Cultural Shticks

OK. This has crossed my desk:

Some candidate for Senate has posted in his campaign flyer what some call a horrifyingly objectionable caricature of Jews.

See here: http://tinyurl.com/n33p8

Somebody by the name of Smolen is outraged. "The image made Smolen, who is Jewish and Stafford County's Democratic chairman, uncomfortable." Here come the waterworks...

While I'm happy that your society discusses nothing of any significance, I, as chronicler of your species' follies, am under no such restriction. And that's why you love me; I shoulder my duties bravely. So here is what I have scribbled in my notebook:

Your society has many cultures. And every culture has a predominant "shtick." This shtick is just the default behavior that manifests itself unless efforts are made by the individual to act otherwise. Many, or perhaps most, individuals within a culture succeed at avoiding the shtick. But the shtick is reinforced by lazy members of that culture who resort to adopting it.

I perform a tremendous service in making these shticks known to you. Don't worry about thanking me; commenting on them is its own reward.

Here are some shticks that I have catalogued in my report to the Zargonians:

Black people are loud, offensive, disrespectful, destructive, and lazy. This is the default shtick that many resort to.

I recall when I lived in Harlem last year. There were some social-program recipients who lived upstairs from me who insisted on loudly playing X-box and jumping around and hollering at three in the morning. Repeated attempts to appeal to their decency failed. Their response to me was, "Dob a doo ba dee. Cracker." OK. No surprise there, I guess. I jotted the experience down in my log book.

Many in the neighborhood acted like complete savages. I got punched in the head and shot at just for being white. I know this, because I had not yet had the chance to demonstrate what an asshole I am.

I moved into that neighborhood wanting only to adopt a respectful, low profile and to learn of the black culture. I guess I did... Due to economic and demographic considerations, in five years Harlem will be nearly exclusively white and gay. And no one will care where the black people went. And of course, this is everybody else's fault. Not really: It's just that at the bottom of the page, at the end of the cost/benefit analysis, the rest of the world got tired of your behavior. It's really not a big deal... You've been traded in for a better model.

I had gotten friendly with a couple of the older guys on the block. We would play chess on the bench outside. One of the guys wondered why so many "yuppies" --as he called them-- were moving into Harlem. He asked, "Is it because it's exotic to live here?" "Yeah. No," I'm thinking, "Trust me: no one wants to live among you. We live here because it's all we can afford."

The gay man shtick is one of bitchy, queeny standoffishness. I hate going to gay bars because a disappointingly large percentage of the patrons have an odious personality. If you're not wearing the right clothes or have the right haircut or are a bit overweight or talk crazy talk, they will shun you. There is no gay community, your protestations to the contrary notwithstanding. The gay shtick is one of anger and sadness. And I suppose I'm guilty of adopting it sometimes.

I used to go to get a large cup of coffee at some gay cafe in Chelsea or wherever. Heaven forbid that you should accidently look at somebody or attempt to engage anyone in conversation there: You'd be branded a weirdo stalker. I'm not asking for your phone number or bank account information; I just wanted to chat. Sorry. It might be nice to have a friend in this city of several million. My bad; I didn't familiarize myself with the local custom.

But back to our precious Mister Smolen's outrage...

The Jewish shtick is one of cheapness and cultural insularity and constant lies and being teary-eyed and of always wanting to control everything. This default shtick is a seductive one; it fosters an inferiority complex, in which one believes that the whole world hates you and that they're about to spring the next pogrom on you at any moment. Again: Not really.

I went out on a date once with this Jewish psychoanalyst. (I should have just stopped right there, because I can't stand those headshrinkers. Over the course of the meal, he expertly divined that my family had suffered from a lack of communication, and that we should have had more yelling and screaming like in his Jewish family.)

He's a well-off doctor... I'm a cable man... We know this about each other. We're having dinner. We split the bill. And he asks if I would mind if he took the receipt... Great. That whole Jew thing...and so soon. This guy is so Jewish... He's going to deduct the full cost of this meal from his taxes. Or expense it. Or whatever. I could not believe what was happening. Now...I'm not looking for a sugar daddy; it's not my style. I don't envy his economic station in life. Trust me: My low wage affords me luxuries that he can't have, like the flexibility to order my life as I see fit. This freedom is worth more to me than all his money. So he can have the whole money thing, because along with it comes enslavement. He hasn't figured this out yet. He's a young soul.

So that was not the issue. If I were the doctor, I would have insisted on paying for a meal for someone who obviously finds it difficult to live in Manhattan on forty thousand dollars a year. "This cable man probably doesn't have fifty bucks to blow." And I would pointedly leave the receipt, lest my dining partner believe that the expensing of the meal would be some small compensation for what apparently was the torturous company. ...And I thought that _I_ had no social skills...

Periodically, some elderly Jew will plow his car into a gathering of black children. Waiting for a school bus, maybe. "Brakes failed!" ...Or so say the PR firms. There is a dark, racist sect among the Jews, one that believes that it is virtuous to kill black people. They regard them as subhuman. "That's an old, anti-semitic chestnut! You're a PeruvianHater!" Again, not really. I'm happy that you have painstakingly crafted a marketing campaign to neutralize criticism of your follies, but I don't follow your species' rules.

And they have even erected laws by which you can't criticize them. They're called Anti-Hate laws. Because calling attention to someone's failures is something so grand as hate speech, don't you know... You've stepped in dog shit. I'm helping you avoid embarassment by calling attention to it. If I hated you, I'd let you track it all over your house...

And they can't stand Christian culture. They hate everyone who their inferiority complex tells them is superior. They're in this weird mind paradox that they can't escape.

Social criticism is a thing which should be practiced by all members of society. It's how socially objectionable behavior is corrected. Anyone who would criminalize it is up to no good.

Back to our precious Mr. Smolen's discomfort... He goes on to say that, "I'm completely satisfied with the Webb campaign's recognition that this in fact, had it gone out, could've been a damaging situation and that in the future they're going to make sure this doesn't happen again."

Implicit in this statement is a threat. "We'll cause problems for you." Oh really?

That is the Jewish shtick. "If we can't pay you to like us, then we'll smear and threaten you." Far too many Jews have lazily adopted it. And it's embarassing to watch. I can only imagine how it feels to traffic in it.

So, Mr. Smolen, know that this observer sees dogshit all throughout your house. And if you're smart, you'll do something about the stink...before no one cares where all the Jews went.

And read that as a book-ending rhetorical device or as a beautifully subtle implied threat. Whatever is more your style... I can guess how you'll interpret it; the whole world, after all, is out to get you, remember?

Watch more TV. You'll get even smarter.

[test of audio readings.]

I was working at the gas station yesterday when some woman walks in and announces to anyone that she's happy that we finally got "that Al Zachary."

Watch more TV. You'll get even smarter.

I was working at the gas station yesterday when some woman walks in and announces to anyone that she's happy that we finally got "that Al Zachary." I think she meant that al-Zarqawi. But whatever. Might as well be the same guy... She jerked her thumb at the TV hanging from the wall, so I'm pretty sure she was referring to the subject of this all-day, news-channel, edge-of-the-abyss LieFest.

She somehow zeroed in on me as a sympathetic ear. "I hope they get that guy with the glasses, too. He's crazy."

'I hope they get that guy with the glasses...' Whoever that is...in this latest installment of American Insanity. Is this how it ends? Is this how America gets conquered? Not by a hell's-breath nuclear flash or guys with guns, but by a television show? Could it truly be this easy? Is that all the Soviets really had to do was to buy all the TV stations? Bravo...I guess...

"You know that's not real..." I pointed at the TV. Again, not my place to seek out people whose conceptual models of reality I may destroy, but she made the mistake of thinking I was "down" with her housewife's appreciation of epic geostrategic gambits. "It's like a movie."

"How can you say that?!" Not, 'Well that's a startling position,' or, 'The Al Qaeda cross-border influence with the Sunnis will be reduced to a tenable level.' Or whatever. Her only complaint was that I was calling into question her reality. She found this emotionally disturbing. It was as if I was riding with a friend in her car and, seeing her about to barrel through a red light, said flatly, "The light is red." How can you say that?

And the newspeople on the TV looked like they really believed what they were saying. I would expect them to, as their paychecks are dependent upon this version of events being real.

Everyone's material and emotional security are now dependent upon a television show's being real.

.

I remember that Truman Show movie. Our guy wanders through life, not knowing that he's inside a gigantic television show, where his neighbors and his mailman and his friends are all actors. They're all in on it. And someone's sitting in a control booth somewhere, directing this grand reality show.

I sometimes think that this has all got to be a joke...or a punishment. What soul-level, karmic offense did I commit to warrant this? I don't question that I may deserve such a thing...I'm just curious to know what I did.

If it's not a punishment, is it a joke? Am I being "Punk'd?" Did I win entry to a reality show, get administered a memory-erasing drug, and am I now the subject of some enormous, nationwide, meta-ironic performance-art piece? That would be quite the joke: The Battle of the Performance-Art Pieces. Serves me right, I suppose. I arrogantly thought I had the resources to truly compete.

Is this how it ends? Is this how I go insane?

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I need a refresher course, please.

The teevee tells me that I should kill Arabs because they mistreat their women: They make them wear those awful, awful burqas.

You fuck your women in the ass and then cum in their faces.

I'm just trying to remember who I'm supposed to be killing now.

Five-Second Editorial: Gay Marriage

Gay marriage? ...No one gets married until I find a goddamn date.*

---------

*Now...if all you dipshit Democrats and retard Republicans can calm down, I shall deliver my ex cathedra pronouncements on this issue...

The reason why you dumbasses are even talking about this is because someone decided to spin your wheels on meaningless pursuits while the real issues of the day go undiscussed. You know, like 9-11 being an inside job, babies with bullet holes in their brains and intestines growing out of their ears, the erection of a nice shiny police state, and all that kookie stuff...the stuff that only weirdos talk about.

But if you all want to pretend that this is a real issue, then I will gamely play along.

[Clears throat.]

Marriage --like most of a society's conventions-- exists to promote peace and comity among men. A guy decides he wants to have this woman. He calls a public gathering and says, "This is my woman. Let everyone know that and let no one attempt to take her. She's going to have my babies." Everyone in attendance is like, "That's his woman now. Hands off." This is marriage. And you're kidding yourself if you think it's anything else.

Of course, there's always some busybody who wants to stick his nose into things. That's the state. Fine. Whatever. Let the state give its imprimatur to the marriage. I don't need it, but some people do. Some never feel legit unless some bureaucrat gives his assent. And the state can choose to bestow privileges upon the married couple in order to promote this harmony among men.

Gay marriage has no meaning because it is a non-procreative relationship. End of story. Recognition by the state of a gay union is desired only by those who seek crass economic benefits. Powers of attorney and trusts can duplicate all the benefits of being married.

I love these Republican types who argue that the defense of marriage is the defense of the fabric of society. Oh...you mean the same defense of society that includes your new Republican police state, full of asshole searches and paid snitches and eavesdropping and torture chambers and EarIntestines? You're not a morally consistent bunch, are you?

And these Democrats are not morally consistent, either. They're aghast at the making of DepletedUraniumBabies, but they're happy to stick a screwdriver into some woman's cunt and suck out the baby's brains and toss it into a garbage dumpster --which is really no different from the Republicans' fetish of making the world safe for babies by killing babies with automatic gunfire, all in the name of TheGoodThing.

So all of you are cut from the same cloth. And you all disgust me. Every last one of you.

Is that categorical enough for you? Yours is the most disgusting society that one could ever devise, even on paper. And you look ridiculous with your moral posturing. You've smeared yourselves with shit and you somehow think it's perfume.

I know their plans...

Have I told you that I'm in contact with space aliens? They let me in on their plans...

There's supposed to be some sort of "continuity of government" exercise on June 19th or whatever. All the people who fancy themselves important hole themselves up in a mountain-side bunker for a weekend.

The aliens have given me foreknowledge of their plans. Just like in that War of the Worlds movie, they're going to pop out of the ground and use those awesome hand-mounted laser blasters and laser-weld the doors to the bunkers closed and stuff smelly rags in the ventilation pipes. Let those fuckers suffocate...so the world can get on with its peaceable business. And then the aliens will make it a holiday: "AssBanana People Killing Day." And everyone will have cookouts and sing songs and get crunk. For ever and ever. Amen.

I am in complete control of your brain.

In my limited experience doing stage work --which I had to learn quickly, owing to your society's being in grave danger from those who would enslave you-- I came to understand one important truth: Stage work is essentially an exercise in mind control and sales.

I started small: I would try to get away with using verboten words like nigger and fag and kike and whatever else would just make the audience cluck. It's great fun to push people's buttons. And it was remarkably easy. I learned that if I properly prepared the audience's collective mind, I could say anything. Then I moved on to verboten ideas. In similar fashion, you can make an audience believe anything. If ever I failed to make an audience accept a thing --should they cluck and rebel-- it was only because I had not carefully enough prepared their minds to receive...my essence. So it's not like they ever had the moral upper hand or anything... I find great amusement in the occasional audience member who takes offense at something I might say. "Poor little thing," I say to myself, "thinks he's in control of his own mind or something."

Good thing for you that I have your best interest at heart, because I truly could make you eat your own children and have you think it was a good thing.

(Incidentally: Remember that computer store job I briefly held? I was a one-man operation and I easily outsold the other store, the store that had three retail people working. The business owner and I had some...creative differences. We parted ways. Turns out their sales are way down at the store I managed. They have the same units on the floor that I had ordered two months ago, units that I would have moved in a week. My customers loved me so much that they would insist to their friends that they buy from me. Everyone loves to turn their friends on to a good thing. I had a never-ending train of customers who loved me, and whom I loved. Lesson learned: If _you_ hate me...but your customers love me...guess who gets to sit down, shut their face, and let me make money for them? People don't shop there because I don't work there anymore. I would often sit a customer down in a comfortable chair and try to elucidate from them exactly what it was they needed. A customer usually does not know what they truly need. It is the skilled salesman's job to put the customer in the product to which he is truly best suited. Customers appreciate this; they come away from the deal knowing that they have gotten their money's worth. That's all a customer ever wants. Shady salesmen will sell products that are not well suited to the customer. The customer eventually realizes this, and the salesman's referrals go down. So the point is this: There are virtuous salesmen, and shady salesmen. You had better know the difference...)

But anyhow.

Your society is being sold a very bad product by some very disreputable salesmen. Be advised. They have sold you a product of AssBananas, and torture chambers, and REX-84 concentration camps, and child raping, and depleted uranium, and babies with intestines growing out of their ears. And you think it's all a good thing. You are not in possession of your own minds.

In stage work, it is tactically useful to play the fool. "He's just a crazy KookieHead. What harm is there in laughing at him?" Har Har. Well guess who's laughing at whom? My words go in your ear, fly under the radar of cognitive dissonance, and impregnate your very soul. Now I'm inside you. Har dee har har! Trust me: It's a good thing for you that I'm on your side.

In stage work, my job of making the audience believe a thing is made easier if I have first prepared them to _expect_ a thing. I am happy to have the audience make an inference that is useful to me. I would let drop small pieces of information that did not, at the time of their dropping, seem to have any significance to the audience. But later on, when I wanted to rope in the audience, all these pieces of information had already made my case for me. The audience was happy to believe whatever it was I had set them up to believe.

I will read the news or watch the Lie Machine and I can see these little droppings. "Latest dispatch from the AstroGenital Brigade: 'More terror planned!'" And then when some fake terror event occurs, the audience says to itself, "Oh yeah, that's right. The government warned us about this. Therefore, terror is real and the government is protecting us." Not really. They're just dropping little tidbits. So that they can rope you in and convince you that it's a good thing that you accept a state-mandated anal temperature probe or baby eating. It's what I would do...if I were not a virtuous salesman.

And these people you see on the teevee selling this product? They're really no more noteworthy than the entry-level nineteen-year-old salesman who's putting a customer into a very bad product. They're either truly evil people, or they're the biggest dupes of all. Pick one; they're equally damning. "I sell AssBananas and child raping for a living. And I think it's a good product."

Lest you think that I fancy myself some kind of saint, I will tell you that I never really gave a rat's ass if a customer satisfied his home computing needs. I was there to pay the rent and put food on the table. I had a cold, calculated desire: I needed the customer's money. And the customer had a cold, calculated desire: He needed one of my computers. It is, however, my style to see that each party come away a winner. And that meant selling the customer the proper product. Neither one of us ever had any high-minded notions of why we were there. But we each left richer.

The salesman always needs something. You had better ask yourself, "What is it that this salesman wants from me?"

In this case, I will tell you that the salesman needs this from you:

1. He needs your money.
2. He needs to break your military so that your nation cannot mount even a defense of itself.
3. He needs to make you take off your shoes and spread your asshole open for inspection. Makes you compliant, don't you know...
4. He needs your children to be drafted into his AssBanana Army.
5. He needs you to assent to rounding people up and putting them in camps.
6. He needs you to be OK with making people jerk off into each other's mouths.
7. He needs to bankrupt your country, so that public lands can be given away to creditors, which, coincidentally enough, happens to be him. (Hee hee!)
8. He needs you to think that major influxes of immigrants are a good thing, so that you won't recognize them to be the invasion force that they are. Your country is being re-colonized.

Just so you know...

And you look ridiculous with your high-minded notions of being here for freedom and democracy and HappyTimeLumLumProduct. Like they say in poker, if you sit down at the table not knowing who the easy mark is...it's you.

Strangeness Abounds. Yay Strangeness!

Well this is strange... (Not conceptually strange, just strange that it happened to make itself known to me right now. Information about The Field was made known to me several years ago.) Read this and take it for what you believe it is worth:

http://www.red-ice.net/specialreports/2006/01jan/supernaturaluniverse.html

And this is strange, too, in the same way:

http://www.red-ice.net/specialreports/2006/06jun/changetheworld.htm

I can attest that the power of one voice, motivated by indomitable will and backed by pure intent, can really muck up the works of the liars.

You're an AntiSemite!

"You're just a PeruvianHater!"

Not really... I know that 'AntiSemite' sounds satisfyingly grand to you, but the truth is really much more boring: Their misdeeds just cross my desk more often...

And since I never know what advertising terms your species uses, I'm free to take anyone to task. It's quite liberating. You should try it sometime. It's like going to a nude beach.

Stand-Up Set

A short set from two shows I did, "My Head Hurts" in May of 2004, and "I Can't Tell if I'm Eating Butter or Not"* in November of 2004. Performed at Will's Pub, Orlando, Florida.

Seven tracks for a total of about 14 minutes. These tracks can be gotten from the ckpi.com website, under "Downloads."

*The "No Apologies" show was actually the Butter show. But in case that show sucked, I didn't want to squander a good title on it. So I used the No Apologies title. But the material of the show was designed to be named Butter. So I'm renaming that show as Butter, which was the original title anyhow.