The Ugly Truth From The Ugly Mouth That’s Never Been Washed #Soap

bar of soap - screenshot

“…the longer they talk about identity politics, I got ’em. I want them to talk about racism every day. If the left is focused on race and identity, and we go with economic nationalism, we can crush the Democrats.” -Steven Bannon.

The thing about hate is how it can go so well so unseen. I experienced this growing up in the suburban hell of my beloved #americant. The other thing about hate is how it can have so many faces. Then there’s where it comes from. My, oh my. Tricky little devil, ain’t she. Then again, love isn’t as diverse as hate (can be)? Or is that just my POV on account I’m so skewed by love-hate? Wait. I’m not skewed. Am I? Love has just screwed me. And love, for Simplicity’s Sake–that old Bitch, has been commandeered by half the human population. Indeed. Love has been turned into a weapon. A weapon of mass… sc(r)ew you. But I’m waaaaaay of subject. And so. I digress.

The quote above is from the infamous Steve Bannon. For those who don’t know who he is, just remember this: if there is anything or anyone that better represents what #Trump really is and what Trumpism is about, it’s Steve Bannon. Ever since this guy first entered the political realm of free-to-be-stupid #americant, I’ve been looking through the mirror window of my past, of my home, of that place I love-hate–and miss dearly. But I’ve already said that. Again. Digress.

Bitter and forced to under-achieve, stupid white men rule this moment (of history). And not unlike facing a sell-out for the first time, I must ask this question: if something is sold-out, who’s buying (it)? And there you have it. The buyers of the hate and simplemindedness that must culminate in all these years of conservatism run amoke, i.e. republicans, can only culminate in the likes of Steve Bannon. If there is one thing I learned from the love-hate of getting divorced it’s this: there really is nothing like the sk(r)ewed mind of hate born out of love. For me that’s a hard pill to swallow–on account I saw all those Disney love stories she saw. Yet. I’ve always thought the opposite of hate is NOT love but instead: respect. Oh well. Let’s stay on worst-subject, shall we.

At some point in his life Steve Bannon must have known love. Yet. For me? The transition of love-hate began a long time ago–not unlke Bannon. Yet again. I cannot hate like Bannon or the Steve Bannons of this world. Why is that? At best I’m least half a stupid white man. Let’s attempt to worst-elaborate, shall we?

When I was in junior highschool I went off on a teacher and told her to go fuck herself with her mother’s dick. Within about an hour I faced the principle of the school in his office and he put a bar of soap in front of me and a bucket of water. He told me that if I didn’t wash my mouth out with that soap within the next two minutes he was was going to hit me so hard with a wooden paddle–that he proceeded to take out of his desk–and I noticed that it had large holes drilled in it for aerodynamic effect–that I wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week. I stared at him and wondered what he would look like with his mother’s dick in his ass. Then I bit off such a large chunk of that bar of soap and began swishing and chewing it around my mouth that the principle’s secretary, who was also in the room, started to gasp. When I was finished and suds were dripping down my chin, the principle told me to put my hands on the edge of his desk and lean in. I did. He then got behind me with his paddle and said: now you won’t be able to sit down for the rest of the day. He whaled on my ass. (Btw, that was the first of three times I was beaten–or as they liked to call it: disciplined–with a wooden paddle by school administrators and/or teacher while attending #americant public schools.)

The problem with the Bannon types that have emerged is not the arbitrary and often blatant hate that they espouse. It’s the fact that there are many out there who believe this hate is an anomaly. With that in mind, welcome to a world where so few really, really bad dudes (n)ever got their mouths washed out with soap.

Rant on.

-T

PS By-the-buy, the quote at top of this post is more than a strategy to defeat the rational mind. What it really is, what it represents, is the good in the very, very few that cannot find a way out because, well, our mouths have been washed too often out with soap. Fuck you.

Links that motivated this post:

Golden Rain Fun In Moscow

golden rain golden shower trump

As I’ve said here, #americant deserves #Trump. And. From the get-go, nomatter what believers (i.e. the fail upwards middle-classes) claim as they are chocking on that belief, there was no doubt in my mind that president über-stupid likes the peepee. Now. I suppose it’s debatable if he’s one of them perverts that likes to watch the/his women-folk pee or if he likes the other version–being peed on. But there’s no doubt that he likes the stuff–probably the yellower (or is it goldener) the better. And since the pee-dossier (see link below) has received some new life in the media, why not begin the arduous task of researching whether or not #Trump actually kissed his mother with that butthole of a mouth he sells (and #Americants have bought whole-heartily). No. Seriously. Dearest worst-reader! Get this. If/when #Trump gets impeached or quits, the idiot base that elected him will replace him. Indeed. The religious $hitbags will then have finally gained what they always wanted. Seriously. That’s it. There will be more wars of choice. Further looting of the treasury. And women will be required–according to the standards dictated by inept interpretation of a book written during the bronze-age–to bear the children of men… that like to be peed on.

Of course, the saddest thing about #Trumps despicable, obscene, abominable behaviour is that the really bad stuff in the pee-dossier will not only reveal some truths about the man but, perhaps, the whole of the united mistakes of #americant. Yea, baby.

Rant on. Suckers.

-T

Links that motivated this post:

If You Can’t Manage It Or Pay For It Then It’s Time To Burn It (As In Down) To Make Sure You Still Win

capitalism_not_quite

What do most children do when confronted about lying? Indeed. They lie. I suppose parents who teach those kids not to lie are doing the right thing. But isn’t the real reason why the kids lie in the first place the more pertinent issue? Then again, is the real reason anyone lies ever addressed? The only thing that is addressed is the act of lying. I reckon that’s the whole point of having a legal system, eh. Wait. Confused. Start again.

The thing that bugs me most about this fcuked up world I’m supposed to live in is capitalism’s one-way street. In my worst-opinion, I think capitalism would work much better if it were a two-way street. On top of that, I hate the idear of corporations, i.e. the mechanisation of capitalism and how they pretty much directly rule the world. But don’t get me wrong, dear worst-reader. I do actually like capitalism and don’t mind the fact that a corporation’s purpose is to seek out profit. But here’s the thing…

What do you do when profit becomes your lie? What do you do when the people of a corporation–or perhaps even all of capitalism–collectively lie? It’s hard to detach yourself from profit, from a salary, from the very foundation that is your existence, eh. Here is where a two-way street would he helpful. Not only is today’s capitalism a one-way street but it’s also enabled by people who have unlearned what mothers tried to teach them. Oh, the motivation of money. Oh, the motivation of a compliant legal system. The motivation of a mother’s false love. Etc.

Having just scanned a few articles about diesel cars (which I’ve touched upon here before) and egg contamination, a worst-thought ran through me-mind. The best form of lying in order to make profit and/or exploit others for profit, has to be the insurance industry. The insurance industry, unlike manufacturing, war-profiteering or medicine, relies solely on lying in order to make profit (or even exist). The whole concept of hedging ones risk, which is the intellectuals definition of insurance, is based on fraud from the get-go. Or am I totally into worst-writer territory here? With that in mind, is it such a long-shot to assume, just as individuals self-preserve with insurance fraud, that corporations and perhaps even the whole of capitalism itself, would/could do the same?

The diesel emission scandal, for example. How is it that after all these years of profiting from diesel engines, suddenly car makers are being called out for lying about emissions? How is that millions upon millions of chickens lay even more millions of eggs per day and suddenly, out of the blue, as though no one ever managed the chickens or the eggs, the eggs are contaminated? Btw, was the billions of dollars used to bail out banks in 2008 (and GM in 2009) anything different than an insurance claim? Wait. Perhaps that’s going too far.

Through the miracle of self-preservation, which drives individuals to commit insurance fraud–by setting fire to their houses or cars in the hopes of big insurance claim payouts–isn’t it possible that egg makers and car makers would resort to the same tactic to cover the losses caused by not only their blatant lying but also their $hitty management skills? The payout being corporate tax breaks for the losses they will claim. Again, after all these years of producing diesel engines, it’s just now being noticed how much $hit and filth those engines spew into the air? Or could the real (true) issue be that those who manage car makers haven’t managed the whole shebang very well and there’s simply too many of these cars that they can’t sell (exorbitant surplus)? The real problem is that corporations today are run by little $hit kids with über college degrees who never learned to tell the truth because they either had no mommies or their mommies are just as stupid as they are. Or better yet. It’s time to finally blame mommies for not letting their sons become just plan old $hit kicker, redneck, hate filled cowboys–or dentists.

Good luck suckers.

-T

Links that motivated this post:

Moment You Know Your Gig Is Up And #ConfessYourUnpopularOpinions

burn it down but dont hurt anybody
HDT + fire (but don’t hurt anybody) = burn the whole fcuking thing down. Source of pic: the movie Office Space

I love it. It’s one of those rare moments where there is so much crumbling in the souls of those who thought they $hit roses that I can sit back, for even this brief amount of time, and actually enjoy watching the catastrophic embarrassment of WWE or anything reality-tv. Cause that’s what we’re/you’re in, baby. But here’s the thing, dear worst-reader. There’s been quite a backlash to a recent publication by a Google automaton regarding the genetic deficiencies of females as computer programmers, or something like that. Of course, if one reads what was actually published (which I’ve only partly done), two things should come to mind:

  1. Have you nothing better to do with your expensive San Francisco ruining time?
  2. Convention and status-quo are the enemy of rational thought and the innate human desire to consume too many Jujubes.

This whole shebang is so hi-larry-us regarding this issue that I’m also wondering why rational people–if there actually are any left in my beloved #americant–don’t all get up and finally do what needs to be done. By-the-buy, if you want to know what needs to be done, read HDT and then add fire (or maybe not). As far as my enjoying this moment where others suffer, heed this: when a manifesto from an automaton blows up like this it can only mean one thing. Either there’s something wrong in Kansas (as in that Munchkinland where everything is almost perfect, ‘cept for those menacing witches and what-not) or your time is up at the fun factory–where you’ve been riding on the backs of future generations because of the greed you and your salary has been perpetuating for having done nothing except ruin the #interwebnets. Indeed.

Yeah, to have the time to write and think about what this automaton thought about means you might have a bit too much time on your hands. At a company like Google, that means there has to be a lot more of you that have too much time on their hands, too. Which also means, many, many, many automatons should be made redundant. Either that or switch your major (as in college) to eugenics.

Rant onwards.

-T

Links that motivated this post:

Cut Off Nose To Spite Face, #Americant Style

It just keeps gettin better and better. Sitting on this pedestal I’ve made for myself at thirty thousand feet above normal, I look down at my brethren of yore, my deepest cousins in crime, the land I miss so dearly. And while looking down, what do I see? A shit-show of epic proportions. I mean, you’d think that at this point someone, somewhere in #americant could step up to the plate. Not Joe-shmow, of course. Joe-Shmow is the problem! But why not a Senator, why not a former president, why not Hillary? As far as I can tell there are only a few congressmen that have stepped up to the plate so far, i.e. the two-hundred or so that are suing #Trump over violating the emoluments clause. Bless their sweet little liberal hearts, eh! Of course, we all know what lawsuits are all about. I mean. Come on. Lawsuits are like porn was back in the day when you had to put a quarter in a machine and a small window opened up where you saw Davila playing with her Dirty Nikki. I mean, you really gotta wanna go there with lawsuits these days–but once you go–you’re there. Or maybe not.

Speaking of lawsuits. Last year when my better-half dragged me off to India for what was supposed to be a two to three year stint aka career betterment–but turned out to be a dudd–I was threatened by a restaurant manager who thought a lawsuit was the best way to solve a simple bank transfer problem. Seriously. We had a lunch at a Bangelore shopping mall. The bill was (insert # Rupees here; about $14) and we thought we paid. I even kept the receipt. About a week later we got a call from the restaurant manager that the bank transfer of the card didn’t go through. If we don’t pay the bill by that afternoon, he said, he was gonna sue me. Seriously, India? Are you the first other world country to be Trumped above the rest? The next day, of course, I travelled back to the mall/restaurant–getting around Bangelore is a nightmare, btw–and paid our bill with cash. The manager was thankful and went into this long tirade about how some people just don’t pay their tabs. Oh really.

I suppose every once-a-once, in a world governed, managed, made profitable by lawsuits, there might be one or three out there that actually makes sense. And so, with all the gusto I can muster from these thirty thousand feet, looking down upon the land I love/miss so much–and for the sake of Seth Rich’s family–sue the beegeezees out ’em, baby.

Rant on.

-t

Links that motivated this post:

War On Terror. War On Drugs. War On Boobs. Amerika Fcuk Yea!

boobs

There you have it, dear worst-reader. Another law (ordinance?) has been created by the/a state so that you can be served the best quality juicy delight of governmental hard work that (in)humanity has to offer. And would you believe I’m actually from the place where this level of mindlessness happens–whether it’s about boobs or not? Nomatter.

Indeed.

Have no fear tax payer slash bank-bail-outter. Your laws are made daily–as if you didn’t know that–and you should be proud of those that make these laws–even if the law makers all sound like redneck truckers that just got out of a Ho-Chi-Minh movie drive-in that featured a barnbuster about how girls are raised by perfect mothers who hide their faces when their unknown fathers procreate on their fleshiness all in the name of good-times and a few drinkie-poohs while letting themselves go when visiting THE BEACH. (Nothing against truckers, by-the-buy.)

I mean #1, come on. It’s not as though there are more important things to do in the grandness of the greatest failed experiment in human stupidity.

I mean #2, aren’t laws the thing, i.e. legislation, that has given you (insert #) years of war and/or money transference to the rich? Laws have made your inner most Cinderella dreams come true and given you your beloved #Trumpism, too. Wow.

Can you say lack of voters, titties and electoral college three times real fast, dear worst-reader?

And when summer time comes ’round and the embarrassing nature of your humanity takes precedence–which you hide under strips of cloth–it’s time to wipe away the seriousness of death and murder and destruction–that is all these years of wars-of-choice and US treasury depletion at the hands of the thieving rich–because it’s time to deal with those luscious pillows, those fun-bags, those randy-dandies, those jugs… that turn the heads of boys and girls while you try and continue your cinderella nightmare-dream in the hideaway of a vacation your credit card will never be able to get paid. Or maybe not.

Let’s just move beyond all the worst-writing then, shall we. Oh. And heed this: naked man boobs rule!

Rant on.

-T

Links that motivated this post:

Hey Kids! Your Future Is Being Predicted Right Now. Get It While You Can. #Fascism Game Play Galore

next to last supper from ubisoft far cry
pic is from Ubisoft; it’s called: “next to last supper”; how appropriate

What do you recall from reading Jules Verne and George Orwell, Mr. Worstwriter?

I’m so glad you asked, dear worst-reader.

I remember from both those writers how my future was being predicted. Indeed. Even though I didn’t read much when I was kid, by the time I got out of the waste-of-time that is #americant suburban-hell highschool, I was reading like a mad man. Verne and Orwell were, to me, similar writers–even though they wrote completely different stuff. Both men were writing about worlds that didn’t actually exist but unlike other forms of fiction that I consumed, their worlds were at least based on something that felt as though it could be real. And so. When I started traveling with jet airplanes, Verne’s world came true. When I started getting my ass kicked by corporatists, aka fascists, Orwell’s world came true.

Hop skip and jump to the now.

As far as I’m concerned there hasn’t been much future-telling from generations after Orwell and Verne. Why is that? My worst-guess is, the future that was told and we’re now living in is also an end-game. What Orwell and Verne didn’t or couldn’t know is that when their worlds came true, there was then nothing left after that. Or was/is there? Enter the magic world of virtual game play. Have a playstation, xbox, gamer-PC? How ’bout a nintendo or a sega? Heck, break out that old iphone or even your old zune. Computerised gaming is here, baby. And it’s doing more than competing with movies, turntables, radio-hour and a good fcuking book. In fact, my guess is, computerised gaming is better than reading. How do I worst-guess that? Easy. Where are the kids–like when I was young–who know-it-all?

And no. Millennials don’t know it all. (If they did then books would be more popular than all their krappy pop music!)

Would you believe dear worst-reader that gaming has finally come full circle? I mean, it’s come full-circle like Verne (with his then sci-fi predictions) and Orwell (with his prediction of stupid people voting and faux newz taking over the airwaves) have come full circle. Although their predictions are a bit early for my taste, what the fcuk do I care? I live for convenience–and my highschool wish of being financially independent came true before my mid-40s. And so. At my age I can gladly lean back on my wooden la-z-boy and laugh my ass off as the morons that play the game, suck up to the game, get fcuked by the game. Why? It’s as though we’ve reached a point where reality has been tuned and manipulated by great literature and by those who never read it. On top of that, it’s also been tuned and manipulated by fcuking cartoons. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha…

Now get this.

The newest addtion to the Far Cry computer game franchise takes place in my beloved #americant. And not just any place in #americant. As though it was a premonition, the recent WWE asskicking of a reporter by a nutjob republican bully running for Congress…. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha… Far Cry, the computer game, is set in the same place, with the same local mentality, with the same, the same, the same… #americant. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. I mean, it’s perfect. Ha. Ha. Ha. Where Orwell’s world could work in Bangkok as well as Moscow, Far Cry’s newest story line can ONLY work in Montana. For that we can thank all those techi a$$holes in the only industry doing anything at any price. Ha. Ha. Ha. Gulp. Sip. Burp.

Short pause.

Not only are we living better through chemicals but consuming to survive seems to be working out pretty well, too. Good luck with your future. And don’t forget, find a way to continue voting conservatives into office because for the last 50 yrs they’ve given you what you’ve got. And now you can even play them in a computer game… Ha. Ha. Ha… It’s certainly better than reading about what predicts your future… Ha. Ha. Ha.

Burp.

Rant on.

-T

Link that motivated this post: