I’m often annoyed at phrasing, as you well know, so it annoys me when I see it. I suppose it’s just a hatred for sloppy communication. Let’s look at today’s example from an otherwise intelligent article…
Now that we have the largest Baby Boomer population in history, companies want to target this exceedingly large audience.
Now the Baby Boomers, according to Wikipedia, were born between 1946 and 1960-something. Let’s just say 1966, because it gives us 20 years for those babies to boom. With that in mind, one would think that 1966 saw the largest Baby Boomer population in history. Because they’ve been steadily dying off since the BB canon was closed. You can’t add any boomers, because they stopped booming in ’66. After that, they no longer Boomed, just X’d. So you can’t have more boomers then any other time in history! You could say there are more seniors than any time in history, but not more Baby Boomers. It’s like if you said there are more pretentious assholes in the world who pretend to know what Film Noir and Pulp fiction is all about but have never actually watched a film or read a book from the respective periods than there have ever been, I would allow that. If you just said there are more Gen-Xers than any other time, I would complain.
As I said, this is actually an intelligent and useful article called 20 Hot Client Industries That Hire Freelancers but I can’t let bad writing go when I see it. The problem of course is that it’s everywhere.
This is why I spend so much time screaming into a pillow.
I have on occasion said that George Carlin had a big effect on me and some people say “Yeah, no fucking shit, right? I mean Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker, and Tits right?” and then I biff them upside the head with a chair and tell them to stop being such twats because my father taught me how to swear. Actually, he taught me something more important, because my particular use of profane language has always been a free form sort of art that few others can or want to emulate… bunch of poorly enunciating shit licking turgid monkey fuckers. What my father taught me was the importance of profanity. To either quote or paraphrase him (I honestly can’t remember if he really said this or if I made it up on my own anymore) “You should only swear when you want people to know that you’re really fucking angry.”
Fortunately, with the world in the state it’s currently in, I can pretty much let the words “God damn, semi-retarded, shit for lungs, FUCKWIT!” fly whenever I like. Seriously, go on the internet and use Google. There is so much to be angry about its amazing. However, as I say, this has nothing to do with old George.
What George Carlin did that had such a big influence on me, was to be a guy who really made me think about words. Not just words, but how words are used and how people will try and repress words that seem to tell too much truth or how they’re used to create layers of bullshit and lies to cover up what’s really going on. Even when he firmly and immovably entered his “Get off my mother fucking lawn” stage, much of his complaints were about how words were used and abused. If you read or listen to interviews with him, he often spoke about his profound love for words and language.
There was more than just a liking for puns, or an affinity for stringing together dirty words, I’ve always gotten the idea that Carlin was genuinely enamored of the ability we humans have of relating incredibly complex ideas and concepts with a few dozen sounds. So, for a moment, try and imagine how such a man would feel when he saw people using language for such purposes as people invariably use it for. When words can be made to express as much truth as a person has inside them, to see people using them to deliberately cover up the real meaning of what they’re trying to say. It’s beyond lying, and far more insidious if you love language.
There is a comment in one of Rex Stout’s Nero Wolfe books. I can’t remember what it is exactly, but to paraphrase Archie tells a client that they’re playing a reverse of the Hitler/Stalin technique. They tell bear faced lies to have them take for truth, while he and Wolfe tell bear faced truths to have them taken for lies. I sort of got the idea that old George was doing that. He was telling you something in a humorous way, so you wouldn’t know that he really did want to nail people to a tree who used language to cover up and deceive.
There is a bit from one of his albums (Parental Advisory: Explicit Lyrics if you must know) that not only strikes me as one of the biggest complaints against these lies through rewording, but also how we treat people who were in the military and have been abused by their government.
Some one from Metafilter typed it out, which is nice, but I’m only taking a little bit of it.
You can’t be afraid of words that speak the truth. I don’t like words that hide the truth. I don’t like words that conceal reality. I don’t like euphemisms or euphemistic language. And American English is loaded with euphemisms. Because Americans have a lot of trouble dealing with reality. Americans have trouble facing the truth, so they invent a kind of a soft language to protect themselves from it. And it gets worse with every generation. For some reason it just keeps getting worse.
I’ll give you an example of that. There’s a condition in combat. Most people know about it. It’s when a fighting person’s nervous system has been stressed to its absolute peak and maximum, can’t take any more input. The nervous system has either snapped or is about to snap. In the First World War that condition was called shell shock. Simple, honest, direct language. Two syllables. Shell shock. Almost sounds like the guns themselves. That was 70 years ago. Then a whole generation went by. And the Second World War came along and the very same combat condition was called battle fatigue. Four syllables now. Takes a little longer to say. Doesn’t seem to be as hard to say. Fatigue is a nicer word than shock. Shell shock…battle fatigue.
Then we had the war in Korea in 1950. Madison Avenue was riding high by that time. And the very same combat condition was called Operational Exhaustion. Hey we’re up to 8 syllables now! And the humanity has been squeezed completely out of the phrase now. It’s totally sterile now. Operational Exhaustion: sounds like something that might happen to your car. Then of course came the war in Vietnam, which has only been over for about 16 or 17 years. And thanks to the lies and deceit surrounding that war, I guess it’s no surprise that the very same condition was called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Still 8 syllables, but we’ve added a hyphen. And the pain is completely buried under jargon. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
I bet you, if we’d still been calling it shell shock, some of those Vietnam veterans might have gotten the attention they needed at the time. I bet you that.
Considering that the Pentagon is still denying veterans mental health benefits because the person in question once looked really worried about a test they didn’t study for in high school or had a tantrum in 3rd grade and thus all their problems are pre-existing… You know what? Fuck going on about that. If I start that I’ll just get angry and loose the thread. Short version, if people are willing to put their lives on the line to enforce a government’s will, then the government has an obligation to take care of those people during and after their service. I’m already paying for the guns and the bombs, I really, honestly don’t mind paying for some decent fucking hospitals and a couple of shrinks. Whatever they need, they should get it. They did what they were asked, I’m just saying now it’s time for the government (and the country behind it) to fulfill its part of the bargain.
ANYWAY! We now return you to your regularly scheduled story already in progress.
There was a real and genuine contempt for those who would use and abuse the gift of language in order to subvert the whole reason language was invented in the first place. We’ve gone from using words to communicating ideas, to using words to try and avoid ideas from being communicated, and that was what got him so damn angry.
And slowly, after 1,223 words we get to the point of how George Carlin influenced and effected me. He told me it was okay to be angry about bullshit. Not only was it allowable, in his view it was to be encouraged. While his views generally tilted towards the left, he was just as ready to call hippies out on their bullshit as he was yuppies*. That bullshit is bullshit and it should never be tolerated was one of George’s central tenets.
That’s where he influenced me. He told us to learn how to spot bullshit and to call it when we see it. He also told us that being angry and swearing at people who don’t meet up to the required standard was a good thing too. And, he said things like “How did they turn cocksucker into a bad word? Now it means a bad guy, it used to be a good woman!” which is just brilliant. That of course assumes that a woman performing fellatio is a pleasing idea to you. It certainly is to me, but that might just be my own personal opinion.
*I needed something that went with hippies, and a good number of the yuppies I’ve know are right wing douche bags so it works.
I confused the hell out of Holly the other day, because I was praising the Maltese Falcon. That in itself wasn’t what shocked her, I’ve spent enough time talking the story up that no one should be surprised by my love for it. No, what got her was a particular incident that I found amazing.
Now it’s no Spoiler to tell you that the character of Joel Cairo is presented as a homosexual in the book. He’s sort of swishy in the movie, strangely when watching the movie I always peg Gutman and Wilmer as the gay ones, but in the book they come right out and say that he’s queer. I can’t remember the exact wording, and the books are all packed, and I’m not sure I have a paper copy anyway. The point is that in the book they make no bones about the fact that Joel is homosexual. In the book, like the movie, Joel pulls a gun and as a result gets the stuffing slapped out of him by Spade. I’ve always loved that scene, because Spade doesn’t pull his punch and gives the gay guy one across the chin. Now this is the section that got me a funny look, because I was declaring it so awesome that the gay guy got some lumps too. I phrased it kind of funny, saying that it was awesome that the gay guy got slugged and slapped around, which is what confused Holly and required explanation. No wonder this confused her, I’m not in the habit of applauding people for beating up on gays.
See, I first read the book in about 1992 or so. In those days, there was a new liberalism, which had spawned Political Correctness, which was stalking the land like Frankenstein’s monster on a bender. Now if you only came to cultural awareness in the years after 2000, you might not know this, but there was a time when PC wasn’t just something conservative crybabies whined about on cable TV. It was a bit of foolishness that threatened to come to Nazi like proportions when it came to changing the language and forcing new meanings onto old words. Let me tell you kids, Special Treatment met its match when it came up against Those In Need of Special Assistance. I’m all for not using words like cripple, faggot and that most offensive word for blacks that I won’t even use because I think I generate enough flame bait on my own thank you very much. It just went too far, and some of its practitioners got over enthusiastic in their support for the concept. Remember, I’m a long labeled liberal telling you this. So with that in mind you know I’m not just complaining that I’m not allowed to use offensive words to be deliberately offensive. I use them all the time when I want to be deliberately offensive.
One of the results of this tidal wave of senselessness was that people would complain if anything other than white adult males were shown in anything like a negative light. Let us remember, that the gay community had just gotten done complaining about Basic Instinct like it was some sort of document of cultural importance rather than a cheap excuse to get a beaver shot of a not particularly good actress. The word was clear though, we had to treat homosexuals with a hands-off attitude and if any of them were shown in anything other than a shinning light the perpetrators would forever be labeled as fascists and dick-sniffers*. We’ve started to get over that, and come to the conclusion that gays can in fact play in our reindeer games, and can be allowed to be bad guys sometimes, so long as we are all held to the same standard.
I’m all for not bashing gays for being gay, but imagine what it was like for a young fairly open minded lad of 16 to be deeply mired in the early 90s and reading that section. It was a great shock to see that Joel Cairo was being slapped around purely for pulling a gun on Sam Spade. It wasn’t because he was gay, or a sissy, or even for smelling of gardenia, but simply because he pulled a gun on the wrong private eye. I loved that idea, that Joel was a full fledged player of this game, and was only being slapped and treated badly because he attempted to hold up Sam Spade. You try to hold up Sam Spade, you get an ass kicking. Q.E.D.
It was a shock because I’d more or less understood that America was a right wing conservative country that hated everything that wasn’t white, and Christian and only sort of tolerated not being male from its inception right up until 1963 when some drug addled proto-hippie invented liberalism. If I took my literature and movies as my historical teachers (which I sort of had to do because American schools suck for teaching history that isn’t the Revolution) then I had to admit that before reading this book I’d understood that homosexuality hadn’t even been invented before 1975 and it was a VERY controversial invention. We didn’t even have gay men in the 90s, just hot girl on girl action.
If there were gay men, they were a weak willed bunch of sissies, only useful for comic relief or victimization. Everything about them was linked to their homosexuality. If they were beat up, it was understood that they were being beaten up for being gay. If they were humiliated, it was understood that it was funnier because they were gay and it was supposed to be funnier to humiliate a gay than it was a normal person. Any time a person was labeled as being gay, a big deal was made out of them being gay. Not only was a big deal made, but a big target was placed on them.
When someone wanted to painted a less bigoted picture though, they would invariably go too far the other way. Every gay was a spiritual, wise, and never came to any harm unless it was intended to pull at our sympathetic heart strings. Unfortunately, when this was done, it would often come off like a puppy getting hurt since the character in question was often no better defined than to be a Gay version of the Magical Negro. In many ways in fact these characters were worse and came off as more shallowly written. At least when a sissy is being played up for joke it tends to be in a light comedy where no one is very deep, having a heavy drama where every character is well defined except for the poor homosexual who you know will die near the climax doesn’t cut it. Yeah, I watched a lot of independent stuff in the 90s, which is why I mostly watch old movies and action fare now.
The point I was trying to make though, was that Joel Cairo was gay, but it wasn’t a big deal. I’m not even sure it was mentioned five times in total. He wasn’t considered weaker than Spade because he was gay, he was weaker because he wasn’t Sam Spade. Actually Spade tends to avoid the Captain Kirkesque “That’s why he’s the goddamn captain” sort of super tough guyness and instead opts for a definition of toughness best defined as an ability to bluff the hell out of everyone else. He’s tough because of his nerves not because he can make everyone else eat a bullet sandwich, another point of love for me and one I should try to emulate more. Sadly I’m cured with the ability to write comic book style action sequences and semi-realistic characters, which doesn’t make for good Spade emulation. Once again though, we’re on a tangent.
That was what I loved about the book, trying once again to get back to my point. The gay guy isn’t treated any different for being gay. He’s just a guy who is gay and will probably be outsmarted by the protagonist. That was why I loved the book, because the gay guy could be slugged for pulling a gun on the hero and as a result was treated like everyone else who pulled a gun on the hero. Even more so, I love that Cairo doesn’t whine or whimper like a little bitch after being slugged, he takes it like a man.
I also liked the way the killer was eventually unmasked, but we’ll talk about that later.
1. The boy is mildly exaggerating many of the deficiencies of his shitty American education.
2. *Please note the irony presented.
3. You ever get the idea that he puts all these links in just to avoid having people ask him what any one concept or idea is? I think he’s trying to stop himself from directing people to justfuckinggoogleit.com on a constant basis. Of course if you click all his links, you realize what a cruel and self-amused bastard he really is.
Do you suppose P.G. Wodehouse was trying to generate contempt for the English Upper Classes, or does that just sort of happen as a result of reading his books?
Do these books read differently in England than they do in America? Because I get the distinct impression that the Revolution didn’t happen a single day too soon.
Don’t get me wrong, I like the books, but I do rather wonder if Wodehouse didn’t want to sort of burn it all down. Particularly in The Inimitable Jeeves, I sort of think the world could have greatly improved by shipping everyone in the book save for Bertie and Jeeves to a Martian Colony. I’ve read up on him a little, but I can’t see that any extra bitterness or distaste (beyond what I’m inferring) for the English was built up after he left England. Maybe he was looking fondly back at some of the silly people he’d known and didn’t think that the books could cause a contemptuous feeling at all, and these are just ideas I’m getting from reading them.
The books do one oddly interesting thing, they give a totally different slant to the Jazz Age, as the only books I’ve read prior to these are American and often written well after the fact. The Great Gatsby could put a person off trying to learn more about that time forever, but some books aren’t so down in the mouth. Strange that Generation X isn’t more into the Jazz Age, since I would judge that the 90s were a second Jazz Age in America*. Interestingly enough, while many of us were living a version of the American Dream® we were getting into Hard Boiled books and Film Noir, which tend towards the cranky side.
The view of the Jazz Age in America has always been a bit dourer than it seems to be in England. Mayhaps England wasn’t as hard hit by economic trends as America was at that time and they didn’t view those liberal years with conservative scorn like we did over here. Probably more needs to be said about this, but it extends to a tangent I’m not prepared to explore at the moment.
The point is, that while the books are amusing, I want to drown Bingo Little in a bath tub.
*No, I’m not going to justify that statement right now, remind me later and I’ll write 3 pages on it.
When I look at a Movie Poster
Or I buy a DVD
That’s when I hate photoshop the most
When I see a gun sort of floating
Near the hand of Paul Giamatti
That’s when I hate Photoshop the most
Everytime I buy a new video for my DVD player which is new and fangeled
And poor Johnny Depp’s arms are twisted into unnatural angles.
That’s when I hate Phototshop the most
I weep for the elongated limbs
I cry for heads placed on other people’s bodies
That’s when I hate photoshop the most
1. I have an odd, but strangely unexplored love of hoaxes, stage magic and side shows (all of side show attractions, not just the freaks). I really like these things, but not enough to really pursue them or research them in any meaningful way. I find this odd, because any of these are full of interesting things to read up on, and they often require you to have an understanding of history, science, and psychology. You’d think I’ve be constantly looking up these things, but you’d be wrong. I’m always happy to find them, but I rarely go searching them out. I think probably a large part of it was that much of the information on these things wasn’t that easy to get when I was a kid, which is when I was chiefly interested. You could get the occasional book or documentary, but they didn’t exactly fall in your lap like other things might. When you did get one, they were equal parts badly researched facts, old stories and total crap. With the internet, these things are easier to find, but I’m not as hip to it anymore.
2. I also love ancient mysteries, but I’ve gone so far as to really look into them. I’m not talking about Atlantis, I’m talking about things like the Nazca Lines and other such things that really exist but we have difficulty explaining. Even though the Nazca Lines were probably for royalty to look at in hot air balloons, which is simple once you find the balloons. I also think the Tarim Mummies are neat.
3. I read about a lot of crap as a kid. Cryptozoology and alien visitations and abductions were a regular part of my brain fodder as a child. There were a lot of ghosts and haunted places in my early reading. The Winchester Mansion still ranks among one of my top “Gotta go see that someday” locations, which is a remnant of reading books of that sort.
4. While doing that, I’ve always been sort of obsessed with outer space. I love the idea that if only I could get a glass of water big enough I could float the planet Saturn in it. This is probably my parent’s fault really. They let me watch Cosmos at an early age and read books like Our Universe. Side note: HOLY SHIT! I could get a copy for about $5? CRIPES! No, you don’t understand. I NEED to get a copy of this book. I mean I probably have it memorized, but I really, really REALLY need to get a new(ish) copy of this book. OOOh look, another site has some used copies too! The second site has descriptions of what kind of condition each book is in too. JOY!
5. I am often the only one who sees or understands my comments. Hypertext and linking are wonderful things, but it requires people to actually click the links, read through the entire page, and then maybe still not see what exactly the connection I’m making is. This can get very annoying when I think I’ve said something clever and obvious and I just get blank stares. That’s okay though, I’ve gotten used to it.
The least sucky thing from today (how fucking sad is this? Honestly, I have to tell you about the thing that sucked the least about today) was having a long held belief shattered.
See, I always assumed that everyone knew that the bird is the word*, however Holly proved me not only wrong but super-wrong.
I mean what kind of world do we live in where
a man dressed as a bat… not everyone knows that the bird is the word?
Makes me sick!
I wish I was in Paris, because then I could console myself with a cake, or a raspberry mousse tart. Best baked goods I ever had were in France. I figure it must go like this, the French are socialist atheists who used to be catholic (don’t contradict me or this doesn’t work) and so they know that life is shit, and that they live in a godless universe, but they want to believe in things like heaven and stuff. So they make a cake that is like heaven in your mouth. Go to Paris, go to this one small bakery that I can find but I can’t tell you how to get to (I R helpful!) and get a raspberry mousse tart. It’s like having an orgasm triggered by your mouth. You could go on for years, just knowing that stuff like this exists in the world. You don’t need to go to heaven because you can have a piece of this cake. That’s the French. They know god is lost to them, they know life is shit, they know that existence is fleeting and ultimately futile. The only thing that stops them from just offing themselves as a nation is their baked goods.
You can’t get stuff that good here, I’ve tried. I went to places that should be really good at it, they fail! People in this country believe in God and that life isn’t a huge pile of pain and misery. I figure that cake that good has to be born out of despair, possibly like the despair I feel from having to eat cakes made in this country. Deserts are pretty much the one thing I can’t do, so I’m more or less fucked.
What I’m trying to say is that if you guys really loved me you’d get me a ticket to Paris so I can have some decent baked goods.
EDIT: Even trying a simple link is a complete fucking fuck up. Fucking fuckfaced fuckers!
It seems that Barack Obama is some variety of negro. The media is shocked SHOCKED to discover that while he is quite pale for one of them, he occasionally behaves like one of those scary blacks from “The Hood” or some even worse places! It seems he and his wife did a dap or “fist bump” as the white kids call it, and a lot of people lost their shit because the scary black man was doing scary black things.
Every time I see silly shit like this I can only think of people thinking the same thing over and over again. “I need an excuse as to why I won’t vote for a ****** but can’t say that.” So they came out with him supposedly being a Muslim (I still don’t get why that should make him ineligible, but whatever) or his pastor said some wacky shit (most of which was true, but wasn’t phrased submissively enough for whitey) or some other such shit. They come up with all sorts of silly ass reasons, all the while trotting out reminders that he’s a black man and you don’t want a black in charge do you?
If you disagree with his fiscal policy, fine, say so. I really won’t think you’re racist if you just plain disagree with his stance on the war. Seriously, I can see where his ideas of how the country should be run might not jive with yours. However, you really need to stop trotting out “Scary Negro” bullshit because all it does is make you sound like a racist. It also makes me hear phantom banjo music and I don’t need that shit following me all day.
I know this may seem odd to say, but I really love seeing a foreigner working someplace I was to go at 1:30 in the morning. When it’s that late, nothing is better than hearing an alien accent as they cheerfully greet you coming through the door. Most of them are so goddamn happy just to be in this modern land of milk and honey that they don’t mind the graveyard shifts, so they are cheerful every time. There is not a smidgen of resentment form having to work the 11-6 shift, and if you get someone from the India/Pakistan area you are always (ALWAYS) “My friend” which I find delightful.
Don’t get me wrong, I like seeing these guys during the day too, but at night when I’m only venturing because I “have to get out of this bloody fucking house” they are the best thing in the world to see. Let them all come I say, bring the family! Set up a restaurant too, because lord knows I’m sick to death of burgers and fires. I have no idea what shawarma is, but I want some!*
Case in point.
I had a bad experience with a grocery store last night. I had a grouchy tummy and I wanted something sweet. However, the grocery store had moved EVERY LAST DAMN ITEM around and I couldn’t find the sort of sweets I wanted. I came home feeling defeated and despondent and embarrassed about being humiliated by a grocery store so I just didn’t talk about it with anyone. Later, hours later, I went out to vent my frustration in driving. So I got in the car, wasted about a gallon of gas ($4 we never see again) before thinking that maybe I still wanted something sweet.
So I drive towards the late night Dunkin’ Donuts. There would be something appropriately sweet at the DD. So I drive towards the donut shop, and my prize, feeling paranoia and strain from the afternoon coiling up in my belly. Despite these feelings, I still managed to get out of the car and walk into the store. This shouldn’t have required this much effort, but you don’t have my paranoia and anxiety brought on by a very misty night that was setting off my asthma so lets leave that be for the moment.
When I walk in and start towards the counter a man of about 50 pokes his head out and in what I judge to be an Indian accent tells me he’ll be one moment. I look at the selection, and I’m sad to say it was not as expansive as I would normally like. Less than a moment later, here he comes from the back with a greeting that comes fairly close to “Hello my friend, how can I help you?”
I tell him how I want a dozen donuts and he gets ready to roll with the box and paper slips. When I suggest he grab three glazed, he asks if I want any raspberry or chocolate, which are not on display. He aims a finger towards the back, indicating where the chocolate donuts are waiting for a loving tongue. I don’t like chocolate though, so no sale. Thinking back, I should have taken him up on the raspberry. I ask if he has any Vanilla Creme filled, and he tells me that he doesn’t and he’s sorry. No problem, I pick a few more donuts.
When my order is complete, he grabs a bag and another paper slip and tells me he’ll give me a few extra. I agree that he can do that and he nabs three éclairs and two jelly sticks. My suspicion was, and turned out to be correct, that he was giving me a fistful of day olds to make up for no Vanilla Cremes. Well, I confirmed they were day olds, his motivation is till his own. I liked the éclairs through, so that’s pretty cool. Then I embarrassed myself again by not hearing him properly when he told me the price and thought he was asking if I wanted coffee. After that, I then did it AGAIN! I tried to hand him a ten when I had almost the exact price in my other hand. Didn’t faze him, he just smiled and suggested that maybe I could give him the dollars I had in my other hand and make change easier. I allowed this and went on my merry way with my fried pastries, both fresh and day old.
It was as I pulled a day old éclair from the bag, which I did before even putting on my seat belt, that I do love the foreigners in this country. They’re so happy just to be here that it takes a hell of a lot to spoil their day. They’ve managed to get here from places that have real genuine squalor, the sort where there isn’t even running water or electricity never mind only one Xbox, so they tend to be more cheerful and accommodating to the bourgeoisie bastards that come in late at night. I always try to be pleasant to anyone in a service position anyway, but I find I want to be a little friendlier to someone who actually decided to leave the land of their birth to come here to give me some day old donuts with a smile.
You have to love anybody who can be cheerful at 1:30 in the morning. I’ve got to admire anyone not so eaten up by entitlement and resentment that they don’t look at me like something they scraped off the bottom of their shoe just because I had the temerity to enter their establishment and asked them to let me give them money. They do their jobs cheerfully as if they’re just glad to have a job, and I like that. Let them all come, let them wash over us fat, complacent white folk like a brown wave. If they bring the food they cook in those strange and far away lands, then all the better.
*Fancy’s Note: He knows damn well what shawarma is, but he’s making a point.
Everything else in America is becoming homogenous, why not the people? Let’s mix everybody up until we can’t tell whether this one is that one or that one is this one or which one is what one or what one is who.
2. Gay Marriage
When everyone has the right, regardless of age, race, religion or sexual orientation, to loose half their stuff in a shitty divorce, then we’ll all be free.
3. Legalized Marijuana
If we make it legal, that just might shut the pot heads up for five minutes. That is until they start telling us about how The Cat in the Hat is “Like so deep man… ya know?”
4. Group Sex
It’s simply awesome both in theory and in practice. Consider that porn proves that people want to screw when they see other people screwing. Clearly it’s a team sport, like Basketball. Oh sure, you can play one on one (or just shoot hoops on your own) but it’s always better when the whole team plays.
5. Violent Video Games
Some days the only thing stopping me from running people over and shooting them is the fact that I can do it in the privacy of my own living room.