My Inner Child Rejoiceth! The Outer Children Needeth Beatings...

"In every man a child is hidden that wants to play..." -- Friedrich Nietzsche

Ah, the simple joys of childhood! The Salad Days of all of our lives when our pleasures were few and often silly, and because they were both, so much more enjoyable.

I'm going to talk about two aspects of childhood today. The first is a memory of childhood past, the flame of which never died and was partially fulfilled today, so that it still fills me with glee and restores my faith that progress (not "Progress") is still possible. The Other Aspect, the one that makes me want to institute a regulatory program for parenthood and a concomitant regime of forced sterilization for those who fail to measure up, comes next.

I'm certain I'm not the only one who ever wished for this first part. Certainly not the only Man of a Certain Age to do so. And definitely not the first of a certain mindset to ask one of Life's Existential Questions As Determined by A Ten-Year-Old (for no matter how much we age physically, the mindset remains, lurking about the edges of consciousness; the mischievous little boy. It is this inner child that preoccupies our minds with sports, tits and gross stuff, after all).

There is hardly a man alive in America today, I reckon, who never, as a child, had the thought that it would be really cool...like EPIC...to take a shit in an envelope and mail it to someone. Especially to someone you didn't like. It was to pre-adolescent boys (and yeah, frat boys, too) the ultimate joke. Doing so and being able to get away with it would have been the equivalent of a Nobel Prize, a Rhodes Scholarship, and Olympic Medal in Dumbfuck, all rolled up into one, and would place you among the Gods of Olympus in the eyes of your friends.

Well, thanks to modern medicine and efficient logistics, I FINALLY have my opportunity to do just this.

Who says America is no longer a land of opportunity?

Today, the mailperson -- who is still delivering wads of paper sealed with spit door-to-door during a "pandemic" by hand -- delivered both The Holy Grail and The Golden Fleece, courtesy of my doctor. In a few days, I shall receive Excalibur, and the Triumvirate of Joy will be complete.

First we have the diabetes test, which consists of a urine specimen bottle and assorted return mail accouterments.

Next, comes the Cologuard kit, including a bag into which one defecates.

When the COVID-19 home test arrives, the celebrations will begin in earnest.

(Earnest may not be very happy about it, though)

For I will be able to -- legally and free of guilt -- whizz in a bottle, shit in a bag, and pack snot into a test tube and have the US Postal Service deliver it. I don't even care who it goes to. It's just the realization of a boyhood dream, and warms the cockles of my heart.

Yes, it is excessively and gratuitously immature.

But that's what makes the idea FUN.

Because when you stop to think about WHY the doctor found it necessary to have me take these tests, you begin to realize it's because I'm getting older and eventually have a future of decrepitude and decline, and eventually death,  to look forward to.

Not that I'm afraid to die. I've been too close to death too many times, already, to fear it.

My attitude towards death is if it happens, then all of my problems are over. So, if I come to you in my dotage looking to borrow money, be warned this is probably not going to work out well for you.

Assuming you remember you gave me any money, of course, because you'll be old, too.

So, today, my childhood wishes have come true, or at least some of them.

It is a wonderful time to be alive!

(Author's Note: for all the triggered feminists out there who will be eager to point out -- excuse me, the Newspeak term for it is "pounce" -- on The Overlord's repeated assertions on this page that feminists who do the same with their menstrual by-products should be taken out and shot, let me preempt the charges of hypocrisy with a time-honored feminist retort:

"This is different because shut up."

Also, I would like to point out that the only reason I haven't done this, to date, is because my Mother taught me -- I'm sorry, "oppressed" me -- to believe that this sort of activity was somehow morally reprehensible. I'm only striking a blow against the Gynarchy and recovering my lost freedom!)

So much for the Inner child. Now to talk about the Outer Ones.

I have said it before here and I will repeat: I am thoroughly sick and tired of other people's children.

Especially the ones who bought degrees with Mommy and Daddy's money in the gigantic Play Pens we call "Colleges". Here, it is believed, they will acquire the scope of knowledge necessary to function in the Real World, but it has become apparent that all a college diploma means these days is that someone underwent a controlled program of deliberate and voluntary retardation.

These are certainly not mature individuals (please, spare me the self-serving and delusional drivel that your waste of sperm is the exception to the rule: you HAVE to like them because you made them). At least not in the sense of being able to understand that Life is Unfair, and of living under the false impression that somewhere the Fairy Godmother is magically turning out everything their tiny hearts and minds desire in vast quantities.

They are self-centered without being self-aware. Like a Black Hole in space, they believe everything revolves around them, which is then subjected to the raw, destructive force of their own powerful suck.

They cry about everything. When they aren't crying, they're demanding comfort and protection from everything: words, ideas, images, disappointment, anything they can't understand or can't be bothered to try and understand. Their first impulse is to ban or destroy.

They can't get through a single day without believing they've been cheated of something they often had no right to.

They are hypocrites. They are sneaky little duplicitous bastards who pay great lip-service to the concepts of "respect","loyalty", "togetherness", "ethics" and then they'll stab one another in the back, rat each other out, doxx you on the sly, slander you out of earshot, and will steal, lie and cheat at the earliest, most-convenient -- and advantageous -- moment.

They are dumber than a box of rocks, and defiant in their dumbass, but still convinced they have the right answer for everything. I call this quality "smugnorance". They acquired it by osmosis from the fucktards who "taught" them -- unionized teachers who cannot be fired and tenured professors of fake subjects.

They are incapable of expressing themselves in any kind of adult fashion. When they speak, it's like listening to dolphins chatter. Dolphins with Down's Syndrome, that is. Their patois is a discordant amalgam of vague emotions, filler words, sociological jargon, malapropisms, and the constructed, multi-syllabic word vomit of very bad socialist propagandists and apologists.

I'm almost surprised they haven't learned to speak entirely in emojis.

Then they complain that no one understand them or takes them seriously. This gives them The Sad.

Or should I say :(?

This is a plague of shallow, empty-headed locusts, possessed of the belief they are entitled to everything...just because they want it.

And now they're rioting.

Its an open question as to if they know what for, but they are making pains in the collective ass of themselves, aided and abetted by the same sort of soft, flabby, indulgent, ridiculous rationale that guided whatever constituted their upbringing: it's easier to either let them rant until they run out of steam, or bribe them to shut them up and go away. It's a combination of child abuse disguised as understanding and moral, ethical and intellectual cowardice that passes itself off as enlightened tolerance.

I've also said this before, but it bears repeating:

George Floyd's individual case aside, the black kids are not rioting for equality or justice; they're rioting in an effort to frighten society into surrendering it's right to maintain law and order so that they can continue to live within the mental and physical confines of a pernicious sub-culture that rejects decency without being "hassled" by the police. In effect, they are rioting in order to achieve a (questionable) privilege the rest of us will never enjoy.

That the price for this preference is to be paid for with a permanent second-class social status, if not in intent but surely in effect, eludes them. They do not see the correlation between degeneracy, dependency and lack of access to the rewards of the broader society, preferring instead to blame The Police (and not the band) for their circumstances, having been led there by three generations of race hustlers and a piss-poor excuse for a political party.

In the end, it almost sounds as if what they're arguing in favor of is segregation.

Good job!

The white kids are rioting because it turns out a seven-year course of education in useless subjects that do not serve the purposes of Capitalism was a sucker bet, and they find themselves working menial jobs while saddled with debt they can never repay and which prevents them from starting a life of their own, with marriage, kids, a house, and a decent career.

They don't make the correlation between expensive-but-useless-skillset and lack of upward mobility. Instead, they tend to look for a boogeyman to blame, and they decided -- aided by their hippie professors --  upon "Capitalism" as their's.

At the end of this convoluted road to asshole, is the quest for someone to replace Mommy and Daddy's wallet without actually having to move back into their old room.

If you need an example of how this all ends up, just look at Seattle.

The degenerates occupy a six-square block section of the city in what they consider righteous defiance of all the "moral wrongs" of American life, and within days, repeat them all in succession; they fight for the working man, but then ensured the man has no place to work. They claim that capitalism sucks the economic lifeblood of the community and then set up extortion rings. They claim to be in favor of Open Borders and Citizens of the World, and then erect fences and walls with armed guards on them (replicating the gated communities where some of them grew up, no doubt). They believe, because they've been indoctrinated in socialist and communist bullshit, that "stuff" just magically appears and after having given away (or having had it stolen) all their food to The Homeless (some probably made so by the rampage), they're reduced to begging on Twitter for more soy and meat substitutes.



This last example demonstrates two things quite clearly: they have no idea of how an economy works, and they have missed the lesson the taxpayer learned many years ago: when you give "stuff" away to non-productive people who will not return the favor,  and who expect that they have an entitlement to it, you're only screwing yourself.

Oh, and supplies are finite when the entire country has been shutdown.

Give them a few more days and they will start killing each other over the pettiest of shit: who is the "true" representative of the (bowel) movement; who is the official mouthpiece; arcane points of ideology; "equitable" distribution of whatever they've begged for (question: if I did send soy, who is delivering it to you? How do you get it through (class) enemy lines? ); who gets to shower or drink in the spray of the open fire hydrant, standing ankle-deep in the collective filth of several-hundred granola-eating morons first? And then discovering that your water supply can be easily cut off?

Starvation and thirst are wonderful tools for putting an end to this sort of nonsense, too.

That's assuming a "second wave" of Chinese Snot Storm doesn't kill them all first, because they've violated the Social Distancing Rulez. They'll very quickly begin to prey upon each other, because that's what lefties do.

When this Tantrum of the Thick-Headed finally ends, we'll discover that this, too, was all our fault and we'll be implored to mollycoddle the little fuckers even more.

Fuck that: break some skulls, make some examples, and send some people to prison. It's a more-effective lesson -- and better remedy -- to this grade-school sociology project.