Words Vomit Jokes
Caring about politics is cool. Changing the world and stuff… pretty important. I can’t do it anymore. I just—I don’t notice a difference either way. It’s like how my girlfriend is always offering to jerk me off with her feet. I’m like, “okay, I guess. I mean, the vagine is good, the feet are feet… I don’t know, I’m mostly thinking about a banana right now.”
But I can’t do it. The more I pay attention, the less I’m sure about. I feel like yelling about it. But it’s things that don’t make sense, like “I never ordered this blueberry pie!” or “how many times do I have to listen to ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ before it starts to make any sense why people like that song?” or “Free Tacos?”
I guess it’s good people care and get involved and stuff. It’s important. I just wish I could trust it. I don’t like that our political system feels like that game at carnivals where there are all the quarters on the ledge and there’s that wall that keeps pushing them forward and it looks like if you just put in one more—just one more, it’s all going to come crashing down into your lap and you’re going to be literally swimming in quarters—you are going to have more quarters than you could ever hope to spend… because this isn’t Europe, who the fuck pays for anything with coins?
But you’re so focused on those stupid quarters and how close you think you are to winning that you just keep putting in one more and one more and one more until you’ve got no money left and you’re mugging the elderly—because they still carry cash—and putting their money into the machine as well.
You never win. You can’t. It’s designed to make sure that you don’t. Only the carnival wins. That’s what American politics is—a carnival. Only they don’t have the decency to have “unlimited ride” night, or to sell you apples covered in brown glass candy for five dollars, or to have lines that make any kind of sense.
Anyway, happy Fourth of July, America. Shut up, everywhere else.
The war on drugs was lost the minute it started because it was never a war on drugs; it was a war on people.
D.A.R.E. taught kids that any drug use of any kind was only for worthless, sad, depressed people who do not deserve the love or kindness of any self-respecting human being. Or they are sick. Very sick. And they need to be put away someplace, where we don’t have to look at their ugly illness.
Except for alcohol; once you turn twenty-one, it magically becomes safe as long as you don’t drive.
And for what?
To keep kids off drugs, of course.
Maybe—just maybe—something is wrong with society, if people need alcohol or drugs just to get through the day, or the week, or their lives.
There are risks involved in using any substance. There’s also risk involved in drinking water, driving a car, taking a shower in an empty house, cutting vegetables—really, we should just redefine the term, “life” as “a series of risks, any of which may result in death.”
I suppose the problem lies in the incongruity between behaviors which are socially acceptable and those which are not.
What truly upsets me isn’t that some behaviors are accepted while others are not; it’s that so few people ever examine why. Sex, nudity, violence in the media, violence in sports, violence in schools, pornography, prostitution, marriage, education, careers, diet and nutrition, fashion, health and body image, gender roles, family structures, and much, much more—some more critical than others—all impose wildly varying expectations on people, each sometimes varying within itself.
Sex is acceptable, but only if you’re married—okay maybe not married, but only if you live together—or maybe if you’ve been together for a long time—or you’re very drunk—but you should never be very drunk, unless you’re on Spring Break, or in another country, or with family members who know when it’s okay to “bend the rules,” or over twenty-one years of age and in the privacy of your own home—the only place nudity is acceptable, unless it’s in a painting—and even then, only an old painting or one that is so abstract, it barely seems like nudity at all, because the last thing we want is for anyone to see breasts, vaginas, buttocks, or penises—that would distract them from all the violence on TV and in movies, which is only okay for adults to see, even though everyone of all-ages see it and no one cares that they do, because they need to learn how to be better at football and more aggressive in life so they get everything they want all the time—unless it’s something it’s not okay for them to want—and they need that education in violence to defend themselves from bullies at school—unless they are the bully, in which case it’s not their fault, or their parents’ faults because, after all, they did watch all that violent TV growing up—but anyway, at least it isn’t porn—because seeing a human leg cracked in half as one UFC fighter pummels another is helpful, whereas porn is only (and only ever will be) the primary cause of all depression and divorce in the United States—where marriage is only between a man and a woman because only a man and a woman can make a baby and because that is how we define it—that’s the way it has always been and always will be and anything else is un-American—and to point out it is not in the spirit of equality is un-American—and to teach anything else to any child or to teach them anything of value outside of the underfunded public schools we’ve provided as the only realistic option for any American citizen to get an education—well, that is just plain un-American too—unless you’re a pioneer or an entrepreneur who breaks the norms and sets new standards—of course you won’t and can’t be, because you won’t get a career if you don’t go to an American public school and then an American college and learn the American ideals of marriage between one man and one woman, sex is always bad, violence is entertainment, drugs are for the sick and the worthless, and the only way to be a happy successful person is to work 40 hours per week (skipping your lunch breaks because you should be happy you even have a job in this economy), own a home, be married with two kids and a dog, go to Church every Sunday, and eat red meat three nights per week with a glass of milk and a half-a-brick of cheese, plus some kind of fried side dish with plenty of salt—because that’s what your parents did and that’s what their parents did and no one should ever want anything more or less or in any way different, because if they do, something is wrong with them—and if you worry about your health, you’re annoying—if you are unhealthy, you’re a burden—if you aren’t thin, you’re gross—if you are thin, you’re obsessed with your weight—and if you ridicule overweight people, you are insensitive—and if you don’t fit into the clearly defined definitions we Americans have printed and published of “male” and “female”—the only two genders, mind you—you are sick and a freak—and if you don’t want to reproduce, you don’t deserve attention—and if you make even one mistake in your life, you are defined by that mistake—but don’t repeat it, even though that one mistake is now your entire persona, you’re expected to be perfect from now on—because one mistake means you’re beyond redemption or forgiveness and no matter what you do for the rest of your life, you will never live it down—unless you find Jesus, then it’s okay—and if we all just accepted these rules and lived our lives accordingly, we’d always be happy and healthy and never have to experience want or worry and never be bothered with asking any questions.
How did we get to this point? Must we maintain these beliefs? Must we continue in this direction? Why? How might we change? How might that change society? What are other potential paths we might take? Where might they lead? How does all of it affect your life, daily?
Ask these questions to yourself, to your friends, and to your family, because few others will.