A Bootlicker Says Wha?

Translation: "We support bootlicking misogyny in the name of looking cool on this page." {Peanut Gallery: Yass gurl, preach! So stunning and brave, you prostitution whore!}

This is the state of 3rd wave feminism. 🙄

Men simply do not say things like this to other men--as if there's even 2 slurs as degrading as these to describe them--let alone confuse those slurs with actual power. The fact that women conflate things like a positive body image or "their sexuality" with power is disturbing enough. Empowerment would be controlling the banks, the food supply, the nukes, the House and/or Senate. We don't even control our own reproductive organs. We comprise at least 50% of the population of the entire Earth, ffs. What's our excuse for being this low on the totem pole? Oh right, I guess we're too busy 'building each other up' with these nicety put-downs to notice just how little power we actually have, not to mention the slide backward into Stone Age superstition, the rise (again) of Christian fascism, the corporate coup of American politics & more "isms" than you can shake a stick at. You'd think we would be a little more concerned with our own oppression and less with rewarding the oppressor by pressuring other women to casually and mindlessly give their bodies to them. Koreans have the 4b movement; American women praise "sluts and whores". Which do you think will have the bigger impact on women's rights and social change?

.... and before you say it: No, calling yourself or other women sluts, whores, cunts or other hideous female-specific slurs does not = "taking back your power" from those words or the historically violent men who said/say them lol.

Why the Ultra-Wealthy Are Often Miserable

I was reading an article recently entitled Angry Billionaires Make Disturbing Neighbors & my immediate first thought was, what the fuck do these sons of bitches have to be ANGRY about?  Their lives are perfect!  They could buy and sell the people they're "mad" at many times over.  But then I remembered--money can't buy happiness.  It can't even buy fake happiness or a decent attitude.  In fact, the wealthy are often more impatient, prone to boredom, greed, bitterness, emptiness, addiction & vindictiveness than everybody else.  Extreme wealth has a very predictable effect, and it goes like this:  


The Wealth Accumulation Addiction Cycle

Person hits it big and suddenly has the world at their feet.  It's absolutely mindblowingly amazing in the beginning--maybe for the first 2-3 years or so.  The private jets, parties, after-parties, sex, drugs and name-brand luxury lifestyle.  But then the high starts to level out.  The receptors get saturated and eventually become overstimulated by the constant stream of excitement.  Then they get burnt out & start to break off or shrivel up and die.  It’s like addicts who need more and more of their drug of choice to get their fix. They start with a small bit of a pill or powder by mouth to get an all night high and before you know it they’ve got a needle in their bloody arm and it’s only getting them from 'sick' to 'neutral'.

The perpetually pissed off Elon.

You can't live at an '11' all the time or else '11' starts to lose its meaning. You need contrast--variation...  darkness to offset the light or else “light” just becomes an endless sea of oppressive sameness; a blinding whiteout.  Imagine living in a place where the weather was a sunny 73 degrees with a light breeze and no clouds.  FOREVER.  Where it was always Springtime and the birds were singing, always warm but not hot.  Humid but not rainy.  Breezy but not gusty.  Where the sun rose at 6:57 a.m. and set at exactly 7:21 p.m. every day/night.  FOREVER.  While those are generally comfortable conditions, most would grow bored of this after a while.  It would feel a bit like Groundhog Day.  

The same is true of our real lives.  Humans did not evolve to sit on the beach or in a C-suite all day shuffling papers & ordering others around.  As you stop having to work for delayed rewards or other basic things (or indeed having to work at all), gratitude and humility mysteriously vanish.  When your "work" exists solely to hoard wealth and obtain more than the next closest billionaire on the Forbes Whatever List, life loses meaning.  The idle mind creates problems and drama when a person has nothing of meaning to strive for.  Financial wealth can remove a lot of daily burdens but you trade one set of problems for another.  No amount of $$$ will make you younger, smarter, kinder, more talented, a better parent/friend, a better lover, more spiritually enlightened or immortal.  Sadly, realizing this on an intellectual level often isn’t enough by this point as addiction to obtaining wealth has become a runaway train. 

Angry billionaire Leon Cooperman

Once those receptors are at the 'burnt out' stage, you start feeling entitled and even annoyed at the peasants under you doing little things like getting your drink order wrong or misspelling your name on an event invitation.  The novelty wears off and you need more extreme experiences to obtain that initial (“I’m rich, b!atch!") high, which can never truly be experienced again.  You've now reached the "chasing the dragon" stage in which your perpetual bitterness and vindictiveness at humanity have overtaken any initial excitement or fulfillment you once felt about your wealth and accomplishents.  (It's akin to interdose withdrawal for any druggies reading this).  You start to project your problems and failures onto them, the poor ignorant masses.  They do make an easy target for a powerful money magnet like you.  Their whispers about your cruelty & money-hoarding start getting to you, but you wouldn't DARE let it show.  Instead, you project some more.  Having "enough" or even far more than others is not enough--in order to squeeze any joy out of those crispy receptors you need to see other people suffer and struggle, so you do your level best to make life a living Hell for those in your orbit as well as the general poor and middle classes.

Your soul turns cold; if you ever believed in a deity you now consider yourself higher than that deity.  If spending time with family during holidays and birthdays once mattered to you, now there's no time for it.  You're too busy taking over the world.  If loyalty & fidelity in relationships was of great importance to you, now you scoff at your former self's "naivety" as you screw your secretary & snort coke off strippers' asses as a form of blowing off steam or a 'work hard, play hard' lifestyle.  Destruction of the environment, killing of unionizers or rivals... almost anything can be justified by telling yourself "I deserve this.  Fuck them."  Empathy, remorse, vulnerability, love & kindness are now viewed by you as weakness.  You can only be one of 2 things in this world:  predator or prey.  Predators don't have time for that soft shit.  

Security cam footage of Diddy assaulting then-gf Cassie. Not the behavior of a happy man.

Double Standards for Rich & Poor


This is the general overview of how money taints and power corrupts in a capitalist system.  It is the quintessential story of addiction yet for some reason nobody ever calls it that.  Drug addicts who harm nobody but themselves are cast as a burden to society on par with mass murderers, yet the ultra-wealthy who actually leech off society by not paying federal taxes, keeping their employees on welfare & receiving government bailouts/subsidies and other forms of corporate welfare are lauded as "job creators" and innovators.  Everything the wealthy do is spun in a positive light, yet when the average poor American does it, it's either not noteworthy or a crime.  These monsters are free to rape, do massive amounts of drugs, sleep around, stalk their exes, molest kids, act like racist assholes & more.  Sure, poor people do these things too, but the ultra-wealthy can do them on a huge public stage while running for president or with the knowledge that they won't spend a single day in jail no matter what.  The double standard is vomit-inducing.  

Well if nothing else, at least we can take solace in the fact that most of them are deeply miserable in their black rotten little souls.  If any of you hateful useless psychopaths is reading this, remember:  your money will not prevent death.  It also cannot predict how or when you will die, or how painfully.  All that's certain is that you will die one day and can take none of this with you.  You may live to 85, 92 or 102 but the Grim Reaper spares no man.  Your legacy will be all you leave behind and history will not remember you kindly.  Anyone unlucky enough to be related to you will bear the burden of carrying your last name for as long as your evil stain on this planet persists.  Sleep tight, assholes.

And for the rest of us, let this be a reminder that there are no good billionaires.  None.  You cannot reach that level of wealth by doing good in the world, being honest on your taxes & rubbing elbows with saints.  All billionaires are eyeball-deep in filth like Diddy, Jay-Z, Epstein, George Soros, Shelden Adelson, Donald Trump and Peter Nygard.  Coming to their defense in online arguments or licking their boots IRL will not get you one inch closer to them or their hoardes, nor to earning their respect.  They view you as just another pathetic piece of muck on the bottom of their shoe & laugh at your weak attempts to praise & impress them.  You are an ant in their antfarm, using up all your strength and energy to build them a fortress while they watch from outside the glass, waiting for the perfect moment to turn the whole thing upside down, destroying your progress and suffocating you.  They derive pleasure from seeing you struggle and suffer in your pathetic daily grind, and don't you forget it.  They could end world hunger, homelessness and provide a universal basic income to every person on this planet and still have more money than they could ever spend in a lifetime, yet they choose to do it this way.  That's not an accident.  

Brain Droppings 🧠💩

After getting too little holiday sleep recently, I awoke from a low-quality nap with an idea stuck on repeat in my head.  A dream hangover perhaps?  No clue but this happens sometimes when I'm really tired, though it's usually when I'm sick our about to be.  (I once had the Facts of Life theme song stuck in my head on a continuous, unrelenting loop for 2 weeks during a bad bout of the flu.  "Ya take the good, ya take the bad, ya take 'em both and there ya have..."  Another time it was the word 'methoxycinnamate' that I apparently saw on the side of some lip gloss.  As you can imagine this drives me nuttier than the illness itself).  So 🤞🏻 I'm not getting sick because apparently I go slightly insane when I do. 

I have no idea what this "dream message" could mean & don't even claim to agree with it necessarily so don't shoot the messenger.  I am merely a vessel through which the Divine Universal Idiot Retard speaks.  I find the idea at once funny, baffling and a tad offensive myself:  

Italians  🇮🇹  are the Black people of white people.

Indians  🇮🇳  are the white people of white people;

White people are the inbred bogan Australians 🇦🇺 of white people (with likely Romani gypsy ancestry)..

Do with that what you will.  Hopefully nothing.  Seriously, please don't do anything with that, K?  It's weird.  If you do, don't attribute it to me.  Thanks.  Until next time, dear readers.

Currently in Rotation: "Simple Song" - ARTHUR (2020)

Unofficial fanmade vid for "Simple Song"

The tone of 🌝 this brief 1:54 song 🌚 sounds like something you'd hear on Sesame Street or Blues Clues, yet when you squint your ears & listen closely, the lyrics are dark--real dark.  As lyrics conclude, the instruments descend into a cacophony of sonic madness that brings to mind a pod of walruses being, uhmm, assaulted. 

Sound insane?  That's ARTHUR (government name: Arthur Conall Shea), Philly-based solo artist whose experimental tunes sound like a mashup of Daniel Johnson, Wesley Willis, R.E.M., Steve Lacy &  some 5th thing, perhaps a jingle-writer for rejected '80s TV commercials or a modern day self-help guru/cult.  His lyrics are sarcastic & biting yet also melancholy & genuine and at times hilarious, painting a picture of a socially awkward lonely man who lives by his own rules & marches to his own drum.  Yet there's an undercurrent of seething anger just beneath the surface too.  

A sample of the lyrics from "Simple Song":

"I don’t have patience, all that I know is addiction
All that I know, and all that's clear to me
Is that everything ends, and everyone leaves."

Ouch.  Mind you, this is sung in the sunniest, most upbeat tone since Barney's "I Love You" song.  From Verse 2:

"During the day, I close the shades
I pretend there’s no sun, I hide from the rays
As many times as I try
It makes its way in, and I start to cry."


🌞
         🥲


Due to said joyful tone, it's hard to know if or just how much he's joking with heartbreaking lyrics like this, but as someone with depression I suspect the answer is, "he's fucking not."   ARTHUR also has some dope instrumental tracks, such as "Keyboard Song" (creative title!).  Other songs like "Wow Fuck," "Food," and "Woof Woof" have equally simplistic titles with a mood & lyrics that are anything but.  He even collabs with an uncredited rapper on "Something Sweet".  Anyone into experimental folk should give him a listen.  His music gets weird without getting obnoxious or trying too hard to be "outsider".  

My Self-Care Looks Like...

...keeping a tight, small circle of friends I can truly trust.  Often this means spending time in solitude & dealing with difficult life issues alone, as my friends are scattered all over the place & can't always physically be here, but it's well worth it.  When I do meet a new potential friend, I put them on a 2-year "Probationary Period" because I've found that's about how long a person is able to hide their insanity before the mask slips.  It's not foolproof; I've had friends (and one ex) who hid their crazy much longer, but on average 2 years is a good amount of time.  And in many cases I did see red flags but stupidly chose to downplay/ignore them so that's on me.

Of course I don't tell THEM about this little Crazy Watch/probation period, but during that time I just make sure to not let myself get too attached or tell them anything too personal lest they turn out to be a nutter.  Depression and anxiety are fine--I think you'd have to be a bit of a psychopath NOT to have a little of each in this day and age--but the minute I see unprovoked mood swings, unnecessary lying just to spice up your life, racism/sexism, animal cruelty, shoplifting or other impulsive behaviors, weird mind games/manipulation or other signs of actual toxicity, I take several HUGE steps back.  Once is a fluke, twice is a personality disorder.  And as I posted earlier, I flee from those people like they're on fire.  Because if I stick around long enough, I will be too.   🏃🏻‍♀🔥

Real vs. fake:  Know the difference

I could tell all kinds of jaw-dropping stories to justify my reasons for this practice, but I'll spare you.  As someone who lacks Theory of Mind & can't even make sustained eye contact with people due to the 'tism, I rely on other means to suss out danger & I won't be made to feel bad about it.  Let's just say that being overly naive & trusting has landed me closer to death than I prefer to ever be again.  Actually, here's a true story:  The worst example of this near-death naïveté involved an all-night therapy-style talk session with a violent 30-something ex-con who knocked on my window at 2 a.m. & lied about who he was to lure me outside(!), claiming to be his 14-year-old cousin who I'd snuck outside to smoke weed with before without issue.  Once outside he informed me he was tweaking on meth (!!) & soon started talking in this indescribably creepy voice while proceeding to tell me he'd stabbed a woman to death back in the day and did 16 years in prison for it (!!!). 

I learned at that moment the difference between "anxiety" and primal, life-saving fear.  It's just that it did me no good because my legs wouldn't move.  I was completely frozen, unable to burst back through the gate & run into my house to scream for help despite seeing myself doing it so clearly in my mind.

Out of fight, flight, freeze or fawn I chose some worthless hybrid lovechild of the latter two, opting to "think" my way out of imminent death.  Real brilliant.  My brain shat out some crap about 'not being judged by the worst thing you've ever done' & having "served your time" & I guess that was satisfactory to stroke his ego & spare my life.  When the sun came up hours later and we parted ways, he simply said "Thanks for talking me down," to which I replied "anytime" like we were old pals.  (Anytime?!  Who am I, Bob Fucking Newhart?)  The whole thing felt surreal almost to the point of being comical...  almost.   Except for that whole murder thing.

It didn't truly sink in until later but:  talk him "down" from WHAT?  😱  How long had he been at my window and what was he thinking of doing when I got outside?  There were so many red flags:  his lying to lure me outside, being spun out of his mind on meth, fixating on the violent murder of a woman which I found out later never happened--his criminal history DOES include a 16-year sentence for killing people in a DUI but no murder of a woman in that manner.  (Which is kinda worse because it means he was either so high he was hallucinating & believed he'd actually stabbed a person to death, or he was fantasizing about killing ME in that exact manner).  I do know of other violent crimes he's committed however so he's definitely someone to be feared.  Everything that happened that night pointed to me not making it back inside alive, yet somehow I was spared.  Right then I made a pact with myself (& God if I'm honest) to learn everything I could about human psychology so I'd never get myself into something like that again.  Did I mention I was just 16 at the time?

I was 16.  

I told my friends this story thinking they'd judge my braindead decision to go outside at night with a window-peeper only to be met with some similarly bad choice-y Teen Girl Danger stories of their own.  Unlike my judgmental family whose first instinct is to blame & shame, my friends chose to tell relatable stories & make me feel more human.  So yeah, when it comes to friends, it's quality over quantity all day. 

I've had plenty of friends who came to me only when they were at a low point in life, dumped their miserable sob story on me while I listened non-judgmentally (at the time) & then bounced when I hit a low period or, more frequently, when their lives improved and they no longer needed the free therapy.  Maybe I'm not rich or exciting enough to keep around for the long haul, IDK.  Or maybe those people are users who are drawn to chaos--the type of "friend" I don't want in my life anyway.  Either way I have no time for one-sided relationships these days.  
 
True friends are people you can be away from for years and pick back up like you never missed a beat.  People with a similar sense of humor & life paths who will drop everything to be there for you when you're in a serious jam, and you'd do likewise for them.  Gladly.  They don't judge you for being different because they're different in their own way too.  If & when you find them, hold on for dear life because they're a rarity in this cruel world.  🌏 ☄