Protecting a Line With No Bottom
July 19, 2012 in A Short Collection Of Personal Hatreds, Advice From The Future, bullshit, Cars, Facism, Getting Things Really Wrong, life lessons, Modern Madness, Panic!, Pig Sex, Wordsmoker Publishing
“What is the value of a human life?” — a question asked by a number of moral authorities from various religions to guilt us into the necessary simpatico frequently mustered from the bowels of our better virtues, right? We are, after all, under the precepts of the human condition, and in that a sense of obligation to the betterment of mankind and the future of the same binds us to a prerogative of doing good for the sake of good— not for the sake of some other self-serving cause. Yes, we humans are a loving sort. But commonly, as it has been displayed time and time again, corporations do not regard themselves as part of this “humanity” business the rest of us appear to be in the business of and in. The virtue of “helping others” need not apply to the cause of making a profit, and why should it? As any God-fearing Wall Street cretin will tell you, you can’t get the dollar signs by helping your neighbor— and even furthering this bizarre psychology— Jesus was a capitalist and that’s about it. Making money in the name of an omnipotent being is actually why “he came down to earth in the first place.” Jesus, Yahweh, Buddha, Muhammad, the Reverend Moon, WHOEVER— are all here to show us the stain of our ways while making us rich in the process. At least Henry Ford understood this, and his gratuitous people-wagon, the Ford Escape, is yet another fine example of how one can avoid being mixed in with these other do-gooders and come out guns blazing with the Dark Lord strong at the helm. Profit margins are simply fantastic things, and God created everything, so he/she/whatever it is must have created them, too. Just like God created murder! Right? “MURDER IS GOD’S WAY OF LOVING US!” Take it for what you will. If you disagree, you are probably laden with the color pink.
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Oh, fucking pro-lifers make me want to spread death. I can’t stand these placard-waving bastards. Happily, in my own Socialist Wonderland of Scotland, abortions are available without this low-strain of humanity clogging the street. Indeed, abortions are available 24-7, all year ’round – you only need to show that you have clean fingernails or something. Anyway, if I was confronted by these idiotic placardeers I doubt I’d be able to keep my head on to the extent where I could stand in the street and argue with them without screaming. Especially if my wife just had to abort her child at 16 weeks, like this guy’s wife had to.
Are you a Scientologist? Have you checked? If your towels seem unnaturally soft and have a faint hint of gasoline about them, then for all intents and purposes, you are. Sorry to break the news to you like this, but towels can harbor Thetans which make them rough against your skin no matter how much fabric softener you use. The faint smell of gasoline is the odor they leave behind when your towels are “clean”. None of this makes any sense, of course.
Like trying to hit a paranoid cow with a brick thrown from a helicopter, it’s hard to define the Olympic Ideal. So it’s nice to see that the people behind the 2012 Olympics in the UK have given up and made the mascots for the ‘Games in 2012 into some sort of giant, mutated sperm with flipper hands with what could at best be described as “worryingly prominent genital lumps”. One of them also looks as if they’ve peed themselves after drinking only antifreeze for 12 hours straight.
Ever sat through dull speeches at work? Been forced to have your ears pummeled by bullshit? Have you been tempted to start a small fire just so you could get out of it? I have. Especially when I worked in the IT business. Now and again, various dull men would come in and string sentences together with the latest phrases of the day – to extent that any IT body worth their salt began to play “
Brilliant news from upper New York state, where the losingest loser in the short history of loserish Tea Party patriotism has declared himself perhaps not such a loser after all, pending the counting of actual, you know, votes.
I do not like her here or there.
I was trying to do my list of twenty things, but I am really too stressed out, and then I thought that I would relate to you what I have been going through and how it pertains to the housing problem that the nation is having. I am right smack dab in the middle of the nation (Tulsa, the prong in the buckle of the bible-belt), and trends start on the coasts and work their way slowly into the interior, so I am on the back loop of every upswing and downturn. Fashions, if they ever do arrive here, take a few years to get here. The housing problem hit us a little later than everyone else.
