“…it is not the most intellectual of the species that survives; it is not the strongest that survives; but the species that survives is the one that is able best to adapt and adjust to the changing environment in which it finds itself.”
–Leon C. Megginson
I wish I could say it came as a surprise. I wish I could say I was shocked. I even wish I could say I was angry, or enraged or…furious. I wasn’t even disappointed, really. I didn’t expect more. How could I? I had seen too much. I had made the mistake of paying attention.
For months the media had dedicated all of its time and resources to a sentient rancid sack of orange, rotting pig vomit. And what should’ve been seen as disgusting to anyone who didn’t work in industrial pig farms—and who therefore hadn’t become desensitized to the overwhelming, indescribable repugnance of rotting pig vomit— instead became entertainment. The Rancid Sack of Orange Rotting Pig Vomit became a joke. It was funny. It was crazy. It was obscene, but in that “good” way that draws accumulating attention. We couldn’t look away. Ratings went up. The pride and intellect of an entire nation went down.
And after they had made Rancid Sack of Orange Rotting Pig Vomit entertaining, they made it president.
So, yeah, I wasn’t blindsided. One needn’t look at the stars, or in a crystal ball, or consult the I-Ching to see what was coming. Since the proliferation of the internet in the late 90s, America has become nothing if not a land of spiteful, vengeful, intellectually-bereft, sexless trolls. These were/are the next evolution of the human race. This is what the great technological singularity looks like: Angry little buggers, pissed off at life and not smart enough or brave enough to understand they themselves are the reason for their eternal misery, all meeting up on a website somewhere in the backwater of the interwebz and agreeing that they all had a point.
And this stupid singularity elected as its avatar King Rancid Sack of Orange Rotting Pig Vomit. Which, haughty as it sounds, I saw coming.
Some say we are living in a post-moral society. That’s not true of course. It’s impossible for any tribal species to not have an implemented set of morals from which they can derive who is or isn’t a member of any given tribe. That’s all any conflict between two or more collective group of human beings is about—which tribe will be victorious. Whether it’s the democrats or republicans, or the Golden State Warriors and Cleveland Cavaliers. So morals are at once primary and teritiary. They are primary because they denote who is or isn’t a member of a given tribe, but they are tertiary because once someone is an accepted member of a tribe, morals take a back seat to victory. At a certain point, when two or more tribes go to war, nobody gives a shit about the morals they were supposedly fighting for. This is why the oppressed always become the oppressors. People forget about what the purpose of the war was and simply focus on the war itself. We can see this phenomenon ourselves, right now, in that the conservative “base” was supposed to be the people of “family values” and “Christian morals,” but they just elected a piece of sentient pig vomit who has had children with three different women, one of whom was its mistress while it was married. It also has been open about its past infidelities–beyond Marla Maples– married an immigrant and called its own daughter a “piece of ass.” This thing stands against the conservative base’s supposed entire moral paradigm, and if Obama or any other democrat had behaved one-tenth as lecherously as King Rancid Sack of Orange Rotting Pig Vomit has, these creeps would’ve stormed the gates of the White House and attempted a red neck version of a hostile takeover of the country. (Also: compare the response to Hilary’s email scandal to their response to all of the outright corrupt behavior of King Rancid Sack of Orange Rotting Pig Vomit’s entire cabinet to this point. I don’t see any of these asswipes calling for Pence to go to prison for his use of a private email server. Or King Rancid Sack of Orange Rotting Pig Vomit’s numerous comments on the military that no democrat or libruhl would ever have gotten away with.)
I have heard it said to be wary of animals who have had a taste of human flesh. Well I say we should be wary of humans who have had a taste of victory.Those who elected King Rancid Sack of Orange Rotting Pig Vomit don’t really care what he’s on about. They care that he pisses off the other tribe. And they care that they won.
What did they win exactly? Who knows. The right to confuse Indian immigrants with Muslims and shoot them, maybe? The right to cut funding toward public housing? The interesting thing about King Rancid Sack of Orange Rotting Pig Vomit’s tribe is that their morality is something of an inverted one. They stand for very little. Their morality is based around what they are against, not what they are for. They are against things like gun control and bathrooms where transgendered humans can go pee. They are against people of swarthy complexion making more money than they do. Things like that. What they’re mostly against, however, is this nebulous idea of “Political Correctness.” In short, what they stand for—if, again, they can be said to stand for anything at all—is their perceived rights to be assholes.
That’s it. That’s the entirety of their morality. We don’t live in a post-moral world at all. Instead, we just live in a world of morals that are astounding in their dumbness, incoherence and and absurdity.
The night of the election, I received numerous text messages claiming King Rancid Sack of Orange Rotting Pig Vomit’s victory was a refutation of all of my own morals and values.
“This is what happens when an entire society is lazy and apathetic,” these messages essentially said. “You and your philosophy suck King Rancid Sack of Orange Rotting Pig Vomit’s balls.”
I didn’t actually believe a rancid sack of orange rotting pig vomit has testicles, but what did I know?
What did I know? Was this true? Had I been wrong this whole time? Was I promoting a way of life that had made the existence of King Rancid Sack of Orange Rotting Pig Vomit and his foul, putrid empire possible? Was I one of the…bad guys?
(*Cue montage of Mr. Furious experiencing an existential meltdown– Sitting in front of computer at work, staring at the wall, dumbly. Walking through a Colorado blizzard at night with no coat on and no discernible emotion on his face. Mr. Furious driving a Nissan Armada, listening to Redbone’s “Come and Get Your Love” glossy eyed, and without nodding his head in rhythmic agreement. Mr. Furious with Missus Furious and the Furious children in front of a Christmas tree, the family laughing, smiling, opening presents, Mr. Furious dissociated from the happenings, face frozen in a look of deep discontent. Mr. Furious sans shirt and shoes, passed-out drunk on top of a friends pool table as the clock strike 12:00 on New Year’s. Etc*)
I spent too much time contemplating. I had ignored Bruce Lee’s intimation to FEEL instead of think. My head throbbed constantly. I had dreams of terrible bad craziness–gallons upon infinite gallons of orange pig vomit flooding the streets of D.C. while children drowned and their parents bathed in the glowing radioactive filament of nuclear fallout and old Bill Murray stood by idly with a broken proton pack on his back. I was breaking out in acne as if I were 15 years old again, but my libido had been cut in half. I perceived no answers. I saw no paths.
As my good friend Chris would say, I had lost my Zen.
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