A revolutionary rumination (?) on the sorry state of affairs we find ourselves in... or, how I learned to find Imus.
“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me,” although depending on the right happenstance (and lawyer), they may make me rich. A little post-Imus’ rant on words and the ubiquitous, “well Johnny (or n-rapper) took some cookies out of the cookie jar also (at one time),” defense; or in this – as well as most – cases, rationalization.
I suppose this thing has been beaten damn near to death (one would hope); but as always, this kind of pop-psyche entertainment as news; news as entertainment art imitates life, why don’t we all just shut the fuck up, bullshit, always grows more legs than a bull run at Pamplona. I was reminded of all that when I read Mike Steyn's piece yesterday. But even Mike – as talented a writer as he is – sloughs through the same shit trough as the other societal gatekeepers to no small degree. I’m not pointing him out in particular other than use as an example of the crap floating to the top of the print heap in general.
Known and very popular cialis coupon which gives all the chance to receive a discount for a preparation which has to be available and exactly cialis coupons has been found in the distant room of this big house about which wood-grouses in the houses tell.
A little note here, I have been on a self-imposed sabbatical of sorts primarily because I am sick and tired of being sick and tired. I admire – and respect – those who blog/slog away daily out here in cyberspace. It takes a Herculean effort to put forth the oomph and perseverance to do this on a daily – or weekly – basis.
Like many of you, my inbox becomes inundated daily with the trappings of the “information age” and that doesn’t even begin to count what I choose to peruse on my own. All of this exchange serves to remind me of just what a fucked up Universe we have created and like the weather, “everyone talks about it, but no one does anything about it.” That statement is not meant to be a disparaging comment directed towards the plethora of talented writers, artists and just ordinary folks who give it their all by attempting to make change.
However, if we are simply just not “preaching to the choir” who (or what) is being reached? I’ve said it before and I will say it with my dying breath, there is just one inordinate amount of dumb out there in Amerikan la-la-land. Look around you folks, the gatekeepers – of the left and the right – ain’t going to allow you to get past them. The arbiters of all things holy and propagandic will never allow you to impact the Idol crowd, the NASCAR crowd, the Birkenstock-wearing, latte sippin’ so-called “progressive” crowd. It ain’t gonna happen, not now, not ever. This is one obtuse, lock-step marching population we got here in the good old United States of Amerika folks – and unless – and until - we start shooting people, places and things (and I don’t mean Iraqis), and taking to the streets, we’re fucked, with a capital “F.”
I’m 70 years old and have finally come to the realization that I plain don’t give a damn anymore, we bought it, we own it and the warranty expired long before Bush and his homegrown fascists came to power. No returns, no exchanges.
Back to Imus and the words thing, now I have no redeeming social reason to listen to Don Imus or any of the other rich, misanthropic bastards (male and female) who rule the airwaves. As far as this writer is concerned, I respect their right of free speech but there is also absolutely nothing inherently wrong with a public service homicide; after all, they do shoot horses, n’est ce pas? And conversely enough, the same imperative can be applied to me also; as evidenced by what our government has been – and still does – we know that rule (option) is always out there. In my humble opinion, I feel it is time to make up some new rules. The problem with rules and folks that enforce them at gun point is that those folks always approach it with the mindset that only one gun was made and they own it…no, no, one of the first things you learn on the street is that they didn’t just make one gun and give it to ____________(fill in the blank).
I keep digressing, must have taken a “revolution” pill tonight, no, I’ve been “clean and sober for a good many years now, though at times I do ask my self why? Don Imus and the folks who support, promote and drool in rapacious, orgiastic frenzy each and every time he utters another maladjusted malapropism could not wipe the backside (or even get close to) of a Kurt Vonnegut. An icon like Vonnegut heads out to the Universal pasture and the putrid black ink flows for Don Imus. Am I the only one who sees something wrong here? Imus affects a look with that stupid cowboy hat – just like another stupid white guy who resides in D.C. – and neither one of them could hit their ass with a board if you gave them three tries and these dolts can generate reams of insignificant print and prattle in such a fashion that the nation trembles. Isn’t there anything else going on in the world folks?
And the saddest aspect of this faux hero worshiping ship of propaganda of ours is the number of so-called ‘respectable’ (man, is that ever an oxymoron) politicians and “leaders” who have sat across a microphone exchanging friendly banter with Imus. This I find especially galling as I peruse the post-firing laments being bandied about. “Imus gave a voice to politicians who otherwise wouldn’t be heard….yada-yada” Yes, I suppose he did, Imus had a particular demographic; misanthropic, racist, white guys. To be certain some of this demographic consisted of those with IQ’s in the high triple digits, but the vast majority of these avid listeners tended to the lower recesses of that IQ scale. In other words, like George W. and Imus themselves, you know, the old couldn’t hit their ass with a board thing in the last paragraph.
So, did these “respected politicians” exchange locker room jock banter with Imus so as to effect a political awakening of the dumb and dumber crowd; or, was it done as it always is; to get next to “that redneck with a pickup truck and rifle rack?” And it doesn’t take a high triple digit IQ to answer that one folks. Dumb and dumber make the great Amerikan dream machine go round and round. Dumb and dumber always know that it’s them “goddamn furriners, terrorists, wetbacks and ‘nappy-headed ho’s’” that’s responsible for the continuing demise of the great Amerikan dream machine. And it is because of all them ______________(fill in the Imus or O’Reilly blank) that a good old Amerikan man has to go home and kick the dog, beat the wife and smack the kids around. Yes, it’s all the fault of them ‘furriners’ that dumb and dumber has to suck up the bottom shelf suds rather than the top shelf stuff they used to buy. Them damn ‘furriners’ need to be taken out for some wind sprints whilst tied to the back of the pickup.
So the “respected” politicians will soon find (and always have), an Imus like wizard to crank up the omnipresent “Oz Machine” so that they may be assured of reaching – and keeping – that dumb and dumber cohort in line. And the folks who fuel, finance and lend the glitz to that Oz Machine will always ensure that dumb and dumber have their own little Imus like wizard behind the smoke and mirrors to keep them following that “yellow brick road.” Such is life in post-apocalyptic Amerika folks, keep on keeping on.
Given that these ramblings of mine post on selected sites I don’t get much flak from the dumb and dumber crowd, though I do get my share. My response to them is always the same; no, I ain’t leaving to go to some foreign country (where I’d get locked up for saying this), I already live in a foreign country where I can get locked up for saying this. Besides which, there is nothing I love better than laughing in the face of a fool.
To those so-called “progressive” brethren and sistren who castigate me for my “nihilism,” “pessimism,” or whatever “ism” they lob at me, my response is always they same; get up off your baby-booming ass and embrace some Anarchism for a change, can’t be any worse than what you have now.
And my favorite shot across the bow; “keyboard warrior.” The folks who know me, truly know me, know that they would have to pry this keyboard from my cold, dead fingers. You see, they didn’t only make one gun…
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