A Majority Of One (Why Forced Sterilization is a GOOD Thing)

Some of you had no business breeding. But you did. If you were dogs, I'd rub your noses in the mess you've made, and smack you with a rolled-up newspaper.

There is nothing so heartbreaking as the thought that the Human Race is doomed.

Well, maybe for you...For me, it can't be doomed soon enough. I find most people to be about as useful as Hillary Clinton at an orgy, and as likable as toenail fungus. Although to be fair to the fungus, it can be argued from a certain perspective that it may have some redeeming aesthetic value.

It's certainly colorful, at least.

The more I experience human interaction, the more I begin to get the impression that existence is all some sort of sick and twisted joke.

I'm not a believer in God (never met him, and 12 years of Catholic school education will do that to you) but if there is some sort of all-powerful Creator force in the Universe (besides me?), then whoever and whatever that force may be is a giant, fucking dick. The proof?

He/She/It/Ze/That/They made people.

Now, I want to be clear: I don't hate ALL people. Just 99.99998% of them, because people  usually wind up doing really stupid things that ruin the enjoyment of life for other people. Like vote for democrats. Go door-to-door on Saturday mornings, waking people up, in order to harass them about a variety of brain injury (religion), or living their lives according to who their favorite team picks in the draft.

To illustrate: A short-but-instructive list of the Very Stupid Things Accomplished By Modern People, it goes something like this:

* Made Kim Kardashian a millionaire. And she doesn't even have any talent.

* Made Taylor Swift a millionaire, and all she has is 300 songs about a guy leaving her, and not a single song about giving a blowjob. Perhaps the two are related, Taylor?

* Made Bernie Sanders a viable candidate. No, Communism, unlike wine, cheese, and roadkill, does NOT get better with age.

* Made Barack Obama President....Twice....On Purpose.

You get the idea. This planet is full of retards.

I could deal with a planet full of retards under certain conditions, like if they were all AWARE they were retarded and undertook to do nothing at all, secure in the knowledge that letting the retarded take action -- exercise a choice, make a decision, try to understand the complexities of shoelace-tying -- is a doomed and wasted effort.

Why, I would even go so far as to allow them to roam the Plains, like the Buffalo of old, grazing to their heart's content, free, and subject to the wolf packs and grizzly bears, and all the other hazards of Nature in all of her red-in-tooth-and-claw glory. In fact, I think that's perhaps the best way of dealing with the truly stupid: to let Nature take it's course, and let their stupid do some of the Darwin-esque shit and weed themselves out of the gene pool.

Unfortunately, an even dumber class of people exists, and they CARE. But that's for another rant, and because they CARE legions of dumb-as-fucking-stumps people are allowed to both live and have children.

And it is at this point that I must stop rambling and get to the fucking point: your children, Dumbasses.

I began to wax something bordering on philosophic about the subject of YOUR CHILDREN after a few random encounters with some of the more special varieties of the breed this past week.

Before I continue, I must be fair and say this: Your Overlord, prior to evolving a superior consciousness and learning to read without moving his lips, was perhaps not a shining example of the Idealized Human Being. As a child, he, too, did some really incredible things that, in retrospect, leave him wondering how he managed to survive long enough to reach adulthood sometime in his mid-30's.

Most of these have something to do with the following, potentially-deadly, things: electricity, great heights, skateboards, playing full-contact sports without protective equipment, bicycles, BB Guns, anything capable of producing an open flame, common household poisons and explosives found under the kitchen sink, automobiles, liquor, strange females with questionable sexual mores and/or mental health issues, razor blades, knives, and fireworks. That'll do to start.

So, yes, I was a stupid kid, too. But I grew out of it, usually by the painful method of Action-followed-by-Consequence. These Kids Today (get off my lawn!) have apparently been deprived of even this most fundamental learning tool by living in a world where nothing "bad" is supposed to ever happen to them, and if it does, some idiot will be along with a lawyer to straighten it all out, or Mommy will go Postal on someone's ass and ensure that the misery gets spread, the consequences get dodged, and in the process, the lesson goes unlearned.

Eventually, you get to the point where we have battalions of truly unthinking people walking around, going about their daily stupidity, unaware that they are having an effect on the rest of the world, and unable to grasp simple concepts, like...

1) 15-year old boys should not be playing "Hide and Seek" at 11:30 at night, in dark clothing, squatting behind parked cars in active driveways, or concealing themselves in trees above said driveways.

Last night, I came back from a Marlboro run at 11:30 PM, pulled into my driveway, and was totally unaware -- until I got out of the car -- that there were two kids hiding there. One, behind a parked vehicle where he was totally camouflaged (and three feet from my front bumper), and the other lodged in the tree directly above my vehicle.

I did not see them, since a) one was not in view and b) I usually do not check the tree that overhangs the driveway for extraneous, precariously-balanced teenagers who might drop from the sky unexpectedly before I pull in.

In a perfect world, Squatting Douchebag (assuming he had an American Indian name) would have his empty head squashed between my front fender and the garage door, and "Low Hanging Fruit" would have dropped right in front of my Nissan and been introduced to the front wheels, and when the police showed up to scrape their bloody remains off my new concrete, I would be exonerated on the spot, their parents would have to content themselves with the idea that they gave birth to mentally-challenged offspring and that Nature had taken it's course, and some organization would have given me an honorarium and a parade for adding a little chlorine to the Gene Pool.

But, we know this is not what happens In Real Life.

In Real Life two dead simpletons means someone gets sued, perhaps even criminally prosecuted, and the facts -- they're trespassing, they've put themselves in danger by their own actions, they have really weak genes -- means nothing.

Had something gone terribly wrong (but Morally Oh-So-Right) I'd be in handcuffs this morning, and someone would be filing a shitload of civil suits, and the mated pairs of douchebags who gave birth to these cretins would be living in my house...and getting to work on replacing their dead dumbass with a brand-spankin' new one.

I gave these two twits a piece of my mind, before I realized that was a waste of resources. They did not seem to understand what they had done, could not understand what the fuss was all about, and promptly disappeared. One of them is a neighbor's kid, and yeah, I can see where the nincompoop comes from.

15 year olds who play hide-and-seek -- when there aren't any children under the age of 7  being entertained -- are bone-crushingly stupid, and most likely on their way to being gay. Now, the Overlord doesn't actually care if someone is gay, because this Despot doesn't want to know what people are doing with their genitals in the privacy of their own bedrooms, but he does enjoy a really good laugh.

2) A new phenomenon that has taken the area I live in by storm represents the confluence of all the Really Asinine Elements of Modern Life in one bite-sized morsel.

We have packs...and I do mean PACKS, like wild animals... of teen-aged boys who apparently have nothing better to do all day than to trick-out their bicycles, attach Go-Pro cameras to them, and make complete and utter nuisances of themselves with the resulting product, in the process creating various hazards to health, safety and sanity.

You will find these incredibly annoying fucktards doing things like riding five or six abreast on busy roads, often in the direction of oncoming traffic, performing a variety of stunts, or playing some truly ridiculous game of chicken in which they depend upon you to come to a complete stop while they rest the bike's front wheel on your hood. Often, they will flood a busy intersection, wait for red lights, and then hold up traffic while they do their wheelies, and hops and jumps, in the belief that every driver is a) so impressed as to be shocked into complete immobility, or b) actually enjoys the little show while a bunch of Boneheads on Bikes undertake death-defying stunts that do little more than cause accidents and keep Soccer Moms from getting to the PTA meeting on time.

I've even seen these doofuses perform their stunts at high speed while being chased by police cars.

They then put the video up on YouTube where other mouthbreathers are either encouraged to emulate them, or determined to outdo them.

Which brings us to another neighbor's brain-damaged child, who spends his days biking up and down the block on his oversized rear tire. His favorite place to do this is right in front of my house. Whenever I step out for a smoke, there he is, and he seems to change his circuit just for my benefit, for as long as I'm there smoking, he's there doing the same stunt...over...and over...and...over...and...over again.

Like I'm supposed to be impressed, or something? Maybe he has a crush on me?

In any case, I found it uproariously funny this past Wednesday when in the process of doing his "Look-at-me-I'm-So-Cool-I-Can-Ride-On-My-Rear-Wheel" routine, his weight shifted and he fell flat on his back, the bike landing on his face, while his momentum carried him forward over the pavement.

Without his helmet. Because you can't be YouTube cool and do this shit with a helmet. Helmets are for sissies.

The resulting Road Rash that ran from his lower back to the back of his partially-peeled-away scalp was rather gruesome and bloody, but funny as all hell. I evaluated his situation, pulled out the cell to call the ambulance and his mother (not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree herself; she took this opportunity to protest, loudly, her innocence in having raised such a dumbbell -- "If I've told you once, I've told you a million times...", "this is all your father's fault....", "I can't believe you could be this stupid, Johnny...", "now look what you've done..." -- it's as if this sudden burst of retard surprised her. Don't you live with this idiot?

Unfortunately, this Darwin-Award nominee wasn't DOA at the Hospital, but I'm still laughing,

3) Girls named "Jordan" and "Tiffany" (names changed to protect the innocent) should not be allowed to drive. Evah.

I pull into the local Target parking lot yesterday, and am immediately accosted by two gum-snapping, under-dressed, under-educated, and perhaps anorexic young..ahem....ladies. They have taken valuable time away from their smartphones to ask me if I could help them with their car. These two had managed the Trifecta of Toomfoolery, and I swear, if I hadn't been there to actually WITNESS it, I would have hardly believed it.

Let's forget for a second that Jordan and Tiffany have smartphones, and they seem to have been surgically grafted to their thumbs. Apparently, using them to call a tow truck, or their parents, or the police, never occurred to them. However, during the course of this little escapade, they were able to keep me entertained with rapid-fire Twitter commentary from their friends on their current plight.

Jordan and Tiffany (I can't even tell you which was which) tell me that their car stalled out when they got into the parking lot, now not only will it not start, but they can't get the key out of the ignition. They've been tweeting their friends "who know stuff about cars" but can't figure out why the key won't come out.

Maybe it's because no one put it in park, Dumbass? Problem Number One solved.

Problem Number Two: the car will not start. The battery is dead. Why is the battery dead? Because Jordan/Tiffany's alternator belt is loose. Fortunately, the belt's tensionwhatchamacallit is near the top of the engine, and I have the proper tools in the trunk. Easy fix. As I'm fixing it, Jordan/Tiffany asks why the car was making a godawful squealing noise all day before it died.

It...like...was...like....annoying....and....like...you know...loud...

I give Jordan/Tiffany a jump after tightening the belt, when problem Number Three makes itself known.

A pleasantly-soft, robotic voice begins issuing from the dashboard speaker "Fuel Level Low"...."Fuel Level Low"...."Fuel Level Low"....And just in case you missed the voice, there's a red light on the dash. It flashes.

Jordan and Tiffany had run out of gas, too.

So. I had to ask: didn't you hear that?

Well, no, they hadn't heard it. Because they were listening to music, and had the stereo cranked so that the bass from the over-sized speakers in the back made the entire vehicle vibrate. Jordan/Tiffany found their own stupidity so funny they had to Tweet it. You know you've gone full retard when you can't wait to share your retard in 140 characters, or less, with other retards.

So, I showed them how to use their smartphone to do something other than Tweet about how retarded and skanky they both are, and summon a tow truck to put some gas in their tank. I then told them to go eat something nourishing (the part left unsaid: something nourishing that ISN'T the result of ejaculation. No need to be too cruel).

And I knew, the very second I began walking away that, some day, Jordan and Tiffany would probably be giving birth -- most likely out-of-wedlock, and on behalf of someone in jail -- and the resulting mess of squalling, shitting, spitting-up crap would have their DNA, and eventually wind up on Dr. Phil.

The process would repeat, and if history is any indication, each iteration of the human race would get a little bit dumber and a little more clueless, until the entire planet was full of 25-year-olds playing Hide and Seek, 30-year olds-playing chicken with Ram Pickups from their Schwinns, and cumbucket dumbasses named Jordan and Tiffany who are allowed to operate heavy machinery despite being unable to find their own asses with both hands and a flashlight.

The Circle of Life, indeed.

And these things always come in threes, unless I've missed one of the opening acts in the Fucktard Follies this week.

And for this reason it should be legal that upon discovering a truly retarded person (and before I get e-mail, I don't mean people afflicted with Mental Retardation or Cerebral Palsy. Sheesh! Context, people!) , those of us with three-figure IQ should be permitted -- nay, rewarded -- for killing them on sight, and if that makes you too squeamish, I'd settle for being able to report them to a local sterilization center.

A Majority of One is a weekly diatribe about things most people are probably thinking, but afraid to say out loud.