Scandal and sloth

Since I’ve moved home I’ve become sedentary. I wake up and sit in front of the computer and then I sit in a car when I can borrow one from someone in my family. That’s life in the midwest, in a small town where everything is miles apart. A gimmicky gas station with elvis memorabilia is up the highway from my parent’s house. I drive there to get dill flavored potato chips and candy bars. Then I drive back to my basement room where I sit some more and gorge on carcinogenic snacks. I don’t have a job and I don’t have enough money to move.

When you live in a city, you have to walk and it keeps you fit. And dc was an especially walkable city without much obesity. People are fat here because they don’t have to move. They sit and stuff themselves with unholy facsimiles of food. They subsist on gas station hot bars, deep fried mozzarella sticks and 64 ounce big red polar pops. From their recliners to their trucks, to their feedlots and back to their recliners again. An orbit of obesity. I’m becoming one of them. I feel my joints stiffening and the lard collecting around my waist. I’ll be waddling from my quad cab truck to the gas station soon enough.

Even though I’m going to the gym again. But I’m driving there, sitting for twenty minutes each way. At the gym I walk for half an hour on a treadmill and then lift some weights. I hate the gym and my body screams at me to leave the entire time. It’s usually uncrowded but the music is annoying. I don’t have a portable device so I can’t block it out and listen to inspirational podcasts or beatdown music.

When are we going to get over classic rock. The same 15-20 songs have been playing on these stations for 30 years now. Who’s still pumping themselves up listening to back in black. The earth is teeming with unknown musicians playing to no one while these outdated radio stations maintain a death grip on their stale rotations.

That’s one of the minor problems with rustic folks. They never want to hear anything they haven’t heard before. When you work out in a redneck gym you’re going to hear led zepplin and ccr and pink floyd. While it’s better than the soundtrack to a gay orgy they’re always playing in big commercial gyms, tired old rock songs still grate on my ears.

At some point we need to admit that rock music isn’t good. When those classic, quaint bands were first breaking out people thought it was the end of the world. Those people were right. They condemned the harsh, abrasive tones, the eardrum shattering volume, the vulgar lyrics and primitive, befogging beats. Rock music celebrates drug use, promiscuity and rejection of the dominant culture. It promotes adolescent rebellion and lifelong self absorption. The protest songs are petulant and uninformed, myopic and self righteous.

Many people balk at what plays on contemporary stations now. They take offense t0 the juvenile perspectives, sexually crude lyrics, the repetitive themes and the formulaic song structures. It’s not like it was back in the day when the rolling stones were coming up, when we had good old fashioned meaningful rock and roll from ac/dc and def leppard. That was music for a healthy society.

The mainstream assimilated the counter culture and now we’re all rebels and nonconformists. As corporations gained power they encouraged deviancy to increase consumption. They adopted the image of the iconoclast to attract the attention of misfits and pander to narcissistic delusions. A fractured, defiled society needs gadgets and goods to distract itself from its crumbling comity.

Progressive causes dovetail with dehumanizing economic imperatives. Racism, sexism, xenophobia and cohesion might be good for communities, but they’re bad for business. Independence from family and tradition collapses into dependence on government and universities; functionaries replace fathers and lesbian professors tower over priests and preachers.

We all have tattoos, drug problems and mental disorders, we’re all in intersex, interracial polyamorous relationships. We’re queer scientists and radical feminist scholars. Vegan bodybuilders, transgendered beauty queens and 500 pound swimsuit models. In theory no one can tell anyone else what to do. In practice that’s all anyone ever does. The building blocks of reality have been swept away in an aids infused torrent of denial and outrage. We devise our own standards and impose them on the rest of the world rather than adapt to the needs of others.

Yesterday Trump banned trannies from the military. Right thinking people everywhere are horrified, shocked, disgusted and inconsolable. They’re vomiting and crying and shaking with rage and disbelief. It’s another act of bigotry that tramples on our sacred constitution and universalist ideals. It could even be treasonous and is probably collusive in some way.

No fighting force is complete without a fair share of deranged fetishists. Nothing is more formidable than an army of drag queens. Why spend money on state of the art missile technology when you can spend it on sex reassignment surgery? Why build bombs when you can build artificial dicks and auxiliary anuses?

Everything must be diverse, inclusive, tolerant, non-judgmental, radical and revolutionary. Especially the military. A group of trained killers should open their doors to everyone. Only a bigot would think that black lesbians, asian trannies and straight white men shouldn’t kill people together. And besides, the nature of warfare has changed. Who cares about your mangled genitals when you’re just pressing buttons in a bunker?

The aim of progressives isn’t inclusion, it’s humiliation. They bleat about acceptance as they build their identities on the scathing rejection of everything decent, normal and established. Gays don’t want to get married, they want to degrade marriage. Trannies don’t want to defend the nation, they want to parade their pathology. Leftists despise the military and everything it champions. Loyalty, duty, honor and courage are anathema to progressives.

But pushing trannies on the military is another opportunity to spread their sickness and demoralize their enemies. They get off on forcing normal people to accept their warped agendas. It’s not about strengthening an institution. No one thinks that gays improve marriage or that trannies give the military a strategic edge. They don’t care about what happens to the morale, productivity or unity of a group once they’ve infiltrated it. The organic health of a social body should be sacrificed to support their diseased impulses and inane philosophies.

There’s a groucho marx quip, “I don’t want to belong to any club that would accept me as one of its members.” The progressive version would sound like this: “I insist on belonging to every club that wouldn’t accept me as one of its members.”

They hate you but they want you to love them. Hierarchy is unjust unless they can be on top. We all have the right to free speech unless you say something they don’t like. They refuse to serve until you refuse them; then they demand to participate.

Uninvolved nitwits pretend to be patriots when it suits their need to feel included. The military murders their precious brown people but if trannies want to join the carnage then no one should stop them. They will salute an imperial juggernaut of oppression as long as it features a committee approved mix of minorities and protected classes. As long as the death machine is run by freaks and mutants then the slaughter may continue.

Everyone will talk about this for another three to five days. And then it will recede from our memory, surpassed by another heinous blunder, threat to democracy, insult to good taste, terrifying burst of tyranny, etc.

Jobless days stretch on. I have no focus and no vision for the future. I’m going to end up working in a kitchen and living in my parent’s basement forever. I should have learned how to do math.

To move you need money, to get money you need a job, to get to your job you need a car, to get a car you need money. How did anyone ever do anything, I wonder at 4 pm in sweatpants.

Author: The Empty Subject

Born curmudgeon

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