As I finished my shift at Cinemark, I quickly grabbed my spare work shirt from my locker and, at the speed of a hushed sprint, bolted for the computer to clock out. It was Friday, and the sooner I could get out the door, the less chance there would be I’d hear the voice of my manager conveniently waiting to catch me leaving so he could guilt-trip me into taking the night-shift as well.
I hit the furthest exit doors I could find, closest to the trash compactor and quite the opposite direction my fearless leader would be. A rush of frigid air hit me in the face, causing a moment of surprise and delight.
I love the cold. It excites every fiber of my being, and pushes me to do new things. As I strode quickly off the sidewalk and onto the pavement, I spotted my Mustang in the distance. The car was a cherry red color, so it wasn’t difficult to spot through a sea of vehicles. I began an awkward dance of weaving through the grid of cars. As I approached the driver’s side door, a glimmer caught the corner of my eye. I turned my head, expecting to see a ridiculously chrome-peppered vehicle, or a reflection off a nearby pedestrian’s attire. What I was met with, was the brightly-lit form of a man, illuminated by a street-light at the edge of the parking lot. His head was bowed, staring at the shiny object in his hand. The tiny spark that averted my eyes was no more than a ring, but to him it was worse than a wound. I clicked the button on the Mustang’s door handle, using an unreasonable sense of caution to avoid catching his eye. Quietly, I took a seat in the driver’s chair and instantly adjusted the outside mirror for a better view.
Whether I was swift, or he was lost in the catacombs of recollection, he remained in place. I sat mystified, attempting to understand the thought pattern of the man. He was clearly at the edge of this parking lot for a reason, and whatever it was, a movie was not on the agenda. He relaxed for a moment, his hand closing around the trinket. As he leaned back against his truck, he turned his head upwards. He withdrew once again to his mind, an apparent frustration now rising with each heave of his chest. He turned around to the door, opened it quickly, climbed in, and sat down.
Lost for a moment in the shadow of the cabin, I resigned myself to the idea that the scene was over. I was soon proven incorrect, as the outline of his face appeared in the illumination of his phone’s screen. He was unmistakably chatting on his speaker phone, and from the exaggerated movements observed, it was clear that he was distraught. His hands turned to talons; he flailed wildly in multiple directions, all while his head shook and jerked back in disgust. He put his head in his palms, rocking back and forth in furious exasperation. His hands moved to the screen, jabbing the smartphone’s face in frantic desperation. A careless toss of the device told me that his patience was gone, along with the caller, and whatever he was doing there in the first place was about to become evident.
I recognized instantly his expression upon exiting the truck. It was the mask of lovelorn rage; the composite mix of betrayal and defeat, coupled with the sting of loss. I had experienced such an event before, and it had left me in the same agonizing state. The feeling of content belonging had been stripped, and replaced with a miasma of confusion and despair which now clawed at him like a rabid animal. His future was suddenly capsized, and in its place was the absence of trust. Never again would this moment come to pass. From this point on, planning would be the only love he embraced.
Safety. Certainty. Probability.
This would be his anchor, and assurance. He would never let such a crippling story come to fruition again, and for the rest of his days, a wall would begin building in place of the faith he once willingly granted. Too much had been lost; the time for wasting had been spent, and his next encounter would be a hunt, not a collision. Within that one moment, many absolutes had been determined, and all of them pointed to a single exit: the driver’s side door.
He leapt from the vehicle, fists balled. Now was not the time for words. No poetry could undo the damage. No melody of love lost could repair the rift. This time was meant for action, and the action was severance. Emotionally drained, his hate took hold. He dared not chance a second look at his oppressor, his clenched fist was the only shield he had from his mistakes. With a sigh of grim apprehension, he turned to the black. Bitterness drew back his arm. Resentment cradled him in its numbing embrace, adding power and reason to his actions. Grief steadied his hand; this was not a task for the weak. Shame enveloped him, and all at once the small, circular shackle was cast out, vanishing immediately into the night.
And here I sit, hand on the telephone
Hearing the voice I’d known
A couple of light years ago
Headed straight for a fall
There are many tales of tragedy and woe, but none I know quite as well as the tale of my gaming community.
The tragedy of my clan is not of the sort where death and painful misfortune strike incessantly, eventually bringing the protagonist(s) down to a point of inconsolable misery. It’s not of the hero who marches onward towards their demise, knowing that glory and certain defeat await them. This story revolves around a self-inflicted wound, and the irreparable damage caused by the inaction of many.
Though it has decayed into the city of Terminus, The Sic originally was a flourishing haven for the weary soul; those who had been out in the purgatory of the average gaming group, and had experienced for themselves the lackluster attitude of those whose entire frame of reference was built around statistics, and dull number values. They came to us with the hope of belonging. We gave to them a purpose, and a potential to thrive so long as they were willing to commit to the cause. This presented people with a unique opportunity to actively become social with others from our legion, and work together to accomplish goals thought unobtainable by most others. For a time, we not only proved this true; we set the bar for other groups to follow in suit.
Despite the greatest efforts to keep a sense of stability within our walls, the group has collapsed on itself. The reason? One could make the argument that we no longer had anything left to offer people, and people have attempted pushing that story. That however, is only a half-truth. Another tale woven is that we’ve switched theater of operation too often. Notable, but also false considering it was the only aspect that allowed us to retain a large base of operations for each game we entered into. The actual reason is hilariously simple, and in retrospect I lose my mind thinking about the one word its anthology of examples demonstrates:
An infuriating pattern has emerged over the past couple of years, that has slowly killed off the remainder of my team. While I believed they all fully understood the necessary actions that are required to maintain the status quo of the clan, I no longer believe this to factor into their decision-making abilities. There are only a few facets that require attention from high-ranking officers within the group. The first, is a reasonable rate of activity. This is simply a reassurance for the sake of your members. The second action, is organization. Whether we’re talking members and ranks, game branches and items, or website users and backgrounds, people take a person seriously who can at least be counted on to have a checklist completed by the end of the day. The last action, is of course, recruiting. Without getting people in the door, your gaming clan is doomed to fail.
Therein lies the issue. If you have a gaming clan who isn’t willing to recruit, organize the assets or follow the protocol of the clan, let alone show up at all, then you’re better off throwing in the towel. That’s not a team-effort; it’s a sign that they’re digging your grave.
Allow me to explain what it takes to keep an organization that you care about running. Whether that is keeping your business afloat, trying to promote a cause that you believe is worthy of public attention, or even something as trivial as a gaming clan- this rule still applies. You can’t half-ass your endeavors of any size, and you can’t just sit idly by and hope someone else will do your job for you. If you want a task completed (especially a large one, mind you), it takes more than just what you can offer “when you have time”.
It takes SACRIFICE.
During my eight years managing The Sic, I’ve learned the hard way a dozen times that you have to give up quite a few things that you normally wouldn’t if you want to succeed, and in the process I may have given up a couple of things I probably shouldn’t have. For the sake of continuity, I’ve skipped countless amounts of social engagements that friends had invited me to, as well as a handful of events that these people considered important. I’ve let go of multiple opportunities to network for my career in a new environment, with new people under new circumstances. I’ve willingly buried a fairly successful relationship, and almost another that was my final straw before I finally took my leave. All this I did for the “greater good”, but in reality it was out of a vain sense of responsibility, resting on a mantle that I alone did not have to carry. Only now do I come to accept the sad truth that perhaps I had a misplaced sense of trust, because I presumed others cared as much about our survival as I did.
I know now that people don’t want to sacrifice. They claim they have no time, and conjure outlandish narratives to make it seem as if there is nothing more they could do to show their faces than what they already are. They present apologies, and deflect when presented with inquiry, all while shielding a surreptitious agenda. Most insulting of all is this facade that I’ve never seen end; this cruel world in which no one can just inform me that they’re finished, and that it’s best to simply mark their journey as completed. I have learned my lesson, and thus have played Captain for the last time. If people understand that you’re willing to take the helm even when they’re not there, they feel no remorse about abandoning their posts. It’s the insecurity of not being able to step up and take the wheel when another crew member falls. It’s the shame of calling others your friends, just to leave them to their devices when the obstacles become too great to climb, and it’s the cowardice of not being able to face them, as you run away from your shared problems and pretend you’re too busy to notice the flaming hulk of the ship you’re escaping.
I never left the helm of my ship. I might’ve stepped aside, and even sat back to observe others as they tried their hand at steering, but when the lifeboats were all gone and the crew was sailing furiously into the darkness of the night, I somehow still managed to find myself clutching onto a burning bridge. Much as you start with nothing in the field of leadership, so do you end with nothing.
The dust has settled in
The broken structure
Is now one with
This shattered beauty
In timeless indifference
Become one, become none
As I place my hands on the smooth oak surface of the desk, I lean forward within close proximity of the microphone. The unpleasant humming of the dead-air through my headphones reminds me that people are listening to nothing. This is my opportunity, and I’ve yet to speak. The question, so piercing and rhetorical in structure that up until my awkward moment of clarity, I had all but dismissed it. My comfort level quickly fading, I turned towards my familiar soundboard to start a new musical track, but no images were detected. The brightly-lit LED monitor was now dead; what remained was an inconvenient herald that I should no longer evade inquiry.
My chair swiveled in place, and I heard the echoing voice repeat its question. The accusatory tone of the faceless female brought red to my face as she delivered her query.
“What is wrong with you?”
I laugh it off nervously, and respond with a defensive form of sarcasm.
“A lot of things are wrong with me. I’m hungry, for one. I feel slightly sexually deprived, and I don’t have enough happy-thoughts in my life. Does that answer your question?”
I’m met only by the cold, isolating static from the opposite end of the call. Believing her to be annoyed, I crack a grin and return to the mic.
“Well, I guess that wasn’t what you were looking for, was it?” I ask smugly while spinning in my chair. I attempt to provoke a response from her.
“For asking such a broad question, you sure don’t sound as if you want it answered! I mean, come on. You want to know what is “wrong” with me? Well, assuming that your standards are as ridiculous as I think they are; I think I know exactly what is wrong with me, by your definition.
1) I use too much profanity.
2) I take a perspective that is a bit too realistic for your taste.
3) I undoubtedly speak on topics that offend you quite often.
Last but not least, I’m more than certain that you’re one of the self-righteous lunatics who thinks if people don’t live by your definition of morality, then they must fall under some lesser category of human. Did I get that right, sweetheart?”
I lean back against the black leather of my chair, and wait for the tears to flow. However, much to my surprise and dismay- I still have no audience. White noise feeds into the tiny pentagonal room, causing me a relative sense of uneasiness. My frustration mounting, I scoot forward in my chair, ever closer to cold silver of the studio microphone. I don’t feel like a wonderful personality anymore, though. The mic turns into a shiny metallic betrayal-receiver that awaits my every word and action. I’m not having a good time, and as much as I wish for her not to know that, I won’t be able to control my tone on the air as well as I should hope. I fold my left leg over the top of my right knee, and take a moment to steady my thoughts. Did she hang up? Is the communication so terrible, that she believes she is talking to me right now, and I just can’t hear her? Is she deliberately holding out for some type of profound answer that isn’t coming? Whatever the reason, it’s up to me to bring this silly charade to a close.
“Look, I don’t really know what sort of social-experiment you’re attempting to complete here, but I do know that I’ve answered your idiotic question to the best of my abilities. If you can’t handle that, then it’s not my problem. Besides, if you don’t like me then you shouldn’t be tuning into my station in the first place. You do realize you have the illusion of freedom at your disposal, don’t you? I highly recommend you try it sometime. The way it works is:
You don’t listen to my broadcast.
I don’t say things that make you call-in.
You don’t ask me stupid things.
We don’t get in this awkward position we’re in right now.
Now, isn’t that much faster than spending hours trying to think of something potentially intriguing to ask me? Now you can leave, and I can get back to what I was doing!”
Satisfied, I leaned onto the left armrest, resting my cheek inside my left palm. I didn’t want to hear her response. I just wanted the person screening my calls (whoever they were), to do their job and get rid of the little mouse. She had grown beyond the point of humorous; my patience was draining quickly and the only thing I could think of to give me some peace was the fact I still had the power to cut her off. It seemed though, that regardless of what I wanted to do, I would be forced to endure another long, dramatic pause. As if the static wasn’t bad enough, now I was having an internal revolution. The lady had brought this on herself. If she wanted an actual answer to her question, she was going to get it.
I quickly vaulted from the seat of the chair, and kicked it to the back wall. As I leaned forward, I could hear the thump as the rolling stopped suddenly against the soundproof wall. I clutched the base of the microphone, shifting it upwards so I wouldn’t have to be stuck in such an uncomfortable position while on my tirade. I gripped it like a vocalist at a heavy metal concert, wanting to vent all my rage out on my aggressor. As innocuous as the original question had been phrased, I now took it as a personal attack on my character. An anonymous ad hominem of astronomical proportions that I would not tolerate from some whiny, spineless female with a phone.
“Well, Ms. moral-compass…I don’t exactly know what is wrong with me. I can give you a handy list though, so that you can draw it up on a fine piece of paper, laminate it, and distribute it to the one friend you do fucking have! Let’s start here. I am stuck living in some twilight reality that I’ve gone and expunged all optimistic views I had about the world around me. I don’t like the people in it, because I view the majority of them as a swarming mass of pseudo-moral loving troglodytes who are pining away for some world of lore that only the mind of Huxley could’ve conjured. I don’t want to anesthetize myself to things around me, because it’s a lot more enjoyable to be depressed that most of the things I don’t like about my setting are obstacles I can’t change from my end. My only useful skill that I’ve used in the past five years has on some level made use of continuous self-loathing, and everything else I can do somehow never seems to quite live up to a standard I view as acceptable. I want to be social and the moment I step out to do it, I remember exactly why isolation was my only choice from the start. I can’t take any pertinent actions that I’m happy with, because if it has to do with something that matters I’m stuck in a suspended form of self-doubt, where I don’t want to take a risk if I know it could fail. Everything seems like a doomsday clock that is growing ever closer to a point where I break, but it never quite seems to get close enough to strike midnight.
…But you know what’s really wrong with me, lady? I don’t like you. I don’t like having to listen to the sound of my own voice, and I don’t like me. I’m done.”
I slid my headphones off, and shoved the microphone so hard the opposite direction the shock-stand vibrated in place. I put my back against the opposite wall, and edged down to have a seat. I put my head between my knees, and watched the studio lights dim as the static faded.
Then I woke up.
Deep in the bowels of the Twitterverse, there lurks a creature of ridiculous nature.
This poor soul is known simply as “Sacerdotus”, and is a self-proclaimed future priest/Twitter user. For those of us who know him, Sac has made himself known by a multitude of tweets and propaganda designed to demonize atheists. He has also made numerous claims that he is inclined to a civilized debate, but any and all attempts to organize one have been in vain. Though various offers for debate still stand for this “prepared contender”, Sacerdotus’ popularity ironically stems from his ability to avoid all requests made by atheists who challenge him.
This, along with his usual list of pre-made logical fallacies has earned him quite the reputation as a dishonest debate partner. Let’s take a deeper look into why no one should ever take Sacerdotus seriously, shall we?
Every time someone brings up the topic of his faith, he takes painstaking efforts to claim that he, himself was an atheist once. Ironically, his conversion story is as dull as it is implausible. Throughout the tale, Sac shows how clever one must be when weaving a tale of inspirational change. Peppered generously between the lines of the tale are popular, stereotypical atheist lines that are used only by the most incompetent of godless ranters. He then explains what brought him to Catholicism, exposing his past for what it actually was.
I read up on them, got a catechism and read it, etc. I loved how the Catechism is set up with citations and explanations of why Catholics believe.
With a quote like the one above, it’s amusing that anyone could buy such a shamelessly invented story. We’re supposed to believe that while he couldn’t see an iota of logic from any other religion on the planet, the one that dresses up in the most absurd clothing and participates in some of the silliest rituals in existence is the ideology that brought him in contact with “god”. Just thinking about how many times he had to repeat that to himself for it to sound reasonable, makes my head hurt. Had he ended this idiocy here, his credibility might have been salvageable. Unfortunately, his determination to make others believe he was actually an atheist led him to construct a final part to his transformation, which is a magical adventure for the whole family.
However, I never stepped foot in a Catholic building. This came way after when this random lady approached me and called me “father.” I was dressed like an urban youth from NYC and she called me “father” and asked me to pray for her daughter. This just sent chills through my spine. I did not know what to say only that I wasn’t a “father” but nonetheless went to the Church nearby with her and we prayed – or she did because I did not know the words she was using. But I did do something mentally and basically said, “Ok mister sky inter-dimensional entity, this is your chance, stop hiding.”
I felt this peace like the peace a child feels when he/she is in his/her mother’s arms – nothing matters anymore, no worries, no stresses, just this never ending peace that fills you inside and you literally feel like you’re glowing. That’s when I realized that there is something about this God stuff that is for real. I was not “stimulated” by emotions, music or a social gathering as with the Evangelicals. I was with this lady in a dark empty Catholic building, no music, just the random car horns from traffic outside echoing. God made the move.
To add to to the “chills,” the lady stepped to the vestibule to get “holy water” and I went after her a few seconds later to ask her name and observe this act and she was not there. I stepped outside and no one was around. Either she ran like Flash or was transported to the Enterprise because she just vanished. I know she did not leave because I would’ve seen the sunlight enter as the front door opened, but no such thing happened. Those doors were the only exit and entrance.
Well, that just settles it. Only a true, skeptical atheist would come up with a story as rational as this one. I can’t imagine how unsettling it must’ve been for Sac to find out that the old lady was actually Batman. He also takes the time to explain to the reader that, “I would’ve seen the sunlight enter as the front door opened“. Checkmate, atheists. His powers of observation are not to be questioned, nor shall you analyze whether or not any of this garbage happened at all.
It is funny though, that for being a former atheist, Sacerdotus seemingly comes up dry when talking to other atheists. Common sense would dictate that if he was such a strong disbeliever, it would take a mind as great as his in order to convince other atheists why his religion is the right way. Tragically, he seems to be just as clueless as any other theist on Twitter. If Sacerdotus was an actual atheist at one point, he would be more than capable of showing compassion towards the perspective of other atheists, not to mention be able to empathize with the views we hold, as he would’ve shared them originally. Ironically, he has only ever argued like an indoctrinated creationist, and therefore I’d have to say the notion that he was ever an atheist is hereby debunked.
As for him pining away for an honest debate, I’ve yet to see any proof of that. He has a wonderful track record of tactical evasion when it comes to debate requests. An ever growing list of excuses grows by the day as to why he won’t go anywhere but his own webpage. Worst of all, is that he is in denial about it. He wants everything to go his way, to prevent any incidents that might be out of his control from occurring. When asked repeatedly to select any other site than his own for a debate, he has refused every offer; immediately followed by a request of his own to go to his website out of some misguided notion that it’s not fair to him to speak anywhere else. Even when asked objectively to debate somewhere neutral to both parties, he deflects the question and tries to assert without knowledge that it would be unfair, such as when asked by this person:
As you can see, he has clearly evaded the point of the question itself. Even without knowing WHAT forum the person was talking about, he has already dismissed it as not neutral. Only a person who is afraid to tread outside their comfort zone could possibly be this paranoid about the setting of a debate before even being offered a place.
Even when he does engage someone with a point, Sacerdotus is not known for his willingness to accept facts. He’s not even willing to incorporate other people’s opinions, for that matter. Unfailingly, the overwhelming majority of URLs and “evidence” he has to provide are simply links back to his blog. Why? Because he wants hits, and the only way to accomplish this is to drag people to his page, in the hopes that they’ll see something there that makes some sense, and return. He has sunk to this trick so often now, that ALL of his links return to his pages, where he recycles the same posts incessantly. This charade is meant to promote the idea that he has done his homework, and prevent him from stumbling over his own arguments. If he doesn’t have to repeat a lie, he assumes he’ll never get caught in one. Unfortunately, if you have a webpage designed to tell people why others are “afraid to debate you”, you’ve already exposed yourself as spineless:
What have we learned from this? Well, you should probably not call yourself an avid debater if you’re so quick to deny an invitation to every fuckin’ debate you’re offered, especially if you’re given the choice of going anywhere except your own website. Secondly, claiming you once represented the demographic of the people you are debating is not an effective tool for argument if you only know how to argue from the side you “converted” to. As an atheist, I am insulted and disgusted by the way Sacerdotus throws out one-liners and catchphrases designed to make himself seem well-articulated when discussing atheism. All he has ever proven is that he sounds like a resentful single on the ChristianMingle dating site. Exhausted, defeated, and grasping at straws, he has made every conscious effort to point the finger at everyone else for not wanting to play by his rules. Quite possibly most embarrassing, is his inability to provide any evidence that he hasn’t already touched. Even the least skillful opponents of atheism know that you should at least include some sort of third-party source of information to back up their claims. Sacerdotus refuses to do this. All of his links are his, and he will take you to his site to show you his claims, and back them up using links to his website to show more claims, that link to other pages of his information. Seeing a pattern? This doesn’t make him a scholar, or a researcher.
This makes him an overt narcissist.
I don’t owe any respect to this cretin. He is the worst type of person to argue with, but more importantly he is the person least likely to give you any sort of sliver of useful knowledge. When he is recruiting, he is obnoxious and loud. When he is debating, he is dishonest and evasive. When he is defensive, he is malicious and a hypocrite. If you don’t know Sacerdotus, you’re fortunate. For the rest of us, he is a constant reminder that all it takes to garner support for religion is volume, belligerence, and repetition.
Since Sacerdotus will undoubtedly never admit to any of this, and will oppose any idea that comes his direction by showing you another link to his website, I encourage people to link him here. Repeatedly, in fact. Maybe for once, looking at a single webpage all the time will grant him some clarity, rather than feed into his constant vacuum of egoism.
When engaging with a conservative on a social media website, one expects to find what you would with any common debater:
- a series of easy-to-grasp talking points
- data to back up their assertions
- reliable sources of information, taken from independent parties
- a lack of logical fallacies
- ZERO shameless gimmicks that serve no purpose
Unfortunately, nothing could be further from the truth. While, admittedly there are many wonderful examples of well-versed modern conservatives who have a true grasp on current events, and have a talent for balancing various different topics including politics, the majority of them lack any clear direction with their arguments, which usually forces them to become belligerent and resort to defensive techniques. Instead of putting in an effort to add a bit of substance to their party-obsessed aggression, they avoid the conflict from the start by outlining a disgustingly useless wall of text that denotes their political affiliations, as well as various other keywords that prove their ‘purity’ and show what they believe to be online credibility to any offenders of their cause.
While it can be argued that a few well-placed words in one’s short profile header can be useful in distinguishing an individual’s attributes and stances, the same can not be said for the plethora of semi-competent sheep who recycle the same catchphrases, one-liners, and titles for themselves as if promoting themselves as an effigy of some right-swaying hero.
That brings me to where I keep my evidence, for my claim. These people, while undoubtedly functional citizens, haven’t the slightest clue how crippling their ignorance is when it comes to debating. The wound they inflict upon themselves comes when they choose to provide a wide list of terms that all make them easy to categorize, as well as dissect before a single word from them is uttered. While this tactic makes them the simplest of targets to shred in verbal combat, they hilariously believe it serves as protection; a showcase of patriotism and godliness that gives them limitless integrity in the eyes of their peers.
To show how tragically common this is, I have taken the top fourteen out of a total of thirty-nine that I was able to find on Twitter in a matter of minutes. Note the ridiculous similarities:
Now that you’ve witnessed the absurdity, have any patterns emerged from this mess? The most obvious regurgitations are assuredly the abuse of the word “Constitution”, as well as the usage of the title “Constitutionalist”. This is primarily used as a form of pseudo-patriotism to give the impression that the person has rigorously studied the text of the United States’ Constitution, and that by placing this tag in their bio they believe it demands a higher level of respect. This is nonsense, of course. This shroud is only meant to conceal a lack of reading into the document itself, as none of them who place this phrase have taken the time to memorize such a notable work, or they would not throw its name about with such pomp and disdain.
Noting that words such as “freedom”, and “liberty” also make numerous appearances, it would be a joke to state that they also take these words seriously, considering that the majority of the users who paste these patriotic words in with their name ironically belong to a party that constantly seeks to limit the freedom and liberty of women, minorities, and a multitude of other interest groups. While I’ve covered this issue many times in the past, I would like to reiterate that the right is a wing dedicated to the constant abuse of religious principles, creating a moral shield that allows them to believe that their actions are justified, when in reality they may be truly unethical and discriminatory.
Lastly, and possibly most humorous is the prospect of party-affiliation they have chosen to shift to in this brave new age of voting we’ve entered into. If you’ll take a quick glance back at the list, you may discover that all of them seem to hail from some offshoot of “Constitutional Conservatism”, or “Libertarianism”. Amusingly, many of these have also somehow come to identify themselves as “independent”, which is already neutralized by the idea of swerving to the far right in the first place. Forgive that statement for sounding too forward, but it is not a stretch to imagine by some of the quotes above that these people are far into the red to the point of no return.
Now, the question that no one has asked yet stabs at the loyalty of these people, to their respected parties. For such right-leaning individuals to suddenly pull themselves gently towards the center by bestowing the title of “Libertarian” to themselves, they absolutely don’t seem that inclined to follow that structure. In actuality, it would seem that the Libertarian party that has recently gained a significant boost in popularity due to the mild success of Congressmen Ron Paul, and Governor Gary Johnson, has created a new “safe-zone” for Conservatives who wish to evade the negative light their archaic party has brought upon them as of late.
While you can see a myriad of different terms and names plastered above, denoting all kinds of wonderful and noble causes these people are dedicated to, not ONE of them chooses to be affiliated with the Republican party that more accurately suits their demographic. Curiously, even the most radical of these neo-conservatives chooses to place their flag at the feet of the TEA party, rather than be seen with the Republicans, undoubtedly because of the horrific reputation they’ve earned as of the past decade.
Why does this crowd feel that they must shield themselves behind a wall of pseudo-nationalistic, incessantly repeated, vaguely-distinguished flags? This is not the way for them to prove they can talk politics. This isn’t even the right way for them to choose their party affiliation. This is one more gimmick for the right-wing to hide behind, simply because they refuse to detach themselves from the misguided ethics that they cherish.
How long until they stop being “Constitutionalists”, and start paying attention to what’s actually in the Constitution?
It never ceases to amaze me, the rhetoric that comes out of neo-conservative circles.
Without a doubt they pump out some of the most terrifying drivel ever to disgrace the Earth. That’s why I’ve decided it’s only right that they be ridiculed publicly. If you have ever wondered where the greatest congregation of sheep, zombies, and lifeless husks go to talk politics and news, you can either go to a FOX news webpage, or Yahoo. Both of these sites, offer some of the most anti-intellectual, backwards theories known to man, that will shock and amaze you at the lack of progress in our society to educate and instruct.
Complete disregard for pedigree information, absolute carelessness to adhere to basic rules of logical debate, and a paradigm designed to empower the least educated people on the planet by teaching them to shut their eyes and ears, in favor of volume, and repetition. If Rush Limbaugh, Glenn Beck, and Sarah Palin wanted to craft an army of hardly-functioning humans that receive a single lie and attach to it like leeches, they succeeded.
Unfortunately, I do have mail at Yahoo, and occasionally I go to this blatantly right-leaning website to check on news simply out of convenience. Regardless of how far right some of their stories seem, it’s never enough for the group of right-wing extremists who comb the comments section. Their initial reactions to a story they undoubtedly had difficulties reading in the first place, are overtly hostile personal attacks that combine nonsensical remarks with petty, uninventive stabs to try and formulate some snide rebuttal. Therefore, I feel no remorse in disclosing some of these winners to you, now.
This should be the first in an ongoing series of awesome posts dedicated to pointing out morons on popular websites, who say things that deserve to be exposed.
Let’s start out with the news:
The headline reads “Marine survey lists concerns on women in combat“. It’s a simple enough title that denotes that surveys were taken by armed-forces personnel, that produced results that were unfavorable to the groups that want equal treatment for the women now capable of joining combat roles on the front lines. It would appear from the results that many soldiers are not coping well with the changes, citing groundless claims that women can’t keep up with men when their lives are on the line. It’s arguably the same inaccurate, shameless tactic used to keep black males from joining combat roles prior to World War II. However, my point isn’t to focus on the story itself. If you’d like to read it, the link is below.
What I’ve come to do is take stabs at the morons who deserve it, so that’s what we’re gonna do! Up first, we’ve got this winner:
Notice, the first person speaking is me. Yes, I grow weary of reading these comments, so I took the time to add my own bit of wood to the pyre. As you can tell, it’s burning quite brightly now. They didn’t like my comment, evidently because I hit too close to home. It’s fairly easy to guess their argument, which is why I threw that plethora of ridiculous words together in order to create that monstrosity. It’s everything I’ve ever heard out of the whiny-right, and it would seem I struck a nerve. You can only push the neo-cons so far before they resort to idle threats. I’ve done just this. Forget the irony of this person’s username containing the word “intellectual”. He’s just like the rest of them; Angry, filled to the brim with hate for “lib’ruls”, and out for blood in the name of Saint Reagan.
This winner caught my eye first. Like I previously stated, he is stuck in a void of thinking that was supposed to die before the turn of the century. I can’t imagine why people wouldn’t take this guy seriously, with his immaculate knowledge of the female anatomy. Clearly we’re dealing with an OBGYN of unparalleled integrity. With quotes like “prissybutts”, who could deny that he knows what is best for our country? This mastermind of military strategy deserves an award, because he has not only managed to give us a clearly unbiased view of females in combat, but has provided us with a new catchphrase to use.
This next one is a double post, because only the coolest of the Yahoo! users can make this smooth transition from one post to the next. Right from the start, you can tell this guy is as qualified as the last to speak on the physical capabilities of women. He even cites his sources brilliantly, stating that the reason women can’t be placed on the front lines is ‘because they are inferior’. Checkmate, liberals. Then, he decides to abandon all better judgment in order to play the part of the whistle-blower. He informs us that the reason this is taking place, is because Obama is purposefully moving our armed forces towards extinction. That’s right. Only a psychological guru could understand the finer aspects of this internal revolution. It’s genius. Of course Barack Obama, the Commander-In-Chief is just trying to bring in women and gay people in order to make us softer! That way, when the Chinese invade us, they can just throw small spiders our direction, and our army will run away! Oh, that sneaky commie President and his secret agenda…
Back to our old friend, the ‘Sexual Intellectual’. This time, he is combining his data with that of ‘Maineloon’ in order to ensure that his hypothesis was correct. Of course, with infallible logic like his, who could even think of discrediting his theories? As you can tell, the sound logic that Russia and China are planning a coup d’état in order to take over the United States. Frankly, I’m surprised he is using Russia’s white-washed name, and not their underground, Illuminati codename: “The New World Order of Super-Awesome Communist Soviet Union Fascist Socialists Who Hate Freedom“. You know, because we’re still in the cold war, and the United Nations is just a cover-up organization to make us all get along for the sake of communist slavery.
…And to conclude our first round of hilarity:
Finally, we come to the truth behind the veil. The gub’ment has been working to ensure women can join combat, simply because their feeble minds are easier to control! I knew it all along! OF COURSE, the only way that they would be able to take full authoritarian control of our undeniably intelligent population, (http://img195.imageshack.us/img195/500/idiotho.jpg) is by placing those damn, easily manipulated women out in the open. At that point, all Obama would have to say is, “Please can we put you under martial law, and enslave you with our tyrannical government until you die”? They’re so weak, they would just throw down their guns right there, and go back to the kitchens and book clubs. That’s of course, going to happen anyways. The psychic medium ‘Dothemath’ has foretold of a looming gun ban, in which all firearms will be removed from the population of the United States. We should heed this warning now, lest we be torn asunder by the armies of darkness that President Blackenstein has brought to destroy the republic.
We could get a fuckin’ grip. It should be painfully evident now that the group who is opposed to women in combat, (or doing anything for that matter) is a swarm of illiterate, alpha-male, narcissistic, homophobic sycophants of the republican party who simply want the right to deny minorities, gay people, and women any rights they deem necessary when they think it threatens their identity. Of course, being stuck in a bible-belt mindset will create a generation of socially-inept neanderthals who honestly have convinced themselves that women are easy to brainwash, and that people contract homosexuality through being around gay people. Besides being a disgusting straw-man that won’t go away, it has led some of the more intellectually-challenged members of our society to treat right-wing extremism as a secondary religion. It’s a malicious faith, designed simply to create a purist society of arthritic, Caucasian males who pine for the days where they could hose down black people who stood up for themselves, or the days when you could smack a woman across the face for not having dinner ready on-time.
Hope you enjoyed this, and I hope this is the start of a glorious new series. If, however, you don’t believe the shit you’re reading now, I suggest you head over to Yahoo! Scroll down the comments, and see if I’m wrong. It’s the perfect right-wing news site that somehow even the right-wingers have found a way to paint as a ‘leftist’ community. Nothing has been altered or edited, and that should confuse and terrify you to a degree you can’t imagine.
This pale room, illuminated only by the streetlamps through the window, provide a charcoal outline to my settings.
The walls, seemingly metallic, have long since corroded; corridors leading from the room give way to rusted architecture. The ceiling is within arm’s length, yet my surroundings cast an air of reluctance on the notion to touch anything at all. While the faint, white light dimly shines into the room through a dense fog outside, an internal glow can be seen emanating from the floor. As if the entirety of the surface was a radiant source of power, a strange sort of understanding came as to the catalyst for such a crude home.
The floor, a sheet of knee-deep water, soaked everything in sight. It ran through the main room, and down a long hallway like a river. At the end of the hall, the light faded into darkness; this mysterious void seemingly devoid of all furnishings, decorations, or doors. Perhaps it was the door, and the room was just all that could be seen from where I was standing. A voice called out from behind me, and there on a small beige couch she lay. Curled up beneath a pile of black fleece, her soft, pale form could hardly be recognized. My confusion obvious, a slender forearm and hand extends outwards towards my position at the edge of the room.
“What are you doing here,” I ask from my corner. “…and where are we?”
Her hand beckons me over, as fingers one by one curl back towards her palm. Doubt, clawing at my mind for such an inviting gesture, freezes me in place. A second, precautionary glance down the long corridor allows me a moment to question the decision. Upon returning my gaze to the plush couch though, I notice a strange occurrence. The water line, previously up to the arms of the chair has now receded, allowing for what seems a safe haven from the tide. As I stride over, the ripples reflect parabolic waves of light off the ceiling and walls. I pull my legs up over hers, attempting to settle in a comfortable position closest to the wall. As I nudge my way under the covers, I place my head on her shoulder. Immediately, the familiar scent of complacency and repose penetrates my senses, lulling me into a trance-like state. While the waves and white noise churn in the background, momentarily I am lost within the confines of warm serenity. This feeling, a much longed for event that I have since been robbed of, brings me to the verge of joy. However, it becomes painfully evident that events are unfolding around me. Almost like a collage of scenes I’ve never witnessed, a story is written that consciously I’ve never recognized.
An assortment of shops, all colored in various bright hues, is sprawled before me. As I walk down the sidewalk with her, peering in all of the windows and chuckling to myself at the people inside, my face begins to fade from my body. My features, all slowly disintegrating into dust are replaced by new ones. Colorless, shapeless, soulless; the new form of myself carries with it a hooded menace who I can’t recognize, and don’t want to. It’s a distorted shell of who I represent, and I avert my eyes to the opposite end of the room, where another vision takes place.
I’m driving down a long suburban road, at nightfall. My black hoodie, zipped up high to stave off the cold only provides insulation for my frustration. As I turn my eyes towards the passenger seat, she sits with apologetic eyes staring out the window. Dead pools of limitless resentment, I struggle to comprehend why we’re angry in the first place. As I scan over the panorama, I turn towards her, seemingly ready to reiterate the same question that curses my speech day after day.
No information is shared. A long pause takes place, where suspenseful dread creeps up between the seats. Trees and power-lines pass by continuously, providing a monotonous canvas for me to bide my time with. She turns her head slightly, her distant disposition flickering briefly to allow me one snippet of disdainful indifference to my inquiry.
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
From my place in the chair, I’m reminded at once of the loathing of that phrase that I possess. I crane my head to the center of the room, and catch one final frame placed directly in middle of the ceiling. As I strain to properly glimpse this image, I climb up from the warmth of the couch, leaving behind my comfort in search of catharsis. I gently step into the center of these decimated living quarters, and fixate my attention into this portrait of disgrace. Of what I should view as happiness, I can feel only hatred and abandonment.
A large beach towel is stretched wide on the sand. An empty, gorgeous landscape of exotic wonder lies beyond the towel, providing what can only be considered a perfect ending to a silly romance movie. It is the stereotypical cover of a vacation pamphlet, inviting all loving couples to spend their honeymoon, wedding, or anniversary there. Upon first glance, only peace could be found here. Of course, my nightmare was yet to unfold. As the camera panned downwards, allowing a look at the owners of the wide beach-towel, I am greeted by the face of betrayal. Their legs, entwined at the knees and ankles, immediately ignite my fury. Bare skin meets bare skin, in a union of lustful celebration. This strange man, unknown to me is an aggressor in my own fantasy, raping every joyful idea I had ever imagined. Envious disgust takes hold, and as the frame begins to zoom in on their arms and shoulders locked in horrifying embrace, I lose it.
With both arms outstretched, I claw at the edges of the picture frame. Regardless of the strength of its attachment, I pry at it with all my might. It gives, almost too easily, and rust showers me from above. Water begins streaming through the gaping hole in the ceiling, flooding the room in a current that flows towards the darkness. as I watch furniture, curtains, and terrible trinkets get carried down the hall, I throw the frame. A broken ornate harbinger of pain, I feel little remorse for the destruction I’ve brought upon it. There was no truth hidden beneath, only that which I rejected the most. This room contained no meaning, only the suffering I wished to evade. With eyes now red with malice, I spun around to the couch to voice my revulsion to her. I was not met by apologetic blue eyes, nor was I greeted by a satisfied grin. There she lay where I left her, the blanket now gone from the raging waters around us.
A stone sculpture remains in her place. With tears in her eyes, and arms reaching out to me, a yearning statue was all that was left. All at once, the weight of the torrent finally dragged the couch, and with it her effigy toppled over, smashing into pieces against the floor. They were then swept quickly down the raging river, and into the void.
“IS THIS WHAT THE FUCK YOU WANTED ME TO SEE?!” I called out after her shattered pieces. I felt empty, and lonely.
Forsaken and and crippled, I sank to my knees in the water. Chilling waves of horror swept past me, and there in failing light of the room, I threw myself at the mercy of the current. Freezing comfort filled my lungs, a moment that I have feared for my entire life. This end, no longer bearing pain for me, brought me into the shadows I dared not tread before.
Then I woke up.
Hold me near, my one friend and guide
As I drown through your fingers
Drown through your love
For you are the life that I hate
You are my… You are my…
Drag me down, in passionate sighs
With the ocean above me
And flames in my eyes
And grant me a life I can live
Take me away
From the life that I hate