Mega empty terminal. Or did I just snap the picture at the right moment of terminal emptiness? #Nomatter. As usual I’m an early bird kinda traveler. Since this is my first flight in 1.5yrs and there’s all these extra precautions and protocols to confuse me and and and… say, how is it that this world ever functioned? Oh wait. This is worst-writer. My pseudonym is dysfunction. And on that worst-note. Even though I snapped the pic at the right empty moment, I’m surprised how much traffic there is in Frankfurt. It’s certainly not the bustle of the past but things/people are flying.
And with this I can board an airplane that will most definitely be pointed in the direction of my beloved & missed United Mistakes. And so it shall be… in a few hours.
It’s the first time, since I can remember, dear worst-reader, that I’ve gone more than a year without visiting the country where I was reared, raised, braised and ruined. But that’s what love is all about, eh? #Nomatter. On this quest to find the home that I will have to (eventually) leave again, here’s a few things I take with me for $hits & giggles. Nothing like fresh Haribos, baby–from the source. Of course.. This is the first batch. Getting my Mom some German (European) coffee tomorrow. Thank goodness I could afford to pay the extra amount for the airplane fare that allows me to 1) check in luggage and 2) luggage that may or may not weigh 25kg. Oh. Shame I didn’t take better care with the pic. Under the Haribos is a box of chocolate for Mothers Day.
Will this be the first and last time I visit the link below? You bettcha. (Probably.) Still. Gotta worst-say, dear worst-reader, ain’t it great how #Americants greatest grifter aka cheeto-jesus has been reduced to communicating his idiocy via a… blog?
Well, there you have it. After a year and a half of quarantine and only touching my direct family in the confines of two households, it’s my first PCR test. Reason? Not what you think. Instead. Worst-Writer is flying home on Sunday—to enter a third household—and like anyone else flying I have to be negative. Everyone in my family has already received all their shots (back home). And get this, baby. Worst-writer has an appointment next Tuesday for my first shot. And it’ll be Pfizer, don’t you know. Looking forward to MRNA entering my system. For, again, don’t you know, dear worst-reader, worst-writer can certainly use a bit of DNA mutilation—or whatever conspiracy BS it is #covidiots have put in their tattered minds. And so. Most certainly looking forward to whacked out micro stuff doing its science. (Sarcasm on/off.)
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?
Antifa
#BLM
extra-judicial-killing
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?
A country.
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.
Same sweater, different film? One is Body Snatchers and the other Animal House. Actresses? Not at all the same. (Sarcasm off.)
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.
Anywho.
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:
A what?
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.
Source: screenshot from the interwebnets of the film JFK
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?
American flag stained
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.
The great Clinton and his blue dress. Source: interwebnet screenshot.
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.
Source: screenshot of Geatz with Roger Stone from Reddit
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?
Pic source: screenshot from the interwebnets
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.
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.
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.
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.
“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
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.
The antagonist of the film is a woman with power.
All of the crazies in the partly voluntary asylum are white men.
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:
He can outwit the system.
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.
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.
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.
One positive thing about COVID and 2021 is that I finally broke out my old typewriters and it’s now how I communicate with my mother. Can you believe it? Snail mail? Who’d a thunk it? Then again, if/when I do thunk of it, I’m curious if US Postal Services can actually deliver it. You know. Considering how $hitbag Neo-liberals have screwed up government services and whatnot. But on that worst-note, I die-gress.
This is the stage at CPAC 2021. I mean, dudes and dudets, could it be more obvious? Source of pic: see link below
Scenarios of things past that could only lead to things to come. Or. How I learned to see the future–of where my beloved & missed #Americant would go.
Scenario 1.
So. Like. It’s ca. 1984. I’m navigating my way around Washington DC trying to find an office building where I have a job interview. Remember, dear worst-reader, it was a time before mobile apps. And so. I run into two problems above and beyond my orientation (or is it navigation) ability. First. I made the mistake of asking an old man in rotted clothes if he could tell me where my street was. The man, obviously a homeless man run waaaaay down on his luck, didn’t feel like entertaining my question. Right in the middle of the sidewalk he started freaking out and calling me names. While yelling f-this and f-that and who the f do I think I am he even lunged towards me with his shopping cart and waved one of his many bags in the air as though it were a flail. I quickly ran down the wrong street to get away from him, which brings me to the second issue. As I turned a corner a jewellery store owner peered his head out of his front door and started yelling at me for disturbing the peace. He asked about how stupid I was and then added that they have to clean up every morning from the bums and why do people like me have to make things worse cause he knows the guy who just yelled at me and that he would probably take another shit in front his door, etc., etc. And then he added as I was just getting out of (his) ear-sight, why don’t they round up the bastards and put them out of their misery along with all you yuppie $hits!
I guess the stage symbolism is a bit obscure. Or? Source of pic: see link below
Scenario 2.
It would have been the late 70s. My misconstrued parents dragged me to a party. Of course, my sister was older than me which meant she could stay home alone. I obviously wasn’t in the best mood being dragged along to an adult stupid party. While there, I watched the adults get $hit-faced out of their minds while stuffing themselves with some fancy-pants catered dinner of chicken in cream sauce that I remember smelled the same as the stuff my mother was drinking (probably gin). Of course, I was forced by my drunk parents to finish my plate after which I could go into the hosts bedroom to be alone and watch a movie on their cable TV. When I asked my mother why I couldn’t have just stayed home to do that she smirked and threatened to slap me for being a smart-a$$. Oh well. Long story short, eh dear worst-reader. After watching at least two movies and noticing that it was getting pretty late, I stepped outside to see what the adults were doing. They were all still partying as though the world was coming to an end, their noise having disturbed my movie night more than thrice. But here’s the catcher. Obviously the adults had been playing some sort of betting game and when I entered the living room the bets were being paid. Remember, dear worst-reader. This was the 1970s USA. There are a few things always present at gatherings that were supposed to give off an air of pseudo-sophistication in certain middle-class environments in 70s. In the name of expediency I’ll only inform you, dear worst-reader, of the things the males brought along to such social gatherings. The first is a polyester neck tie the size of a pillow. The second is facial hair in the form of sideburns or a moustache. Of the males who lost their bets in the game, the were required to trim their moustaches in the form of the old fashioned toothbrush, i.e. the Hitler moustache. Why adults of the 70s thought this was funny I’ll never know.
Scenario 3.
Last but not least for today’s worst-post, dear worst-reader. This scenario will be a short one. While growing up in rural and suburban-hell of wannabe WASP-ville galore, I can’t count how many Jew smirks and innuendo and conspiracies I’ve heard over the years. And now that we have a congresswoman who believes that lasers in space are run by Jews…
Just when you think the direction a country takes couldn’t get more obvious, one of the two major political parties throws a shindig and can’t even hide the prejudices of a once defeated ideology. Or. I suppose. If you must. You could think that maybe, just maybe, all the white supremacists of the #Americant Republican Party just really, kinda, dig the symbols of Norse mythology.
