methods of littering

My pro-littering/anti-recycling philosophy was tested twice in one week, a sure sign that a manifesto is imminent.

But before the unveiling of such a necessarily long winded and abstruse document, behold the extremity of this thumbnail abstract: 

Littering is awesome, and I am in full support of most litterers. 

Like all manifestos, such an abstract must be accompanied by equally extreme caveats, as told in 2.5 true life fables, nearly all involving settings inside cars.

Story #1

(This happened to the brother of a friend, and though the finer details are fabricated, its moral importance remains.)

In the Spring of 2008 (or 2013 or 2018, I forget) Pat and Nick drove off campus at lunchtime. The two spent the excursion gossiping about mutual peers they loathed and adored, describing in detail fantastically lurid acts of love and hate as Nick consumed his lunch of snacks. 

Amassing a small pile of garbage, Nick promptly threw the trash out of the driver side window, and in an act of joyful rebellion cursed out their Environmental Science teacher, Ms. Hamilton. As he did so, he allegedly screamed, "This is for you, Ms. Hamilton!"

Though I didn't have Ms. Hamilton and I never met Nick I laughed with Pat at his retelling because I understood the story's moral importance: that littering is uselessly stupid for preserving the environment.

Nick's act of comedic rebellion was of significant moral importance because, as Article III states in the impending manifesto: 

The Environment is Over

Wherever humans have settled their neighborhoods and established their associated associations, they have also established sewers, electricity, parks, highways, bridges and other material infrastructure. So much more remains of our current environment than the environment that was conquered and subdued by my ancestors. Therefore, not littering will only keep our shared, man made environment from becoming ugly. (Still important.) A neighborhood's cleanliness is a reflection of the people that like to keep their beautifully conquered environment from appearing ugly; not littering is more a sign of respect for the toil of the previous generations than it is to "preserve the environment" for future ones.

Simply, littering is correct only when done in spite for "Environmental Science" ideology.

Story #2

In the same universe many years into the future I was on the same continent, not too far from the location of that first conversation, working for a small company that provided tables and chairs for tv and film productions. 

My partner for the day was enjoying a lunch of bodega snacks and fast food as we sat together in traffic not doing anything but dying from "the spirit torture of traffic exhaustion."

With all conversation utterly depleted between strangers with little in common, and with nothing but the ceaseless babble of the inane radio personalities to keep us company, I had no choice but to notice details of my immediate environment to distract me. 

The insanity experienced as a result of the boredom may have become the topic of a blog post, but another memory sticks in my mind like a knife hurled at a dartboard: my partner's obscene littering habits. 

I am generally a fan of obscenity, especially when it is sophisticated. (Thus my admiration for Nick in Story #1.) However, there was something obscenely obscene about what I witnessed from my partner on that day. 

With his mouth full of snacks he laughed at an obscenely obscene joke from the unfunny radio host, then rolled down the window and dumped his trash out of it, as nonchalantly as if the open window were a garbage can. There was nothing politically spiteful about it, and it wasn't done for my secret amusement either; there was no punchline because it was not meant to be funny. It was just a bad habit, done in the name of convenience.

I'm no prude, but this was a moment when I began to retreat back to the haven of decency that I was raised by, a decency I'd abandoned for the thrill of obscenity. Now I was no longer lured into a life of filthy obscenity whose logical conclusion was driving the vehicle of which I was a passenger. 

My partner's behavior wasn't a disregard for decency as much as it was a lack of knowledge that decency even existed. 

Yes, we were on an ugly highway headed towards a marvel of civil engineering we had taken for granted, and yes, no one lived on this tunnel highway, but this habit of littering was more than where....it was how. I never thought I'd be writing this, but I found his lack of complacency disturbing.

If this stranger could litter so brazenly with such committed rote, I could easily imagine this stranger performing other heinous and lurid acts with similar nonchalance, as a participant in a gang rape, or an armed liquor store robbery for instance. 

I was in way over my head. But, somehow littering was still cool. 

Story #.5

As we walked to his car last week, Josh admitted that he had just thrown the wrapper from his diner mint onto the ground. 

I hadn't noticed, but Josh's conscience had: "It wasn't necessary to do that," he said, expressing an honest remorse. "I did it because it was easy."

My tongue curled out of the corner of my mouth as I began an attempt at justification for this innocent, if anti-social misbehavior. 

Yes, it was easy. And unfortunately it wasn't spitefully political. But it wasn't obscene either. (Not as obsene as the stranger in story #2 anyway.) And really, how much could harm could a piece of tiny plastic inflict in the part of Brooklyn that's been an industrial wasteland for 100 years? 

"There is a right way and a wrong way to litter," I postulated, reaching into my basket of memories to provide context. "I think you might be somewhere in the middle."

Angels Everywhere

I wasn't going to jump.

I still have things to live for. (I think.)

But the train was taking longer than expected, my phone was dead, and I didn't want to put in the effort of reading an actual book; so I stood on the platform thinking of all the reasons I currently have to live, namely the challenges I currently face. (Considering the bigger existential challenges are still overwhelming and blackpilling, and often lead to the bad kind of hopelessness, not the hopeful kind.)

With nothing to distract me, and becoming bored of standing in place, I decided to use this freedom from my phone to be inquisitive, and walked towards the edge of the platform where the train arrives to be the first to see it pulling into the station. (I was/am NOT suicidal. I use my imagination to entertain the morbid thought of jumping in front of the train often, but never seriously.)

(Also, I'd never traversed to the far reaches of the platform before. It smelled like piss. Not surprising.)

My behavior was subtly erratic: I beelined toward the platform's edge, walking with slow, measured intention, past the guy wearing his headphones looking at his phone, the cute couple that were actually talking while waiting for the train, and the asian girl reading a book. I did not notice being followed. 

As I reached the end of the platform the piss filled my nostrils and I heard a voice behind me yell, "Hey!"

I ignored it becasue the voice wasn't referring to me becasue I am invisible. Then I heard it again. "Hey man!"

I turned around and made eye contact with the source of the voice. A black man, slightly older than me, dressed like a young punk with a sleeveless black band shirt who asked earnestly, "Are you ok?" 

My behavior had been noticed, and to diguise my embarassment I flippantly and confidently responded  'yes,' like all I wanted was to smell the piss at the end of platform. For the moment our eyes locked he affirmed my sanity with the same intuition that initially recognized my suspicious behavior, and walked away, himself unembarassed. His was a heroic act, there was nothing to be embarassed of.

If I had been suicidal, and not a bored weirdo, this man, this hero, would have saved my life, and I absolutely would have broken down in tears in his arms. (This switching between extreme fantasies of tragic morbidity and sensitive helplessness is a talent of imagination, and not an exercise in faking feelings. Actually, maybe its a little of both.)

I wanted this man to know that I did really appreciate his personal and heroic effort, his duty to his fellow man. But anything more than my succint response would have been gay. Between men, less was more; between strangers eye contact means everything.

When the train finally arrived, I observed him in the next car, through the window. We got out at the same station, but I didn't follow him. 

no, nickelback is not a "meme"

Why are we still using zoom? I ask myself during a meeting with co-workers sitting in the next room.

"Why we still using zoom?" asks an actually courageous co-worker over zoom. "We all here."

"Because some of us are not in the office," responds the manager, the only person still working from home. "And corporate wants us to maintain social distancing, if the city decides to shut down again, because of the new variant."

Nobody in the office is threatened by "the new variant" because everyone in the office worked from the office throughout the first P A N D E M I C. But they all still watch CNN, believe in "the new variant," and obey accordingly. 

(Where the NY Times appeals to arrogant idiots, CNN appeals to just plain idiots. Or power hungry middle managers wielding the "legitimacy" of the MSM to stay socially distant at home forever.)

TRANSITION

As a Nickelback fan, it is extremely appropriate that I have a photo of Chad Kroeger as my zoom profile picture. If we are to use zoom forever then my co-workers must know that I am a fan of Nickelback. If they know nothing else about me for the duration of my employment let them know that I am extremely a fan of Nickelback.

"Nice Nickelback meme!" one of them says over zoom, at the meeting's conclusion. This was meant in good faith, as a compliment, but it gets me ranting on the inside:

'Meme? Meme? What is a meme anyway? A joke? Why are you calling a legitimately good band a joke? Because you saw some pictures on the internet? Well, the internet is full of wrong idiots. And you are a follower of wrong idiots....laughing at whatever they tell you to laugh at. It's pathetic. You're pathetic. Nickelback is good, and Nickelback has always been good and Nickelback will be good until the end of time. Nickelback is not a joke you stupid fucking faggot.'

But then the calm of pity followed the storm of wrath as I realized that my poor pathetic fucking faggot of a co-worker was nothing more than a sheep in need of a shepherd. 

"Thanks!" I said, knowing that if it takes time to build the trust needed to lead all souls back to salvation, then it will also take time to lead them to Nickelback appreciation. 

"What's Nickelback?" someone else says. 

the two types of insanity

Much like time travelers and aliens--and to a lesser extent angels and demons--insane people are all around those of us that are damaged in the normal way.

2/3rds of my Saturday was spent in the company of insane people, both friendly and unfriendly, and I've learned some lessons:

Friendly insane people are tolerable up to a certain length of time (at most two hours), and unfriendly insane people are immediately intolerable. 

Context 

I.

The Witness for Life is not a protest; it is a peaceful, prayerful vigil in front of an abortion clinic. We don't scream slogans, destroy property or loot like other "mostly peaceful" protests. We never respond to persecutors passing us by because we are there to pray for the clinic workers, for the parents of the unborn, and for the unborn themselves. 

It should only take a little over an hour to pray all four mysteries of the rosary, but on Saturday it took three; our path was blocked by a large group of insane people. The unfriendly kind. 

The diocese filed a permit, and we were legally allowed to process down the street with police escort. The insane people did not file a permit, and as such were there unlawfully. But they were treated with special privileges, as they were still given a special zone inside police barricades (in front of the church) to scream their threatening obscenities, audible during Mass.

When it came time for our peaceful procession they disobeyed the barrier given them in good faith and blocked our right of way on the sidewalk. (This would have been a cause for arrest if the roles were reversed.) But the police did their duty and formed a wall between us and the insane people, nudging them softly backward as the group screamed violently at us for "harassing women." (As if "harassing women" is a the worst evil the world has ever known! lol)

I don't label these protestors insane because I disagree with them. I disagree often, with many. (Mostly in secret.)

I label them insane because, for all of the many divisive causes a person can choose to throw an obnoxious public tantrum for, they chose the legal dismemberment of unborn children. 

These protestors are not "pro-choice." They are pro-abortion. And they are insane not just because they are proud to support abortion, but because of the way they display it with pride. (I thought Pride Month was over???)

I have pro-choice friends and family that are not insane, just naive. They say naive and stupid things like, "I am personally against abortion, but..." Or, "What if I wasn't ready to raise a child?" They do not support abortion on its face, for its own sake, like these protestors do.

And I have had friends that chose abortion...and when they told me unprompted, it was in secret, whispered cautiously, so that not even God could hear them admit it. They were not proud; they were embarrassed, guilty. (But were they contrite?) 

Guilt is the reaction of the "normal" person damaged by the evil of abortion. And guilt takes many forms.

Saturday's protestors have been driven so insane by their guilt that they deny it, and turn it into a public display of pride. Pride for the act of abortion, the very worst choice anyone could make. (And yet, they did not hold up any signs displaying the results of the procedure that they support. How odd.) Their protest is so obviously a big, pathetic, insane cope.

"God loves abortion!" They wail. "And Jesus doesn't like you!"

These are fallacies that could be discussed, even calmly disagreed with, but insane people do not want to converse in good faith; that's exactly why they wail and scream--to drown out any attempt at a conversation. They want to offend us. They want to offend God.

All of this self inflicted insanity is such a sad waste. The devil laughs with glee at these captured souls, trapping themselves in some kind of misery orb. 

It doesn't have to be this way. They can release themselves with the simple power of humility, admitting their torment and asking forgiveness. They can stop wasting their precious time thinking they are wasting ours.

But they won't talk to us. They have already killed their number one enemy: their baby. Everyone else is especially expendable. 

II.

I met Stephen the way two lover's meet in their dreams, or in the movies: seeking refuge from a rainstorm under a convenient awning, just as a conversation with a friend was getting theologically D E E P .

Stephen stepped out from the deli eating a family sized bag of pretzels and with the confidence of a pick-up artist flattered us by saying, "This is the best conversation I've ever heard in New York."

New York is not quite as agnostic as Paris or London, but as evidenced by part one, it is getting closer. Therefore, when fellow believers reveal themselves, there is instant communion.

"God is angry," Stephen said as the rain drenched the world. I couldn't argue with him.

"Are you Catholic? Or...Orthodox?" I wagered, puffing the remains of a cigar.

"I am a Jewish Catholic," he said, with his mouth full of pretzels. 

"What do you think about abortion?" I asked; my personal litmus test."The Jews think abortion is murder. It's murder," he said. (Stephen was sane.) 

"The Jews don't know how to pray.," he continued. "I tried to pray with them today, but after 45 minutes I left. I couldn't wait to pray any longer. Do you know Latin, or Greek? Or Hebrew? I know them all. You must learn to pray in Hebrew. Say the Angel prayer."

Josh wasn't saying anything anymore. He knew something I did not. I didn't know how to respond to Stephen, who took our silence as a cue to continue: "I believe in everything," he said. "Time travelers, reincarnation, aliens, angels, demons. Most people are angels."

Within seconds we were fast departing from our shared theology, the rain getting heavier. "Do you want to split a cab?" he offered, as an SUV pulled in front of us. 

"Ok," I said, bidding farewell to Josh and getting into a cab to an unknown destination with a man I'd not known for five minutes. "Be careful about your friend," Stephen said in the cab. "He thinks too much about philosophy. I don't read the news, or watch TV. I only read the Bible. I don't do anything but read the Bible."

"Where do you go to Church?" he asked me as the nausea from the cigar smoke filled my skull, my skin so slippery from sheets of sweat that the cab's AC could not dry me. "I'll come with you tomorrow. The cab is on me."

We pulled into the parking lot of a Burger King; I thought the address was a mistake until Stephen got out with a confident familiarity, like we pulled into his driveway. "Tell [the cab driver] your destination. I will see you tomorrow," he said. "Text me the address."

...

I awoke to multiple texts from Stephen, the first one saying, "Avoid conversation until you see me." 

We met for coffee as a compromise. Stephen was 30 minutes late. "Sorry I'm late," he texted. "I am praying." 

Stephen was always praying. He was praying while we talked. He stopped talking so we could pray. (Not bad habits, by the way.)

Stephen told me he was Jesus. I thought that he meant it metaphorically, that he aspires to be so much like Jesus that he became Jesus. (I had to be charitable, but through intuition admitted that this was a very insane thought.) "No," he said. "I am with my father in heaven, just like I am with you right now."

"I was crucified in the psych ward when they electrocuted me. The police."

Stephen was very charismatic, very pushy. He was a natural cult leader. (He invited me to join his Church, in the basement of his building. "So far its me, John McCain, a lapsed Muslim guy, and you.")

(It turns out "John McCain" was a homeless man Stephen met a few months ago--probably in the same manner he met me--and invited this man to live with him. "I live in a three bedroom apartment by myself," Stephen said. "I have room. I am lonely.")

We talked for a while, but I wouldn't call it a conversation. Stephen would ask me a thoughtful question and I would ponder before answering, and then he would move on, and ask me another question, like it was an interview. He finally admitted to vetting me. Becasue I was wearing sunglasses, "you could be a time traveler. You weren't wearing those glasses when I met you." 

(He made no comment about the radical style of my awesome sunglasses either.) I reminded him that we met at 10pm.

"Let's go to Starbucks," he said suddenly. Although I was ready never to see him again, I agreed. "I want to use my free Starbucks card." (Whatever that was.) "I'll buy you something."

Stephen greeted everyone we passed on the way to Starbucks with a gentle wave and smile. If he wasn't an insane person he would be a great evangelist. "See that person in the car?" he waved at a woman, smiling. "Angel." 

The woman squinted, then laughed at him. (I mean, I believe in angels too, but there was no chance that we were surrounded by this many angels.)

As we walked I saw a dirty 'Harvard' hat on the street, and for some reason, picked it up. "What a cool hat," Stephen said. "Can I have it? I will give it to John McCain. Today is his birthday."

In Starbucks he drank an orange juice and bought me a bottle of water.

"My whole family hates me. They sent me to the psych ward. That's where I was baptized. In the shower. I am baptized everytime I take a shower."

Then Stephen went to use the bathroom. "The toilet was clogged. So I peed in the sink. Yay!"

After two hours, I had had more than enough of Stephen for the rest of my life.  But I was still polite: "My phone is going to die," I said as an excuse. "I have to charge it, I'm expecting a call." 

"Turn it off," he commanded. I obeyed.

"You know how much that cab cost last night? $108. Now my credit card doesn't work." 

"What?!" I thought Stephen had money. I even thought he was going to buy me a Cinnamon bun at that first coffee shop. "Why did you offer me that ride?!" I was flabberghasted. Stephen did not give me an answer, he just showed me the declined credit card on the Uber app. 

"It's ok!" he smiled. (Was he ever not smiling?) "I just applied for a new credit card! See! I can get you a cab," he said. 

"No. I live less than a mile from here. I can walk."

"I'm calling it now," he teased.

"Do not call me a cab!" I shouted in the Starbucks, losing my composure. Stephen's grin never left his face. (Maybe I was the insane one.) The Uber app had declined both of his credit cards anyway. 

"Hey," he said as I swiped my metrocard for him. "Do you want to meet Constantine? Right now? Go to Bake-a-bagel in Queens. Ask for Gus."

I blocked his number after that...but he still has my address from the cab ride....

Coda

There are two additional types of insanity: self-imposed, and inherent. (And both types are annoying to us folks damaged in the normal way.)

Anyone who refuses dialogue, preferring lies to truth, has imposed the resulting insanity upon themselves. They are building a foundation on lies, and we are witnessing their mental and moral collapse, which causes additional suffering. 

Stephen is a tragic case. He did not choose to be insane and annoying by avoiding the truth; he is naturally annoying even though he actively prays and seeks the truth.

He wants to go to heaven right now, but he cannot; he knows he must suffer lonelinees on Earth first. It is necessary for him to endure to reach Heaven. However annoying he is, he wisely listens to his soul.

Ironically, I will see these protestors at the Witness for life monthly. They need more prayers than Stephen.

God will have mercy on all of those who ask for it. 

NY Times misunderstands the basics

The NY Times is written by arrogant idiots for arrogant idiots. It is charity on my part to call them idiots at all; otherwise I'd have to call them evil. (The journalists are probably both.)

For a "paper of record" like the NY Times, this article by Elizabeth Dias conveys an ideological misunderstanding  about Biden and the USCCB. Her tricky diction is professionally deceitful, represententaive of the state of modern journalism: 

But the move to target a president, who regularly attends Mass and has spent a lifetime steeped in Christian rituals and practices, is striking coming from leaders of the president’s own faith, particularly after many conservative Catholics turned a blind eye to the sexual improprieties of former President Donald J. Trump because they supported his political agenda.  

1. She has it backwards: the Bishops are protecting the faith from a publicly unfaithful politician. It simply does not matter if the president attends Mass if he also knowingly receives the Eucharist in a state of mortal sin. 

2. The USCCB are not talking about the "sexual improprieties" of former President Trump. Stop changing the subject! They are talking about the current President's legal support for abortion! (The NY Times is obsessed with Trump. Sad!) Neither the USCCB, nor faithful Catholics made excuses for Trump's "sexual improprieties," which did not even occur during his presidency! There was nothing for them to turn a blind eye! Moreover, conservative Catholics did not support Trump because of his past "sexual improprieties." They supported him becasue he was Pro-Life.

3. Trump is not a Catholic! Even if he attended Mass he could not receive the Eucharist. Again, this has nothing to do with Trump!

The action is the latest sign of how the nation’s bitter political divisions are shaping religious life. 

Wrong. 

This is the ancient division between sin and grace that has taken political shape. The Catholic Church has always been opposed to abortion on moral grounds. As a President that is portrayed as a devout Catholic, the USCCB must clarify the church's teaching on the Eucharist and rebuke the President's anti-Catholic actions. 

Some conservatives want to use such a statement as theological justification to deny communion to Mr. Biden and Catholic politicians like him who support abortion rights.

It should read: "Catholic conservatives want to deny communion to Mr. Biden and Catholic politicians like him who support abortion rights."

For the sake of their souls! For the sake of their souls!! For the sake of their souls!!!! Again, receiving the Eucharist while in a state of mortal sin is a mortal sin. Without absolution, this means H E L L !

"Catholic" politicians like Biden know this! They should also know that abortion is not a "right."

But the fact that Mr. Biden’s views on abortion are even a matter of public discussion is already a victory for conservative Catholics. 

Yes, because it gives the USCCB the spotlight to clarify what makes Biden's views wrong from the perspective of faithful Catholics. 

(By  the way, as a journalist, Ms. Dias should be explaining 'why' conservative Catholics think this is a victory.)

Mr. Biden, like Pope Francis, embodies a liberal Christianity focused less on sexual politics and more on racial inequality, climate change and poverty. His administration is a reversal of the power that abortion opponents, including bishops who advanced the measure, enjoyed under Mr. Trump. 

'Conservative' and 'liberal' are political labels. Stop politicizing Christianity! Catholicism is the only completely consistent worldview; its consistency diluted for the masses with the use of these stupid labels by journalists that don't know what the fuck they are talking about. 

...giving conservatives a tool to criticize Democratic politicians throughout the campaign cycle. Abortion has long been one of the most mobilizing political forces for the religious right. 

Again, Ms. Dias can ask 'why is it one of the most mobilizing forces?' 

That's because abortion is a moral evil and any God fearing man will sensibly choose God over man's desire to play God. And nowadays God fearing men tend to be on the political right. And taking away abortion "rights" is intrinsic to any religious person's politics simply because abortion is lawful where it ought not to be. 

Biden is a disaster of a President, and a pathetic Catholic. And his pathetic Catholicism is only used by the media to undermine the Church's teaching against abortion by portraying a "devout" Catholic president as supporting abortion legislation.

Ideologues make bad journalists.

Stop reading the NY Times. 

Pit Vipers are gay and stupid looking

but I bought a pair for $40 and they arrive tomorrow. 

Explanation

I have been well trained by the media to want more more more, so when I inevitably break/lose the cheap crap that I can afford it is a convenient excuse to obtain a cheap replacement, preferably by buying, which releases awesome endorphins. 

Historically, sunglasses are like lighters; I never have to buy them because whenever I need them I magically find them in a lost-n-found, an act that appeals to my naturally stingy proclivities.

But something strange has been happening to me over the past six months or so, when I began to notice, and then "hate" Pit Vipers enough to buy a pair. 

Explanation continued 

(Bear with me)

My growing interest with Pit Vipers resembles the exponential self-destruction of the west, albeit in one year (June 2020/21) vs the near millennium after Thomas Aquinas' death in 1274.

The story of my eventual purchase begins way back one year ago when Dr. Disrespect, a popular Twitch streamer, was mysteriously banned from a platform I don't watch.

This story was only of an anthropological interest before it faded from my memory hole minutes after I asked myself 'Who is Dr.Disrespect anyway?' 

It was only when I began writing this post, just now, that Dr. Disrespect and his facial accessories re-emerged into my memory hole, putting the near-acknowledgement of his sunglasses as my Pit Viper Ground Zero moment as June 2020. 

This speaks to the power of Pit Vipers on my sub-conscious; I hadn't thought about Dr. Disrespect in one year, and didn't even recall his name. But I did recall his outfit, including mullet and moustache (both of which I've rocked) and sunglasses....

The next watershed moment in this ensuing purchase was finally acknowledging that there is an irl streamer eponymously named Baked Alaska after hearing his name mentioned from the mouths of other internet personalities multiple times. (Once again, never watching his streams.) 

And when I saw a picture of him (visually acknowledging my auditory acknowledgment) I noticed his sunglasses this time (unlike Dr. Disrespect, Baked Alaska had a look, not a costume) and explicitly thought 'oh, sunglasses.' His sunglasses were an accessory to this look--bleached hair, brown beard, neon outfits--and his attitude. I don't have a streamer's personality and therefore felt that the sunglasses were For Streamers Only.

Then in early June 2021 Milo Yiannopolis made a remark about how Pit Vipers made a Pride themed Instagram post that got ratio'd because they 'don't understand their clientele.'

I thought, 'What are Pit Vipers?' and then, 'Ohhhh, the sunglasses that Baked Alaska wears!'

It was starting to make sense. 

My black sunglasses that I bought for $4 last Fall were still in my possession and still unbroken, and I did not feel a subconsciously coerced need for new sunglasses, especially Pit Vipers because they were too flashy and ugly. They were definitely not my style. (This coming from a fanboy of Osiris D3 2001.)

Irony is gay. But could these antiquated sunglasses from the last golden age actually be cool? In the same way fedoras are actually cool? In spite of the dweebs and atheists that currently ruin them? 

Over the next two weeks I'd see various e-celebrities wearing Pit Vipers "ironically," and think, 'Those are Pit Vipers.' Then: 'Pit Vipers are gay looking.' And then, to no one: 'Right?'

Then last week, after spending the evening eating gelato with the Dominicans, I lost my sunglasses--they just disappeared! I wasn't even drunk!--and I groaned because I really liked them, and felt as naked as I was blind without them in the morning sun. 

Then on telegram two days later I saw yet another pair of e-celebrities wearing Pit Vipers. I looked at them for a long time, then I zoomed in on their faces with my thumb and forefinger, and stared into my own reflection of their Pit Vipers and saw myself wearing Pit Vipers, and finally understood that owning Pit Vipers was written into my birth, as inevitable as the Second Coming. 

I felt an urgency for them to be on my face as quickly as a fire needed to be put out in the pants I'm wearing.

Conclusion

I am a dissident. 

I drink Monster Energy, wear Pit Vipers, and when a journalist asks me for my name I answer, "Fuck Off."

Living The Truth takes guts. And it takes guts to stand out. And that's what Pit Vipers are for. 

Excommunicate Biden!

This is uncontroversial:

The Catholic Church believes that life begins at conception, and terminating pregnancy at any point after conception is killing. 

(The fifth commandment is 'Thou Shall Not Kill.")

Faithful Catholics also believe that life begins at conception. 

Biden is a "faithful Catholic" insofar as he "attends Mass and has spent a lifetime steeped in Christian rituals and practices."

But this is not enough. Biden is not an ordinary Catholic, but the President, and therefore has the capability to limit abortion as well as set a good public example of devotion.

Instead of limiting abortion, as a Catholic president should--or in the very least do nothing--Biden is expanding abortion "rights," dropping the Hyde Amendment out of his recent budget. 

Though he may be personally opposed to the legal dismemberment of unwanted children, he values his party's politics by acting in direct contradiction to the faith he claims to have.

The Church must clarify this confusing example set by Biden. (The USCCB will write a lengthy treatise on what the Eucharist actually is, and what it actually means.) And after they clarify, they should excommunicate!

Biden is committing a mortal sin by publicly receiving the Eucharist and expanding abortion "rights," and is damning his soul to Hell if  he does not ask for forgiveness. Excommunication is a sign from the Church to Biden to seek forgiveness and amend his life--in the very least do nothing to current abortion law. Excommunication is merciful! (And he can be un-excommunicated.) 

This is a no brainer. But the Church moves slowly. Hopefully they act before he dies, or becomes senile. 

EBT in Harlem

Some people just do not want help of any kind. Especially from white people.

Having read a few horror stories of helpful white people mercilessly killed by the black people they were helping, I thought dying in a similar way would be an easy risk to avoid for the simple fact that I do not like to help anyone.

But I am a slow learner.

Last week I was in Harlem at the infamous 125th Street and Lexington Ave 456 stop (the original K2 corner).

I stood at the counter patiently waiting my turn as the cashier rang up another customer’s order total of $36.

“What are you doing?!” screamed the shocked customer. “Why are you charging me $36?! It’s *just* two sandwiches!”

(Nevermind that the cashier was doing this customer a favor by ringing up his hot food with EBT.)

For the sake of transparency, the cashier took out the additional items that the customer bought (a can of pringles, a large green organic juice, an orange soda and a bag of Cheetos) and announced the price of each one.

The customer was outraged. “It shouldn’t cost that much!” He held up the organic juice: “This shouldn’t be $4!!”

I rolled my eyes. Of course, this is a bullshit price for a bullshit juice, we agree; but that outrage wears off after you get the taxes taken out of your first paycheck and realize that ‘overpriced juice’ is only the first identifiable injustice of capitalism.

This clueless moron was in another league however, as an example of a spoiled homeless New Yorker given $900/month in free cash. He wasn’t grateful for this money, he was unchanged and was throwing an embarrassing tantrum like a 5-year-old. (He probably grew up without a father.)

Once more the cashier announced the price of each item again, including the two sandwiches and the two orders of fries that the customer ordered in addition.

“I don’t want this stuff!” The grown man whined.

The cashier replied with frustration: “The money is off the card! It can’t go back!”

The customer’s tantrum intensified, and he reiterated: “I don’t want it!”

The cashier rolled his eyes, opened the register, and threw two five-dollar bills at the customer. “Take your food and get out!”

Perplexed, the customer stared at the two bills and started counting on his fingers. “He only gave me ten! The sandwiches are $12!”

“He did you a favor,” I said stupidly, thinking I was doing a favor by being an impartial interpreter. “He gave you the money back. He didn’t have to do that.” The cashier’s face displayed complete indifference at my interjection on his behalf.

The customer looked at me, his face curled in anger. “What’s $24 plus $10?” he asked earnestly.

I stammered because I can do simple arithmetic and knew where this short conversation was headed. “It’s…uh….it’s $34….”

“He charged me $36! You stupid fucking cracker,” he screamed. In that moment, my life was reduced to the 21st paragraph of a lengthy article about “white supremacy.” I realized that no one would save me in that deli, not the other bored looking patrons or the indifferent cashier.

The customer continued his retarded abuse shouting, “I should crack you in the motherfucking face! Remember where you are! You are in our neighborhood!”

The casher shouted, “Take your food and get the fuck out! You can’t come back here again! Get the fuck out nigger!” (He was Arabic, so the other patrons didn’t even look up from their phones with this slur.)

Lesson Learned

The Arabic cashier could not be “racist” because he was non-white, a fellow minority with no history of oppression against people of color (on this continent).

If he had been white, not only would he be a racist, but the entire place would get justly trashed and ransacked by the clientele because of “white people’s historic injustices against people of color.”

As the only white person in the store just trying to calm tension using reason, I received the hatred that “historic injustices” allow.

I didn’t even really want to help that retard, I just wanted him to shut up. Now, I’ll just bear the annoyance. My life is worth bearing that annoyance.

At least it is to me.

Santorum flavored shake

Call me perverted, but when I think of homosexuality, I think of anal sex between two men.  If "Love is Love" and this is the only tangible difference between heteros and homos, then there is almost nothing obsessive about acknowledging the only difference.

However, anal sex between two men is viscerally disturbing to me, and therefore I never willingly think about homosexuality. 

But I suppose that's the point of Pride Month: for Big Corporations and Mainstream Media to remind me that some men have anal sex with other men, and that is OK, because only bigots are disturbed by the frothy substance of fecal matter and lube that is a byproduct of anal sex, not normal people. 

Pride Month infuses this reminder--and acceptance--of sodomy everywhere, for everything not related to anal sex: parades....NYPD patrol cars....milkshakes....

Probably my only wholesome attribute is my fondness for milkshakes. They were always a treat, and a symbol from my idyllic and innocent childhood before their enjoyment became corrupted by the reality of age and mortality, the counting of calories, and the battle of sugar addiction. Now, sacrifices must be made for any milkshake to be enjoyed. 

Shake Shack is a worthy contender for best burger joint, but they are tools for the Gay Pride agenda, and have created a fruit flavored milkshake to commemorate the normalizing of a sexually depraved and unnatural lifestyle. 

Fruit flavored shakes are not homosexual!! Only anal sex is homosexual!!

A true Gay Pride flavored shake is santorum ((n.) the frothy substance of fecal matter and lube that is a byproduct of anal sex) flavored. As a child of mainstream media perversion, this is what I taste when I drink a milkshake in June. Therefore everything I sacrifice for a milkshake is for naught. 

I don't drink milkshakes in June anymore.

Hot Takes

Since January I’ve always wanted to have That Big Idea. I wanted to be like Columbus, who thought the opposite of other explorers when he decided that the best way to The East was via that ocean to the west.

Or like the guy who invented the subways when he thought, ‘But, like, what if we put trains underground?” (It would be too easy to be a copycat by “inventing” underground airports.)

Alas, I can never be an inventor because experiments are tedious, and I hate tedium.

Sure, I can “invent” foods, like Sweet and Sour Chicken Ice Cream, with Real ™ Chunks of Chicken. Or a cereal, like Pepsi Blue Puffs. Or Blue Cheese nuggets covered in dark chocolate. (Think Raisinets.)

But as much as I want to eat these inventions I will never be as dedicated as Kellog to agonize over their creation and see them through; these are nothing more than very tasty jokes, the farthest of which they will traverse from my mind is my tongue, and not the other way around.

The thing about Columbus, and the Wright Bros, and other inventors and explorers is that they made their ideas happen. They were theorists and experimentalists. I am humble and therefore realistic about myself: I’m simply better at thinking of stuff and saying stuff than I am at building stuff. (Sorry Dad.)

But thinking of stuff is a skill too!

Hot Takes

So long as writers do not all become full blown propagandists and/or ideologues they will remain useful, even as our civilization becomes more illiterate and our youth spend their time watching TikToks and playing Fortnite.

How? Hot Takes!

But how???

Comfort inventions--like smart phones—are finite. (How much more ubiquitous anti-boredom comfort do we need? How much more can we handle!?) Some fat slobs will sacrifice themselves on the altar of convenience and comfort by numbing their heart’s desire for truth with gluttony, but God willing there will always be more people inclined to sacrifice their comforts to reach the truth. (Because observing physical degradation is depressing (and preventable)).

(Also because the Second Coming is inevitable, but the combined efforts of the faithful puts it off…for now.)

Apply the same logic to mental lethargy. Anti-boredom comfort leads to mental boredom from over comfort. A Hot Take stirs the soul because nothing stirs a soul more than an exposed lie.

That’s why edgy—not profane--comedy once made people lol before it was cancelled for being offensive. That’s why political dissent gets censored!

Evil knows that the hotter the take, the faster the spread, and comfort inventions are the flamethrowers. If a lie was to be exposed by a hot take, censoring a hot take is evil….and evil especially wins when we abandon our historical privilege of literacy.

Mission  

As a writer, I am constantly on a personal Columbus-type quest for a fresh, hot take. Unlike Columbus, I never have to do anything but talk about it as confrontationally and peacefully as possible, and I never have to risk anything but my livelihood and my reputation by being a voice of dissent. Hardly the same sacrifices as Columbus. Closer in similarity to Galileo.

I may not be the first person to say something like: “We never landed on the moon…the entire thing was shot in a secret studio at NASA,” or “Coronavirus was created in a lab in Wuhan, and the CDC helped fund it,” but I want to be.