Friday, August 25, 2017

Nazis, Hippies, and The Bloody Political Purge

No writer achieves success advising his readers to ignore him. I’ve come to define “success” differently. In this specific case it’s maybe a good idea, especially if you're ideologically pure or identified uncomfortably with my previous Talking Dead post, to click elsewhere. While I don’t mention it often in this post, it illustrates the tangible effects of our cyber mobs and political zombies. It’s also full frontal Toddzilla and amounts to taking the final shot on my aforementioned bender while at the same time serves to purge the one thing that’s been inexplicably safe: Zombie Politics.

If you click, you and you alone are responsible. Consider yourself warned, Snowflake.

An Oasis Raped

Chris won’t appreciate me sharing this. Sorry, buddy. Niblitz made me do it.

At the end of July, Chris retuned to Peru for the annual classes he holds at The Hof. One of the possible travel “plans” I considered if no other inspiration struck was a September return to his isolated oasis high in the Andes.

The first week of August, I got an email telling how the week before he’d awoken in the middle of the night to the sight of three pistols in his face. The gunmen drug he, the volunteers, and guests out of bed, emptied the safe, robbed everyone, then herded them into a building before poisoning and killing his dog with tainted chicken. Apparently, it’s some Peruvian bandito tradition to kill the dog when you rob a place.

Aside from the dog, no one was seriously hurt. One of his ownership partners was repeatedly kicked in the midsection when she screamed out, possibly cracking some ribs, and a guest suffered a welt from being hit on the head with a gun. The Hof’s pooch was the lone casualty.

This, and a couple other things, ended thoughts of a September return to Peru.

I’m won’t resurrect dead arguments. But I have to confess that old ideas surrounding how I perceive as Chris’ overly-positive belief in his perceived karmic benefactor, and thus habitual pacifism, returned. Understand this clearly: I don’t dredge it up to rekindle our sometimes turbulent history. Rather it applied and fueled my reaction to an event closer to home that immediately followed. I assume we all remember the weekend of August 12?


Like most people with functioning chromosomes, Charlottesville disgusted me. I’m not going to waste space condemning white supremacists and Nazis; it used to be a given. There was once a time when everyone, left and right, cheered the line, “I hate Illinois Nazis,” and when Elwood punched the gas. Returning to that "state of the nation" would be one way to start making America “great” again.

Disgusted as I was by the images of both Nazis and their under-evolved chimpanzee minion ramming his car into counter protesters, I couldn’t help thinking about pacifism. How could I not? Between images of white supremacists and the sounds of Trump fluffing his base with talk about “very bad people on both sides”, I was reading rainbow rhetoric about resisting with good vibes, hugs, and copious amounts of organic kale: gifts of “love” offered to people that would rather run over and kill than embrace them.

It’s been one constant belief back to 2008: drum circle pacifists woefully underestimate the hate their adversaries feel toward them. The refrain looping in my mind immediately in the aftermath of Charlottesville and the armed robbery: “Lambs to the Wolves.” And, right or wrong, I associated misguided non-violence with Chris’ safety being at the pleasure of nearby predators. I am not saying the connection was fair. Of course it wasn’t. I’m saying I made it. More on that is coming in another post.

Even by its own lobotomized zombie standards, Facebook teemed with idiocracy the week of Charlottesville and lo and behold! I’d simultaneously begun my Goodbye Social Media! blackout bender.

“Impeccable timing,” he said facetiously.

I mentioned before before, but it bears repeating how as I ingested the pervasive negativity it contaminated everything. What I didn’t mention was learning just how much I’ve changed.

Rather than Nazis, nearly all of my venom was spit in the virtual face of our supposed alternative to right wing extremism: antagonistic self-destructive liberals. In addition to the old ideas orbiting utopian pacifism and “Lambs to the Wolves”; dreadlocked yoga queen zombies intending to fight armed fascists with good vibes and hugs; I seethed at the divisive display of dogmatic identity politics every day while watching Bubble Hippies preach “love”, “tolerance”, and “equality” from one side of their mouths while whining about special pronouns, “gender fluidity”, speechcrime, and my new favorite: the Pale Penised Ogre: straight white men, from the other. Then, without fail, it happened: self-emasculating heterosexual white men falling over themselves to bend the knee and show loyalty to the anointed FemiNazi queen who, unless they were self-neutered, openly talks about how she despises them. I had one image in mind: psychologically castrated Uncle Toms.

Everything came to a head around the 20th when one of my oldest remaining friends, a raging liberal feminist, queefed something about “white male politicians” into a friend’s Facebook post. I’d deleted her from my list months earlier during my Liberal Propagandist Purge in the interest of maintaining our out-of-The Matrix friendship in the face of incessant displays of zombie-grade Liberal Purity. When she chose to proselytize with hippie scripture away from her own page, on a politically-neutral white friend’s page (a friend I’ve had much longer than Moonbeam) all I could think about was an Alabama zombie visiting a black man’s page and preaching about lazy black men. I saw, and still see it, as a direct parallel. When I replied in kind, Miss Love N. Tolerance blocked me. Coincidentally, I’ve since received my Rabidly Unaffiliated Membership Card in the mail. Funny. I never updated my address!

Let me be clear. I don’t give a flea’s fuck about your beliefs. Whether you’re a three-toothed redneck or a dreadlocked yogi ingesting bleached organic beets thru an anal straw, if your ideological religion tells you there’s literally (proper use!) a functional difference between stereotyping white and black men, yet still think your faithful allegiance to The Doctrine makes you an “equality warrior”? Ha! Well, all I can say is: “fuck the fuck off.” You’re zombified beyond the point of wanting even cursory interaction and you will go away.

After 30-years, we are no longer friends because of her ideological religion. Despite enduring dozens of similar outcomes with teabaggers and fascists over the years I’m amazed it came to that, particularly with her. But then again, why? It fits the national pattern of divisive bilateral radicalization.

I know this will get many a-pair of crusted hemp panties in a bunch, but Orwell was right: in Tofuistan, some people are more equal than others and Snowflakes are stupefyingly oblivious as to how divisively hypocritical liberal fundamentalist scripture sounds outside the Snow Globe. First they fart something like “straight white men have fucked up the world!” Then, without taking a breath, belch out recycled platitudes about “inclusiveness”, “love”, and “uniting together”! Around what? You?!? Hillary’s magically historic vagina? Bitches, please!

It’s at about this point where I typically have visions of holding them down, shaving the rat’s nest consuming their pits, then bathing them with red meat sponges because they won’t shut the fuck up about being, “such a devout ve-gannnn”—upward inflection on “gannnn”, of course, because they’re such fucking individuals that they simply must all sound alike! FUCK! I despise hippies! Everyone but hippies and Uncle Toms despises hippies! Those who say they don’t just haven’t realized it yet. Even when I was a de facto leftist crusading against El Cheeto I despised hippies! One of the first things I ranted about in this blog: hippies! In 2008!

Wait. What? You’ve not heard? What? You assumed that because I backpack and hitchhike I was one? Ha! Maybe you’re new. Adjust your expectations accordingly.

What’s making me laugh as I type is the vision of apoplectic karmic warriors on the other end of the screen practicing just how they’re going to let me have it by calling me a fascist Trumpbot if and when they see me! Here’s the thing, Gluten Free: I’ve been railing against rightwing extremism and the Tea Party since before the Tea Party slithered forth from their swamp. What? How is that even possible, you ask? I saw it and predicted both it and a then-ambiguous version of Trumpism…in 2009. You know what I said would fuel it 8-years ago? Disgust for YOU! And I was right.

I know it’s hard for pristine Snowflakes to leave their unicorn-filled Snow Globe echo chambers only to hear they’re not getting their weekly Citizenship Participation Trophy, but I warned you coming in. Disgust for YOU is precisely how we got Trump. No, no, no. Hush. Suck on your magic crystal until I finish. That’s exactly how it happened. Regardless of you, my disgust for my old bullseye remains unchanged. Teastained rightwing extremism’s still a scourge, even if they are “The Freedom Caucus" now. They’re also irrelevant to the topic at hand. The bile now flies in your direction because, despite your self-righteous proclamations of superiority to the conservative barbarian hordes, you’ve done nothing but follow their radicalization playbook. To the letter! You’ve become The Green Tea Party. You actually believe this flavor of curdled authoritarianism is the fucking “alternative” to theirs? Really? You’ve got to be kidding!
“Dogshit to the left of me pigshit to the right…here I am…”

I’ll be damned if I’m stuck in the middle of anything.

The institutionalizing tribalism of identity politics and its backlash were never on better display than the week of Charlottesville. That week also illustrated how the Left’s self-righteousness, their very short-bus special way of making themselves so intolerable even to people who may sympathize with them against fucking Nazis, makes the other idiocrats seem bearable by comparison. Think of it this way. Who would you rather plug your nose and hope to stomach? The group that hates “the other” or the Utopia Cult who believes YOU are all standing between them and government kale in every pot?

Put in this context, the worn out argument about poor whites voting against their own interest when they vote Republican evaporates. The ones voting against their own interest are these flocks of naive, typically young, straight white men who've somehow been convinced that it's smart to vote in the interest of every race and sex except their own! Why? For the collective good? Your native demographic is a huge part of the collective, idiots! And progressives are still boggled as to why Trump's in the White House and how they actually, somehow, lost white women to that! Duh, fuckers. It's the double edge backlash of your precious identity politics.

Hush, Uncle Tom. You’re dick makes you a bad boy and your perspective doesn’t matter. Your queen said so. Now sit down and pretend you're a docile eunich. In here, your voice vanished with your balls.

I was going to write about the damage being done by accelerating bilateral radicalization (looking at you, Antifa), but this is already more than enough politics and, embracing the wisdom of The Useless Shit Epiphany, what’s the point?

But, I have to say this and implore you to heed it: eventually you’ll have to choose between some variation of Hitler and Stalin. Yes. It’s headed straight there. And the scenes from Charlottesville will ultimately intensify because each “side” has sufficiently radicalized themselves to effectively sever all cords of commonality by dehumanizing “the other”. Each authentically, and passionately, feels “the other” is a literal (absolutely the proper use) threat to “their” country. Neither has any hope to comprehend how “the other” can possibly see them as such. Worse? Neither care. “Fuck ‘em. They’re just anti-American fascists/socialists!”

What neither seem to realize is that the country isn’t “theirs” to take back; neither holds a majority—regardless of California’s voting habits, Moonbeam! Extremism aside, we’re split down the middle. In this rapidly, and bilaterally, radicalizing authoritarian environment there are no political solutions. The only solution is moderation and compromise. Baaaaaahahahaha! Do you see that happening? At all? Anywhere? Me neither.

Conflict is inevitable. My politics slant slightly to the left; much less so than a year ago for several reasons! But there’s no way I’m saddling up to Che or Stalin Amerikana. What’s needed are alternatives to the alternatives. But, that’s a pipe dream for about a billion reasons that all begin with $.

For the sensible and rational person there’s only one doctrine and it’s found tucked away inside the Revised Gospel of Joshua. Step aside and let these mutually misguided rutting radicals fight it out. Conservatives have a clear advantage; they’ve armed themselves to the teeth while Captain Karma’s been weaving sweaters and practicing sun salutations. I’ll be surprised if American liberalism survives the 2020’s intact but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they’ll decimate each other. For the good of the nation, good fucking riddance! When it’s said and done, and the blood has finally dried, maybe you’ll kick their rotting radicalist corpses into undignified pits then build something better with whatever’s left.

I hope to God I’m wrong. But also heed this: it’s been shown that ignoring my observations and predictions is typically unwise. What’s needed is rediscovering a sense and appreciation of what binds us. Alien invasion aside, I don’t know how to do that. Not that it will cause alarm bells in the halls of power or anywhere else, nor does it amount to a fart in a hurricane, but I therefore hereby renounce whatever this is posing as politics and denounce each of these extremist zombie mobs.

Neither are my mortal enemy; their existence is everyone’s.

Congratulations. You have likely just read my final political post. Sorry to put you thru that. “Fuck that! They were warned!” See? It ends and the cynical prick Voice is already losing his grip. “Fuck you, pussy!”

Might take a day or two. Thankfully we’re about to be without internet! That should silence him. I feel like Jan in the Brady Bunch Movie.

As we transitioned from the middle toward the end of August, I repeatedly tried switching gears but the negativity just burrowed more deeply into my brain. I could neither avert my eyes nor shut up about it! This was familiar, unproductive ground and as my cyber bender wore on, the aforementioned physical and psychological symptoms just got worse. I tried distracting myself by writing in the hopes that if I finished, I could get on the road—even before the move if necessary—and let this shit go! I never quite got that far. The Final Purge was coming…