The sea churned and boiled as the Galleon lurched forward and back, seafoam being cast to the winds as the storm carried on, seemingly endless. Bodies were tossed about the deck; sailors on a final journey; not toward peaceful shores, but the solemn, sandy graveyard depths below the thrashing waves. The man at the helm gripped the wheel tight, a lone soul on the bridge of a ship, being carried through a storm in unknown waters. As the mast came tumbling down, tattered black and green banners whipped about the deck, illuminated with each bolt of lightning. As if guided by the steady hand of fate, or the careless hand of fortune, the sound of wood splintering against rock signalled to the crew the hopelessness of their situation.
Flooding immediately took hold of the bow of the vessel, the murky liquid filling the cabins, and bringing immediate darkness to the unfortunate souls trapped below. It wasn’t long before the bubbling ocean clawed its way towards the stairs leading to the deck, swallowing lives indifferently, and rushing to meet the base of the bridge.
Cries of loss, and anguish were drowned out by the howling wind; the sound of agony and despair giving way to each gust as if the sea’s pain was unmatched by the plight of man. Pulling the brim of his cavalier’s hat down, the captain leaned hard to his left, bringing the wheel spinning with considerable force. As it resisted, so did he, dragging each of handles harder than the last down to the port side. It was the only side left to rely on. Pools shifted directions, and poured off the bridge, into the ocean. This was it. No turning back now.
“Abandon ship!” declared the captain, thrusting his finger outwards at the remaining lifeboats, now being tossed about the deck. “Save yourselves, you silly bastards! FLEE!” The remaining pirates aboard looked to each other, a look of grim understanding on their rain-battered faces. Another swipe of his hand through the air as the captain attempted to reiterate his point, all the while clutching the wheel in its resting position. “There’s no saving her! Don’t you understand that?! You all don’t have to be here! I can finish this! None of you have to be here! Leave with your lives! Does that mean NOTHING?!”
The ship rocked, and they all erupted into laughter, shaking their heads furiously at the bridge. There was still a job to be done, and the hounds of death had not yet come calling. The captain’s brow softened, and in that moment, he grasped perfectly what was not just poetic, but necessary. Cupping his hand to his mouth, he called out to the sailors, “OKAY LADS, WE CAN MAKE ENEMIES WITH DEATH, ONE LAST TIME! ON MY MARK!” The men watched eagerly, awaiting the signal. As the captain’s hand fell sharply, they all rushed to the port side railing. The galleon, suddenly forced onto its left side despite taking on water, spat a series of cannons and supplies out its port bays.
Instantly, the ship lifted up by several meters, gaining speed and flushing seawater as if in revolt. The captain grinned, releasing the wheel long enough to gain stability. As the crew returned to the deck, they hoisted two long oars off each railing. Upon each was a long, wrapped emergency sail, fastened by a series of hooks. The crew held fast to the oars; there would be only one chance at survival, and it was growing slimmer by the minute. As they stared with morbid fascination at the bridge, the crack of thunder shook the wood violently, causing them to shiver in place. With every flash in the night, the silhouette of their man at the helm appeared again, hardly discernible behind a curtain of darkness and water. The captain’s hand swept upwards, and the winds blew forth his long coat as though the elements had heard his pleas. With the faith and hopes of the crew on his shoulders, he loosed his grip on the wheel. Spreading his arms far, he prepared to grab the furthest two handles, positioning himself for quick turns.
Calling out to the closest man on his right, he ordered them to the bow, as vision was key now. As the officer reached the bowsprit, they saluted the captain, knowing this was a mission they couldn’t return from. The man reached to the deck, pulling a rope about his waist, then winding it up and around his shoulders. He then brought the end of the rope to his eyes, tying a knot that wouldn’t budge. Securing it to the bowsprit, he gripped the front railing tight; it was his job to be the eyes of the ship, and he would not fail. With bolts of lightning serving as his temporary lantern, the sailor made a map in his mind, plotting a course through the field of rocks ahead. Arms shifting rigidly like the hands of a clock, the ship swayed to his will.
Hands raw and blistered, the captain pulled desperately at each wooden handle, sending the heavy ship lurching to one side. With each close encounter, the hearts of the crew rose and fell together, treating each fleeting glimpse of death as a blessing. Another show of hands catches the captain’s gaze, and he swings his arms across the wheel. It’s too late. With a grinding screech against the starboard hull, the spotter up front is thrown from his harness, the railing cracking under the immense pressure. Cries of terror fill the air, and the handful of remaining crew members rush from the deck to the bridge, knowing that he won’t be able to steer by himself for much longer.
As they rush the helm, a flurry of hands reach out, pulling the captain up from his knees, and onto the closest two pairs of shoulders. From his elevated position, he could see the enemy. In waves, large rocks came flying past the borders of the ship, coming closer with each pass. The captain arched downwards, relaying directional advice with each looming threat.
Leaning back up, his eyes caught sight of their next opponent. Preparing to warn his men on the wheel, he pulled his head down towards the ears below. With a halting gasp, he met with a shocking revelation. The rock ahead was not a rock, but the shadowy, protruding form of a reef. With grim urgency, the captain shoves off from his seat, immediately clawing at the wheel.
“REEF, RIGHT AHEAD!” he exclaims, throwing the handles to the port side. The men, knowing the gravity of the situation, force the wheel as hard as they can to the left, and then commence throwing themselves at the railing, hoping to gain a turn so sharp they miss their date with destiny. It’s not enough. The end near, the captain calls out to his men: “It has been an honor gentlemen. Brace for impact. I’ll see you on the other side.”
As per tradition, he threw his arms around the wheel, embracing death. With a deafening burst of chaos and splinters, the ship exploded against the coral reef in a triumphant show of nature over man.
Bodies soared over the opposite railing, thrown by the impact. As the shower of wood and dust came raining down on him, the captain climbed slowly to his feet. Hearing the rushing sound of the sea climbing the stairs to greet him, he removed his hat, a gesture of respect to the crew he had lost.
Looking down at the puddle growing around his feet, he stepped onto the railing of the bridge, turning backwards to face the storm, and the horizon. As he did, the bow of the ship began to sink into the depths, bringing the stern of the ship up to greet him. Resigning himself to the sea, he stared downwards at the black, swirling pool coming up to claim him. As his eyes closed, and his grip grew slack, he was tossed from his seat, face first into icy water.
He rose to his knees, wiping soaked eyes with his sleeve, swinging his head around wildly. Puzzled, he crawled to the starboard railing of the bridge. A small pocket of moonlight reflected off the sand bar on the other side of a thin reef, littered with the fragments of his ship and the unconscious bodies of his crew.
Filled with boundless joy, he wailed into the night, flinging his hat from the railing like a disc. Howling in a fit of ecstasy, he reached down, plucking a large, loose rung from the railing. He sprang to the outside wall of the bridge, reaching down over the rails to grab their crew’s banner, bathed in the green and black colors they embodied.
As it unfurled, a slot on the inside opened up, revealing a reversible white flag within. After all, there would be no use getting rescued if your ship of saviors knows you’re a band of pirates, is there?
Dedicated to The Sic gaming community. Thanks for not leaving me there.
Happy 2014, children.
While I constantly receive the urge to write, I admit that over the past year I have grown so critical of my own work that I refuse to hit “publish” until I am absolutely sure it’s perfect. Then, once I am satisfied and have pressed the button I enter a panicked frenzy where I’m caught second-guessing every other line, and quotation as sounding too cliché or simply idiotic. It’s a new year though, so I should probably resolve to stop doing that.
…Or are resolutions too cliché?
The good news is that I haven’t run short on things to observe in my mundane existence, and I still feel obligated to throw war-paint all over them in order to get my point across. I should hit pretty close to home for some of you today, and I’d like to think there are many people who are not only familiar with this epidemic, but loathe it to the extent that I do.
Life as we know it is a never-ending grind through monotonous tasks, plastered smiles, and fleeting climaxes all gift-wrapped as the “experience of a lifetime“. We’re all stuck together in a system that dances circles like the hands on a clock, and much like the clock you can go insane from taking too hard of a look at it. That moment turns into an excruciatingly cruel reminder of why it is that people take vacations, and why therapists exist. However, for that unlucky crowd of isolated units who don’t have their own handful of happiness, or a vice to drown out that emptiness- life is just their own personal tale as Sisyphus.
It’s one thing to be able to look at the world around you from an emotional gutter. The world seems like a utopia that you’re barred from, where you’re forced to face a sea of pairs, being carried effortlessly upwards towards some golden skyline. It’s an entirely different issue altogether to turn towards your small corner of the world, and view one of your own throwing happiness at you like a trophy.
The first world we inhabit is not a cooperative community, where we strive to flourish as a whole and better ourselves. It’s not even a large raft where we’re all fighting for survival in a chaotic sea while trying to keep each other afloat. Our world has become a vast ocean where millions of tiny islands dot the surface mere inches from one another. It’s a lonely grid where everyone is close enough to reach out and touch each other, but tragically lack the companionship and altruism required to bring others closer to them.
As an adult, you’re forced to confront the fact no one is there to help you. You’re on your own, and people feel the need to consistently remind you of this. Upon leaving high-school, an image is drilled into your head of what you have to earn. It’s a terrible, uninspiring image that few should ever consider. The “American Dream“, a picture so grim that Philip K. Dick made it a tragedy in all of its banal glory in A Scanner Darkly. In retrospect, my entire childhood was based around a loosely translated panorama of the 1950’s where the perfect family unit sits together watching their first color TV and dreaming of a world where technology makes all their fantasies come to life.
The reality could be no further from the truth. My ever-shrinking list of family and friends have turned into a social-media propaganda squad, whose only apparent mission is to rise higher than the rest of their peers. This sad portrait is repeated daily like a chore, where they exchange hollow pleasantries momentarily before unfurling a new list of pseudo-achievements to gloat over. When they exhaust their reserve of words for their success, they quickly switch to a bulky slideshow of recently recorded personal victories, as they cluster together with acquaintances and strangers to paste a smile on and show off the exotic places and strange attractions they’ve visited. It’s a cruel injustice to this amazing planet that we live on, that we’ve become so obsessed with capturing the perfect moments on camera that we’ve completely neglected to take part in, or savior them.
I no longer crave the loud, and crowded parties where seemingly popular people gather to have the time of their lives. I care not for the three-piece suit and the slick appearance of being a hotshot in a trade with no character and no mind of my own. I can’t picture the group of friends locked shoulder-to-shoulder in brotherly and sisterly affection. I don’t buy the millions of photos depicting happy couples locked in a tender kiss. I don’t believe that anyone who engages in this ritualistic, digital sadomasochism ever receives the pleasure they seek from it.
Our world will share a common regret when everyone stops competing for who can look the prettiest for the longest amount of time. I sincerely hope that someday soon people begin trying to write their story in ink, and stop standing still in the hopes that someone will paint it for the ages to gawk at and admire. You should not be impressed by those around you who actively seek to set a “life-example” for you to follow. As young as I am, I’ve come to realize that life is much less of a hassle when you don’t take it too seriously.
It’s also a lot less cruel when you stop wishing to appear happy, and actually start being happy.
Because it’s a great big white world
And we are drained of our colors
We used to love ourselves,
We used to love one another
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?
Today, I have come to share with all of you the secrets of something I have long since mastered. The art of trolling is an incredibly refined craft in which one must have patience, discipline, and the resolve to destroy any and all enemies. For years I have taken to various online games, chat services, social networking sites, and forum threads in order to do one thing:
correct any and all necessary errors that people have made, point out logical fallacies, and utterly disintegrate the value of an individual. I suppose that makes me a
fucking disgusting delightful person, but it’s wonderful fun. It’s also only fun if you target those who have already done it to others first. Those who have humiliated, abused, or thrown out personal attacks to others void themselves of the right to respect, and can be trolled at will. But, enough about “why”. I’m here today to clarify the “who” on this topic.
In any open forum, there can be only three types of trolls. While many traits of any one troll can fit well into more than one category, a few distinctive features regarding their persona, vocabulary, and methodology distinguish them from one another. We’ll begin with the most obvious:
“The Lennie”: The reason I’ve titled this troll category as such is simple. Every single trait they possess is derived from John Steinbeck’s famous character “Lennie Small”, of his literary classic Of Mice and Men. These trolls are known for their idiocy, and extreme strength through little effort. Without hardly knowing their abilities, they unleash the wrath of entire servers, and forum members alike. Within their arsenal lies a mixture of overtly nonsensical statements, ranging from oxymorons, easily-disprovable assertions, and anti-intellectual phrases designed merely to catch unsuspecting bystanders off-guard. Their blatantly unintelligent nature, while justly believable, is usually a facade crafted to trick those who are quick to snap at public imbeciles. The mockery at their expense is what they crave, and in order to maintain their grasp on the world’s attention they follow each stab at their uneducated demeanor with further one-liners, purposefully aimed at drawing the target further into their clutches. Throwing out fundamental typography lessons, as well as any form of etiquette that comes with informed debate, they strike; the results, a painful to dissect block of run-on sentences and fragments, carefully arranged to captivate their audience into a state of utter disbelief and amusement at this village idiot before them.
Some of their lines include such overused, and easy to detect catchphrases such as, but not limited to:
1) “Why do they call it an Xbox 360? Coz you turn 360 degrees and walk away”
2) “I h8 legend of zelda cuz zelda is a stupid boy name”
3) “(insert game here) sucks!!! COD is way better!!!!!!”
4) “you mad bro”
5) “nerd rage”
6) “get @ me”
While a “Lennie” undoubtedly seems like the quickest go-to archetype for your average troll, it couldn’t hurt to remember one thing:
Some people are just hilariously stupid.
Our second example is not only the most hated troll, they’re also the only one that I believe deserves the contempt they receive:
“The Derailer”: Appropriately titled after the device named for turning trains on their side in a wave of destruction, these trolls are all about the shock value of what they say. Anything, and everything can be used against their victims. Nothing is sacred, and all is fair so long as it achieves the desired effect: RAGE. They are well-known for their consistent use of profanity, and when the occasion calls for it, racist, sexist, and ageist remarks. While these may be an easily distinguishable aspect, one must also determine the level of insensitivity to their comments. A Derailer isn’t bound by the moral inhibitions that keep most people in PG-13 mode wherever they visit. They take any topic, regardless of how recent, or how tragic the occurrence was, and turn it into sadistic humor or a personal attack. This is commonly met with a reaction of absolutely inconsolable, incoherent malice, or bewilderment. The Derailer is incredibly effective, and usually the most difficult to contain troll because of their innate ability to turn an entire community into a riot. Certain remarks have been known to throw certain cliques, or groups into disarray; the reason being is that varying tolerance levels within groups cause a sort of schism to form between those who are entertained by the troll, and those who abhor them.
Many a time I’ve
instigated witnessed a conflict within a game, or on a YouTube comment section arise merely out of a single line that was both cruel, and oblivious to the fragile sensibilities of those who were watching. The result was a battleground, where well-articulated debaters turned on one another in a bloodbath of profanity-laden, racially-charged aggression formed effortlessly out of the insecurities of individuals who thought no one would ever tread where eagles dare. Their restraints lifted, these once-peaceful users viciously tore each other apart due to the clever, and devious manipulation of a Derailer. In a territory where anonymity is your most powerful ally, they prey on the hypersensitive, superstitious, and ignorant as they prove every day who should, and should not be socially involved on the internet.
Lastly, I have saved our final troll for the conclusion, as they don’t truly belong in this world. Their tactics, while some may believe to be inconsiderate, are also their greatest weapon:
“The Intellectual”: Unfortunately, this lovely group of bright human beings have made their way onto the list for one reason. No one likes a smart-ass. In the digital realm where whoever speaks the loudest wins, the person who wields the most cunning wit becomes a beacon. Ironically, that beacon is that of the gigantic red bulls-eye on their forehead, and these people are usually targeted as outsiders in the same way antibiotics hone in on a virus. The intellectual, in an effort to genuinely make a point, or correct the errors of others, is immediately ostracized by the community. Preemptively labeled as a villain, the intellectual is harassed before their stances are even heard, creating a frustrating wall between facts, and the argument they’re trying to improve. Countless times I’ve been on various social networking sites, games, or even amongst friends, when someone states something that others nod their head at, (usually out of a lack of concern) and a clever soul has stepped forth to provide contradicting evidence to their claim. This unfailingly triggers a defense mechanism in the first speaker, causing them to react with profound hostility towards the other person. They then begin to rant about being attacked, and why they believe the intellectual to be an aggressor. What they never seem to understand, is that this “troll” simply did not want their point to go unchallenged, especially if what they said could be proven to be false. Defeated, and desperate the first speaker lashes out repeatedly at the intellectual, attempting to discredit them through an assortment of fallacies and defamatory statements.
The intellectual, left with one of two options, must now choose how to end the debate;
they can either…
A) switch position to a Derailer, in which they condescend and ridicule the person in a ruthless fashion until they concede defeat by way of rage-quit, block/ignore, or public opinion swaying their direction,
or B) take the high-road by recognizing a lost cause, ending with a ‘final word’ statement and withdrawing from the forum, hoping the person will come to see the error(s) of their previous claim in time.
<There is also an option “C”, which would be fluidly carrying on the debate in a one-sided, Socratic fashion until the other party eventually turns neutral or gives into reason. This, however, is so rare I’ve only ever seen it accomplished by a handful of individuals, such as the notable user “Godless Spellchecker“, on Twitter. Most people don’t have the patience for this outcome>
With all of this new information, I sincerely hope you will be well-armed for your next encounter with a troll of the world wide web. They come in many shapes, and perform in various manners, so you should be wary of their tricks. However, if your better judgment tells you that you’re not dealing with a troll, but an intellectual, it’s probably best to make friends with them, for your sake.
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
Good day, children.
I’ve been flooded with information over the recent suicide of the nurse known as Jacintha Saldanha. She was the victim of a prank phone call recently made by the two Australian radio DJs, Mel Grieg, and Michael Christian. In this prank, they called the hospital where Catherine, the Duchess of Cambridge is currently staying following the news of her pregnancy. During this phone call, the two DJs used fake accents in order to impersonate two other members of the royal family. Then, while attempting to find out information about Catherine, the two posing as Queen Elizabeth II, and Prince Charles were actually patched through by Jacintha Saldanha to another nurse, who then answered a few questions regarding the medical status of Catherine. The two DJs, not expecting to be put through, let alone given the information they requested, aired the call on their show.
The nurse was found dead three days later, of apparent suicide.
Now, while I do understand that her death is an absolute tragedy, it irritates me to no end to see that the two DJs are taking the blame for her suicide. It also bothers me how many people have jumped on the bandwagon, turning this into a vicious witch-hunt. People have taken to Twitter and Facebook in a fit of rage, being quoted as saying such things as:
“A husband without a wife and two kids without a mother! All thanks to you two @MelGreigHot30 & @MContheradio SHAME ON YOU! #royalprank” (@vratnay)
“Mel Greig and Michael Christian of 2DayFM in Australia should be flogged. The power of morons on the radio. Can we declare war on Australia?” (@Joatmoa)
“We are outraged by your disgusting, invasive prank, which has caused an innocent person to take her life on account of believing your lies. The radio presenters should be sacked, the station should be sued. Absolutely hideous. We cannot believe what you have done here in the UK.” ~ Max
“Michael Christian and Mel Greig should never be allowed to broadcast again in the public domain for the rest of their lives, imbeciles!” (@ALG4)
Now that you’ve heard what kinds of creatively malicious things people can invent, you should also understand why none of this should actually be attributed to Mel Grieg, or Michael Christian.
Firstly, if people understood the intricacies of those who are capable of committing suicide, they would know it takes more than a prank phone call to set someone off. If Mrs. Saldanha truly had been taken over the edge by something as trivial and pointless as a prank phone call, then there was clearly something else shrouded by the incident that had been plaguing her prior to this event. Whether there was an internal conflict no one knows of, or a neurological instability that had yet to be diagnosed, something was clearly affecting this woman. The traumatic experience of a prank phone call, however humiliating it may be, pales in comparison to practically everything else that could go wrong in your life. If this phone call was truly that impacting, then by comparison Moe Syzlak on the popular TV show “The Simpsons” should’ve committed suicide twenty times by now, according to the amount of times Bart has ‘tormented’ this poor soul with prank calls. Suicide occurs when grief and pain become greater than the will to live. Seeing as how that instinct is pretty damn powerful, I’m going to have to say that the claim that the prank phone call did her in is bullshit. These people whining know nothing of what provokes suicide.
Next, I listened to this prank call. Those who could be convinced in the slightest that these were the voices of the Queen, or Prince Charles, are clearly incompetent. The voices used by the two radio personalities were not only poorly-articulated, but were comparable only to the likes of Monty Python, or South Park. To think that not only one, but two of the members of this hospital staff were fooled by such a blatant show of lousy voice-acting, should tell you something about the intellectual capacities of the nursing staff hired at this hospital that “typically takes in members of the royal family”. On that note, if this hospital has been known to receive members of the royal family occasionally, then why the hell would they not have some sort of remotely organized call-screening process, in order to prevent the press or even radio DJs pretending to be members of the crown-bearing clan, from receiving private information on patients? It seems like the list of failures for the security staff of the royals, as well as the hospital continue to grow, the more I think on this. If even low level politicans in America can obtain a secretary capable of giving vague, ‘okie-doke’ answers to anyone who calls regarding anything, I don’t see why the Duchess of Cambridge doesn’t possess one.
Lastly, if someone was going to take their life, why was it merely the nurse who transferred the call? Why wasn’t it the nurse who actually divulged the private information? So far as I’ve heard, this lady hasn’t even been put on suicide watch. It would seem to me, that if anyone were guilt-ridden to the point of ultimate embarrassment, it would be that nurse. What sense does it make to feel bad for simply pressing hold on the phone while you tell someone else to “pick up on line one”? I fail to see how this could’ve been anything less than an “oops” moment, in the eyes of anyone else working the phone. Perhaps, upon learning that the incident was a sham I’d be mildly embarrassed, but to take it beyond an apology for not checking the caller more thoroughly, is absolute lunacy.
To the people who continue to blame Mel Grieg, and Michael Christian:
You’re all complete idiots. Your hypersensitivity and emotional insecurities have led to the wrongful persecution and crucifixion of these two radio personalities, who while their prank was idiotic and trivial, it was also completely harmless in their execution and intentions. A prank phone call, no matter how humiliating it may seem to you, does not throw someone off the suicidal cliff, even people who might be suffering from a social anxiety disorder. It was an annoyance, and maybe even was a blight on the clerical career of this woman, but to state that this prank was undoubtedly the leading cause that drove this women to off herself, is baseless, and can’t be substantiated. Something was happening to Mrs. Saldanha that we don’t know about. It may come to light in future days, but for now we’re left to ponder whether her mental stability was a contributing factor, or perhaps a domestic issue that made its way into her work life, causing her significant emotional distress. Now, of course this call could’ve been that slight, tiny push at the end to make her snap and finally go through with it, but to give these two the full extent of the blame for a campaign of pain that had been building for years, is also immoral.
While my condolences go out to Mrs. Saldanha’s family and friends on their loss, they also go out to Ms. Grieg, and Mr. Christian. I would never want to be in the spotlight of millions of sheep, all angry for the wrong reasons, because of the first headlines to make it onto major media outlets. They’ve painted the two of these people as villains comparable to Josef Mengele, and act as if they held a gun to Mrs. Saldanha’s head, forcing her to pull the trigger. There are actual people on twitter who have suggested that these two kill themselves, which doesn’t surprise me considering that the crowd of people on most social media sites fail to think before speaking, let alone critically think. I can only hope that things get better for these two, and that people will eventually learn to question a situation before speaking out.
For the internet being the place where all the information is housed, people sure like to disregard it in favor of inflammatory personal attacks. Be careful what you say, or you could be sent to the digital Gallows next.