and Wille O’Keefe role-play as Greek gods in a drug-infused gay orgy. No? Don’t remember that scene? Ok. Let’s go there, shall we.
In Oliver Stone’s JFK, Clay Shaw is being interviewed by Jim Garrison. Shaw is a prominent New Orleans business man. During this interview Oliver Stone utilises flashbacks in order to depict the private life of Shaw. These flashbacks show Shaw’s homosexuality and his New Orleans, French Quarter lifestyle. Included in the debauchery is David Ferrie and Willie O’Keefe. Now, from what I recall about this movie, it is important to note that the character of Willie O’Keefe is the only made-up character in the movie. That is, Shaw and Ferrie actually existed and were part of the (real) Jim Garrison investigation. Which begs worst-writer’s question: why does Oliver Stone have to make-up O’Keefe for the development of the Clay Shaw character? Or. Perhaps. A better question to ask is: why do we have to split hairs on whether or not #Trump likes to watch girls pee or if he prefers having them pee on him? But I die-gress.
Here’s where we get into a bit of the reveal which is my beloved & missed #Americant. For, don’t you know, dear worst-reader, there is a bottom below the surface that is always yearning to be revealed. Or is it? It is an ugly bottom, don’t you know. It is also a disgusting bottom. A bottom of ill repute and vile and it is full of the waste of man-children never allowed to grow-up and out of the confines of their equally disgusting parentage, especially their fathers and mothers. (Insert redundancy laugh here.) And as much as #Americant would like to keep that bottom covered, hidden, out of sight, there are times when it must be revealed, i.e. the reveal. What better way to reveal such a reality than by the magic of Hollywood–or the antics of right-wing, $hitbag politicians that have never-ever had an original thought (check out video link below)? Also. Perhaps the control of this reveal is the greatest achievement that is the social and cultural experiment of #Americant–and its über, pseudo-fascist government. I mean. We see the disgust and vile in other countries. Yet somehow the red, white and blue has covered our vile for most of our history. Or has it?
The reason Oliver Stone had to insert a bit of his own interpretation of #Americant history, with the advent of the Willie O’Keefe character, is simple. How does one reveal what’s below the surface when people are incapable of looking at it as it is revealed? I mean. Certain realities simply need NOT be made obvious. Or? Is this not especially true of sexuality? Is this not especially true of (any) country that is obsessed with sex–as a commodity? This is where Oliver Stones’ script for JFK is fcuking brilliant. By portraying not only the activities of characters that operate underneath the surface of #Americant and, hence, conspired to murder Kennedy, the great weakness of righteousness that simply wanted to find the perpetrators of a crime, is also revealed. Namely, that righteousness is embodied in Jim Garrison who, it is said, was obsessed with Clay Shaw because Shaw was so blatantly homosexual–and patriotic. Actually, dear worst-reader, homo need not be used here. Sex is the only thing worth mentioning. Well, that and money and power. Moving on.
Which brings me to Matt Gaetz, Roger Stone and, of course, former prez piss-hair. How would you like your sex scandal served? You know, served so that it maintains your power? How about a little bit from the mud from the bottom of the river, just below the lake, where troll ships dig up rotting carcasses to feed the many and the needy that is the $hit$how of greed. Or. How ’bout this. Since the likes of Matt Gaetz is pretty common place in this new post prez piss-hair right-wing Republican Party, how should one go about taking down his (her?) enemies? Indeed. Could it be that the whole Gaetz scandal has come about because, well, Gaetz was too stupid in how he was trying to take down fellow republicans that wouldn’t support prez piss-hair? Remember, this young, spoiled-rotten, Florida privilege-boy went around the floor of the House of Representatives showing-off pictures of naked girls for sale. You mean, to actually sell them? Or was he simply trying to set someone up? Sound familiar? Wasn’t that Jeffrey Epstein’s entire game, as in, setting up rich and powerful men with young women in order to extort from them? Hence, Gaetz’s loud claim of how he’s being extorted? Freudian Projection anyone? Moving on.
The recent scandal of Florida House of Representative Matt Gaetz is causing me to bust a gut laughing, dear worst-reader. Reason? Can this stuff actually be written? You know, as in, written down for a film or a play or a novel? At this point in my worst-contemplation, I’m actually wondering if Gaetz has licked the knob of Roger Stone? I mean. Roger Stone, Jeffrey Epstein, #Trump, etc. Are all present? Or. Perhaps. At the behest of Roger Stone perhaps Gaetz has had carnal relations with Stone’s dead mother–in order to make sure you know who/what owns you? Does #Trump consider that entertainment, too? Or do you doubt that the likes of Roger Stone has the corpse of his dead mother tucked under a sheet in the bed he shares with his wife and other confederates? If you have a good look at Gaetz’s face, which kinda reminds me of Beavis, could there be a greater duschbag face that a world of rational people would want to punch? Also. Could it get more obvious how #Americant and it’s self-anointed, meritless class structure–which can only give rise to the likes of Matt Gaetz–is not only rotten (from the inside) but literally rotting in front of your (our) eyes? Still want to worst-talk about SWAMPS? And is worst-writer the only one to fantasize about the reality that Gaetz’s sex problem has to be connected to Roger Stone’s and to prez piss-hair’s? Remember. Roger Stone has the bust of Richard Nixon tattooed on his back between his shoulders. Is there any better way to communicate your presence? Need I even mention the mothers that raised these $hitbags?
Anywho. Back to bottom trolling under the surface of #Americant where bodies and lives and honesty and merit and value and ugly men’s underwear all rest… rotting… rotting… rotting and waiting forevermore for the rotting to end. Yeah. Laugh with me, dear worst-reader. You can’t write this stuff down. Then again. Who ever thought #Americant would allow itself to stoop as lows as it’s been stooping since, gee, I don’t know, the fcuking Reagan revolution…
Indeed, dear worst-reader. This is what happens when you have a world where sexual repression, greed and the love of death rule you.