I was hoping to catch "War Stories with Oliver North" on the Fox News Channel today, but the TV guide lied to me. Instead I got to watch the latest Replicantopaliaptist spin on the issue de jur - in this case, a thinly veiled case for the extermination of the Arab race, or at least all the Arabs living in southern Lebanon. I choked back my gag reflex because I'd rather hear it from the TV first than some acquaintance at a party or, worse yet, my militantly zionist athiest conservative libertarian father. Why is it the only moderates who haven't contracted some form of political rabies these days are all cynical, sarcastic and pessimistic like me?
Speaking of rabies, have you ever noticed how you can read the bumper stickers on cars before you see them? For example: I can tell you what that yellow thing on the Ford Expedition says. Not very difficult, is it? Your turn. There's a refurbished VW bus. One look at the trustifarian driving it should give you some kind of read on his demographic and, by extention, the political values he thinks he can advance with some brightly-colored shit stuck to the ass of his oil-fume-belching Nazi utopiamobile. ("Fnf Mark die Woche mut Du sparen, willst Du im eigenen Wagen fahren" was an elaborate welfare scam, for anyone who cares.) Quick, there's a middle-aged woman driving a Subaru Outback. That bitch doesn't need to tell you anything her honors brat hasn't told you a thousand times already.
There are plenty of old shitty cars covered in little slogans and quips for you to squint at while you're doing 80 on the freeway. They all get about they same crappy gas mileage. And when they're falling apart, they all look about the same, too. You have to handle these assholes on a case-by-case basis: if it's a Mercedes diesel station wagon (probably running on something that was used to make your french fries) they probably want to use Bush's carcass to fertilize their little basement mary jane operation. Same goes for bimmers from the '70s and refurbished Ford Falcons. As to all the Chevy Novas, Oldsmobile Cutlasses and just about anything made by Pontiac, for whatever cultural/branding/identity reason, they fall in the opposite category.
OK, so maybe you put something on your car, too. Thanks for sharing your propaganda with me. Now we just need a few million more people with the same bumper sticker and we'll have some real Truth going on, won't we? Or maybe you're a little offended that I've categorized you so callously. But it's Fact as decided by the biggest mob - Isn't that how it works?
You may not believe me, but I actually miss the days when we were building bridges to the 21st century, bombing the shit out of minor despots, reading fluffy Maya Angelou poems, raising taxes and sucking presidential dick in the White House. But here I am, begging for the broomstick of theocracy up my ass to be substituted by something - anything. Dems need to stop jerking off for a minute if they care to appeal to the rational demographic and save this fucked-up country of ours from fascism.
Speaking of rabies, have you ever noticed how you can read the bumper stickers on cars before you see them? For example: I can tell you what that yellow thing on the Ford Expedition says. Not very difficult, is it? Your turn. There's a refurbished VW bus. One look at the trustifarian driving it should give you some kind of read on his demographic and, by extention, the political values he thinks he can advance with some brightly-colored shit stuck to the ass of his oil-fume-belching Nazi utopiamobile. ("Fnf Mark die Woche mut Du sparen, willst Du im eigenen Wagen fahren" was an elaborate welfare scam, for anyone who cares.) Quick, there's a middle-aged woman driving a Subaru Outback. That bitch doesn't need to tell you anything her honors brat hasn't told you a thousand times already.
There are plenty of old shitty cars covered in little slogans and quips for you to squint at while you're doing 80 on the freeway. They all get about they same crappy gas mileage. And when they're falling apart, they all look about the same, too. You have to handle these assholes on a case-by-case basis: if it's a Mercedes diesel station wagon (probably running on something that was used to make your french fries) they probably want to use Bush's carcass to fertilize their little basement mary jane operation. Same goes for bimmers from the '70s and refurbished Ford Falcons. As to all the Chevy Novas, Oldsmobile Cutlasses and just about anything made by Pontiac, for whatever cultural/branding/identity reason, they fall in the opposite category.
OK, so maybe you put something on your car, too. Thanks for sharing your propaganda with me. Now we just need a few million more people with the same bumper sticker and we'll have some real Truth going on, won't we? Or maybe you're a little offended that I've categorized you so callously. But it's Fact as decided by the biggest mob - Isn't that how it works?
You may not believe me, but I actually miss the days when we were building bridges to the 21st century, bombing the shit out of minor despots, reading fluffy Maya Angelou poems, raising taxes and sucking presidential dick in the White House. But here I am, begging for the broomstick of theocracy up my ass to be substituted by something - anything. Dems need to stop jerking off for a minute if they care to appeal to the rational demographic and save this fucked-up country of ours from fascism.
I post my deepest thoughts on a porn site because I joined it not to show people my body, but to show people myself, all of myself. because I had lived my entire life hiding and trying to be someone I'm not and I didn't want to do it anymore. This was my first step in making myself the person I wanted to be, and the person I really am, and that involved every part of me, skin and emotions. And it was the first place I found where that person was really accepted, and loved, and I felt comfortable.
Also, there is something about just knowing that someone, somewhere, is paying attention to what you're feeling, even if you don't know them. It reassures you that you exist.