First of all, to all you wingnuts out there, take a breather. Go toke one. This is for the working Americans out there who give a crap. If you think your neck of the woods is crème de la crème, go soak your missing handgun in it.
Secondly, communists, socialists, Nazis, pansies and other wackos, slave-makers and dirt-bags, you are welcome to peruse and pop a blood vessel. Why? Because this post is full of radical ideas. It’s call free speech and you are welcome to try and snuff it out.
As a matter of fact, I think a gaggle of wannabe freedom wreckers are already pecking away at their keyboards, presently. I can almost hear them now.
“You mother blanker, I’ll call my congressman.”
“I’ll write an email to WordPress.”
“I’ll hire an out-of-work attorney.”
“I’ll call my mother.”
“I’ll get my gang of ex-con Nazi skin-head, tattooed, former union-thug followers, to crush you!”
This is not my standard post. So scrap it and read some good stuff. Some other trash. Soak your brains in it and your low parts, with perfume and sawdust for all I care. Because that’s what we see today. So much stuff — and that’s the nice word.
But you know the word(s) I’m fricking thinking about, don’t you? Just pick one or two. Draw it on your forehead with your wife’s lipstick or your man’s rouge, so you can reverse read it in your bathroom mirror later, after your toddy.
“! H S A R T”
Just so we can have some fun and get around the anus censors. For those of you who gossip and have those picnics under the “chem trails” —
! o u y k c u F
Now, I realize that I will likely spark a bit of bible thunder, but at the same time, I don’t give a blank.
Today’s news and opinion isn’t about cryptocurrencies, although for those of you who have been holding Ripple for a long time — a love-hate relationship for me — congratulations, your ship came in, floated for a bit then took a crap again. But that’s how Ripple rolls. Get over it.
Bloggers who tilt at Windmills
No, this post is about “Little Fiefdoms” or the bloggers who tilt at windmills and rant at the moon. Then take a huge stinking crapola, behind all the pretty little sand castles. We’ve all seen them – smelled them. They litter the net like so much garbage. Words to smear and anger, but little substance. A blemish upon the freedom of speech, but one that should never be silenced. That is the evil game of the “Little Kings.” Crapola kings and their sweet honey-bee queen followers.
It is a unique environment to be sure. From the days I blogged on Prodigy , got censored, or the months I puked my junk all over the Bulletin Boards, until now. Until just a few days ago, after I received a response to one of my replies I posted to a blog about…well about a lot of things. Some of it good and much of it, filled with vitriol. I was advised that if I continued to speak my mind, my responses would be deleted. Oh, you can imagine my balls then, can’t you? The little queen bee was gonna pull my response.
It’s a gem of a response — but also a measurement. A way of taking the temperature of a fevered patient and know when he/she is sick. And this patient? On the brink of reason, but never quite adapting to the human form. In short, sick in the philosophy.
The Deleted Minds
I asked the blogger in question to delete all of my comments. I’ve deleted garbage from my posts as well. You know the spam we receive. Loads of it. Idiots smearing. Jerks, probably high or drunk. Racists, socialists, people who forgot to take their meds. We know.
It was…hilarious. It is always that way. I imagine a person, frustrated about life and politics, blaming everyone around them, especially their own countrymen, that all of the problems would go away if only the US would be more like France or perhaps Canada — less free — more socialist. Less “provincial.” As if we Americans are perfect. That we think we are so good. Better to just roll over all the way and be gutted like Venezuela. Well, screw you. Some of us tree-burners would rather stick a Prius up your ass and send you packing to Mexico. I know I would – if it was legal – or if you, say, broke my computer.
We know we are not perfect. Our Constitution is not perfect. My privates are not perfect. We are over-taxed. Too many people are in prison. But we still have our handguns. We can still hold our gold and silver. We haven’t had a serious terrorist incident in a long time. Perfect? No. But better? You think not? Then take your overfed American ass to Russia. Get on a bus – we are not stopping you – and haul ass to Canada – the land of free medical and taxes that will make you crap your panties – because all men in Canada wear panties – no balls.
The Greatest Country?
And I’m not saying the US is the greatest country on earth. It’s just the least screwed up. I’d move in a heart beat, if you can tell me about a single country where I can carry a handgun in public, am protected (hopefully) by nukes and an army, I can drive thousands of miles across country, with no “papers” and I can still choose a private doctor. And just maybe, I can see the day when Obamacare is repealed.
I’m waiting. Where is this awesome place? You know where it is? In Hollywood – at the movies. It’s in your Crack Dens’ and Meth Labs. It does not exist.
Where is this fairy tale place? Where everyone lives in harmony, never argues, pays low taxes, eats only vegetables, drinks fine wine, doesn’t need a gun, because there is no crime, ever? Where healthcare is free and bums never sleep in the gutters? Where terrorists don’t drive trucks into crowds of people? Where you are not told to shut your mouth, lest you anger the Ministry of Truth in modern day — Germany? Wow. Hitler reborn.
You see, I’m as opinionated as the next person, but I refrain from smearing. I have fun and I’m sure I will turn some of you off by my apparently Republican stance, but I’m not a Republican. I’m what is called an “Objectivist.” Have been since I was about 10, several years after I found out about Santa Claus. And that really sucked. I mean, I really liked that guy and then the bomb drops. He was a fantasy. Never looked at another Christmas ornament the same way again, but the magic never left.
Since then, perhaps to the consternation of religious and socialists and anuses alike (they are all one and the same), I have required only one test to determine the solution to a problem: thinking. If you are unwilling to defend your idea, plum its core, face the music — however you define it — then go cry in the corner. Stand up and take it. No safe spaces. No free lunches. No crap.
A Capacity to Reason
Many of the bloggers about, do not exercise their capacity to reason and I am by no means an olympic challenger, but the quality of posts which fill the internet are much like the words hacked out of long dead soldiers. Until I can no longer peck away at these plastic keys, I will challenge, what I believe is philosophical garbage. Trash heaped high on the dead, with little respect for why or how they died.
Now, did our forefathers and grandfathers all die making us freer? Of course not. That’s not my point. Our world is not perfect. Many nations — many peoples — fought hard against despotism. Millions are buried and forgotten. Millions. So, if you talk trash, I’ll burn it. If you spew Nazi garbage or want a Ministry of Truth – you are garbage.
Any idea that heads us in that direction ought to be challenged. Ideas like having made a bad choice in the past and ending up in America — where you do not live on the backs of others as much as say, the Canadians. Regrets that other countries are better. F-ing leave, if you think that everyone must wear financial chains, so you can watch porn.
Why are you here…still?
Simple question. Why are you here? There are no fences keeping you in. And I wish that we did not have Social Security, so you would stop being the parasites you are. You have no right to force others to pay your way. There is no Social Security Trust Fund. There is no money. We are paying you directly — against our will. What is that called? It is called slavery. No, not physical chains, just financial ones. Which ones are more honest?
And why did you not save for your own retirement? When will dinosaurs like you become extinct? When will we be able to show our children your bones and point, “Yes, son, these were a people who were part of the Second Stage of Slavery — economic slavery — until they learned that all forms of slavery were wrong.” The little boy, about six, looks up, “boy dad, people were so stupid back then…”
The Words of War
This is the first area where wars are fought. Words. We have unleashed the war of ideas now, like Pandora’s box. Failure to respond to dead lies, is losing by default. Little by little the parasites win. The idea slavers win. Speak your mind. Screw them.
I say smack away at the misquotes of hate. Make them rue the day they found their way back from the swamps. If someone tells you, as an American (say some foolish Aussie and I know some smarter ones from down under) that human rights don’t exist, let loose the mouth of honesty. Oh, how the criminal minds hate that. How they beg you to stop the reality show. How they “delete” you rather the “debate” you. Castles in the sand. Reality, they say, is range of the moment. Cerebral bankruptcy.
And that’s the rub. Why do they — the bad bloggers on the net — wish to live off the labor of others — the backs of others? To exist in that law-of-the-jungle system, where the guy or gal with the most power wins? Where might, equals power over others? Then have the audacity to call it civilized?
They, the bloggers of low-think, use one of two techniques: Faith or force. Believe in God or Allah or the local deity [insert name here] or you are evil or misled. Or…Force. Force everyone to bend to your will in order to create a fiefdom of serfs, lords and kings. The proverbial, ant pile.
Even bloggers are want of the history book and mind.
(Oh, and don’t blame government-public-schools — blame mother and father and yourself for not having the desire to know what the heck is going on around you. Crack a book. Turn on your ebook. Schools don’t make idiots, it’s the other way around.)
Have a nice F-ing night, pansies.