"Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask and he will tell you the Truth." -- Oscar Wilde
Poor Oscar. He was a man ahead of his times. For now the Mask is no longer just a means of telling truth, but of demonstrating the same.
2020, The Year of the Yellow Peril, has brought out the very worst in humanity -- riots, anger, lying, snitching, and the Mask is it's symbol.
But the worst result of this here Pandemic is the unbridled Virtue Signalling of the Virtueless, the cacophony of the Constipated Mind, the unremitting, shrill, disagreeableness of a woman of a certain age, full of ill-temperament, misdirected spite, and pure, unadulterated FUCKTARD, who believes someone died and made her the world's Hall Monitor.
We have a handy name for them, which is Karen.
It refers to a stereotypical, rude, obnoxious, insufferable middle aged white woman. You can identify her by the following traits (your milage may vary):
1) She's usually descended from/associated with the early-90's "Soccer Mom" stereotype. She's probably either an old lesbian, or straight woman with a history of multiple divorces.
2) She has a short fuse, no sense of proportion, no useful perspective to offer on any subject. Her anger goes from Zero to Krakatoa in under 2 seconds.
3) Her real (self-bestowed) job is as a professional whiner and complainer, regardless of what her outward profession is.
4) She sports a Supercuts $10 Bowl haircut, and wears cookie-cutter, unflattering, off-the-rack faux-designer clothing from any major chain department store that stocks sizes large enough to hide her pear-shaped, drooping body.
5) She drives an unnecessarily large SUV, very badly. Especially in parking lots. If she really wants to virtue signal, it will be a hybrid.
6) She enjoys making life Hell for people she perceives to be lower on the social/economic/educational ladder than she believes she is. This is the first indication of her hatred for her fellow human beings.
7) She's up to her ass in the anti-vax and homeopathic remedies scenes. She's probably also peripherally involved with animal rescues, and it's all for show. In either case, she exaggerates her contribution or importance in both. This is the second indication of her hatred for her fellow human beings -- she likes animals more than people, and wants us all dead for lack of medicine.
8) She has a secret stash of porn that she would otherwise publicly denounce as the worst sort of exploitative filth or a rapist's How-To Guide. This is who made "50 Shades of Gray" a best-seller.
9) She's an inveterate informer. She bows before authority, she worships it, and will rat you out in a heartbeat so that she can vicariously experience it. Because she's usually a complete, powerless, passive-aggressive dumbfuck.
10) The thought that anyone may derive pleasure, in any form, from any source, fills her with a murderous rage, because she is unable to experience joy, herself. She is a mess of overlapping mental disorders, addicted to several brands of anti-depressants that, thus far, have had no noticeable positive result.
Here are some of the recent instances of Karens Gone Wild I've either experienced, witnessed or have heard about in the last few weeks:
I. The Haircut
A few weeks back I regaled my minions with the tale of the Overlord finally getting a long-overdue haircut on the Q.T., when the salons were closed by official diktat.
Living across the street is The World's Nosiest Neighbor. I have caught her rummaging through my mailbox, standing in my driveway peering into the car windows, creeping in the back yard at night, taking pictures of a roofing job I had done, and giving my landscaper the Third Degree (in Spanish), leaving "anonymous" letters in the mailbox with complaints about various and sundry. Most of it unhinged and presumptuous.
She does this to everyone in the neighborhood.
She's older than dirt, but younger than The Sun, and often feigns dementia when caught red-handed.
In her more-combative and apparently lucid moments (when she forgets to pretend Alzheimer's), she's belligerent, nasty, condescending, and it is quite obvious that she has both no life of her own, nor any concept of boundaries. There's always an excuse:
"You're bringing strange people into the neighborhood".
"I'm just curious to see what's happening on my block (in the back of my house, at 10 p.m.?)"
"This is about my property values and rights!"
In this case, the Overlord was obviously newly-shorn in a time of Chinese Death Snot -- an offense worthy of hanging, no doubt! -- and this activated both her pounce and asshole instincts. The conversation went something like this:
Karen: Where did you get a haircut?
Me: None of your business.
Karen: You know, we're not supposed to do that! We're supposed to be practicing "social distancing"!
Me: then you need more practice, because you're doing it wrong. You've crossed the street to come annoy me.
Karen: You've broken the law! I'm going to report you! You could kill someone!
Me: I might start with you. Now get the fuck off my lawn.
II. The Great Yankee Doodle Barrage
Seen in a local store.
A man enters and partakes of the now almost-required hand sanitizer dispenser at the entrance. He then starts browsing the cake display, obviously looking for a tasty treat. He selects a box of Yankee Doodles and moves towards the register to pay for them. He apparently changes his mind, and replaces the Yankee Doodles in favor of a box of Devil Dogs.
On cue, Karen pipes up. This one weighs somewhere in the ballpark of 300 pounds and has more stubble on her chin than I do (and probably on her back, as well), and while masked resembles one of the Weebles from the Jesse James Great Train Robbery playset (readers of a certain age will get the reference).
She is accompanied by an unhealthily-skinny, maybe still pubescent, ambiguously male, definitely celibate-by-circumstance companion in a man bun who might be locked in an existential fight for nourishment and consistently losing to her.
Karen loses her grossly-obese shit.
She yells at the man that he's put others at risk by touching the box with "his dirty hands" and then putting it back on the shelf. The Man protests that he used the hand sanitizer upon entry, but Karen is undeterred.
Few things can deflect a charging rhino, after all, let alone a valid argument.
There is the expected exchange of expletives, and The Man gets the last word when he asks Fatass Karen if "she blows her father with that mouth" (we New Yorkers are such philosophers!).
Whereupon Karen starts grabbing boxes of Yankee Doodles off the shelf and tossing them at The Man.
Considering Karen throws like a girl -- and probably has great difficulty lifting those enormously-flabby arms -- she misses him, and hits someone else. An innocent bystander.
The Bystander tells Emaciated Incel to "put his fat cunt back on her leash", leading Anorexic Asexual to threaten violence.
Bystander lays him out with a single punch to the face.
Fat Karen runs out of the store, leaving potholes in the floor tiles.
I laugh.
III. The Spot Monitor
This happened to me in the local Costco less than a week ago.
In an effort to aid Social Distancing, many retailers have helpfully provided marked spots along the floor at checkout lines so that complete morons who can't gauge distance nor count will know where to stand so as to not break the Unwritten Rules Of Cuomo's Catastrophe, and come too close to their fellow shoppers in a vain and futile attempt to marginally limit new cases of Panda Pox in a city where the word "hygiene" has no meaning to the large, illegal foreign population.
Who brought the virus here, to begin with.
The Overlord is awaiting his turn at the register, and has committed a mortal sin. Just in case he didn't know what that was, Karen was there to helpfully and obnoxiously remind him...from two check-out isles away.
For, you see, while lingering in the vicinity of the spot that marks exactly six feet from the preceding and following "spots", he is not standing directly ON the spot.
This triggers Karen's Godzilla-like OCD.
Karen: Excuse me, Sir? You in the New Jersey Devils T-shirt?
Me: Who me? What is it?
Karen: You're not standing on the designated spot that measures the correct Social Distance between you and the shopper ahead of you. Please get on the spot for everyone's health and safety.
Me: You aren't getting laid, are you? Mind your own business. If I were you. I'd stop buying mayonnaise in the industrial-sized drum, yah fucking pig.
IV. The Mask Shaming Struggle Sessions
I have seen, heard about, and viewed videos on this one. The videos originating here on Staten Island (the Forgotten Borough, first stop for the upwardly-mobile-mentally-working-class Italians on the Mozzarella Trail to the Promised Land of New Jersey) are especially vicious.
Someone (it's typically another woman, usually Jewish or Muslim, by the way. They never pick on the black women) walks into a Public Accommodation without a Mask, or with a facsimile of same that is somehow "unacceptable".
Karen, predictably, gets her (sagging and not-helped-at-all-by-gravity) tits in a knot and starts a banshee wail. Her emasculated companion, now aroused from his insensate torpor caused by lack of wits and a Sanitation Department Job that he barely passed a test to obtain, must now go full-on He-Man for the benefit of his (presumably) "woman" (although far be it from me to assume the gender of the typical bag of cellulite, sideburns and thighbrows).
Male companion in a wife-beater must now slap his chest and make hooting and howling sounds (none of them containing more than four letters, because he knows no others) like an enraged gorilla. The rest of the crowd, caught up in the overwhelming urge to momentarily forget their own innate inferiority, follows.
Some asshole, naturally, is recording the whole thing because lowbrow sense of humor thinks it will be a scream on YouTube.
We then complain that "The Jersey Shore" was an "inaccurate and stereotypical depiction of Staten Islanders".
I've lived here for 39 years: Staten Islanders, in their native habitat, are no better than baboons and not nearly as intelligent. Their children are worse.
V. Drive-By Karening
I've seen and experienced this one, too.
The forced conventions of Social Distancing and Lockdowns have artificially created a condition foreign to the human experience. For normal people, I mean. Karens obviously experience this on a regular basis, which is why they are pre-occupied with what everyone else is doing: no one gives a fuck what Karen does until She opens her mouth and attracts the attention she so obviously craves and is rightfully denied.
That is to say, Isolation.
Some more-enterprising and determined souls have found a clever solution to the problems of enforced separation and distance by means of commandeering parking lots at night, setting up "Campfire groups" (sans campfires, naturally) and bringing lawn and beach chairs so that they can enjoy each other's company while sticking to the spirit of Social Distancing Rules.
Parking lots with easy access to coffee shops and liquor stores are the most popular. It is not unusual to see a very large parking lot containing several of these clandestine-in-the-open social groups. On weekends, they multiply exponentially.
The Police, bless their hearts (we love you, NYPD!), generally leave these small groups alone, unless they are creating some sort of ruckus or impediment to traffic.
Their existence, however, enrages Karen, who is compelled by some Cosmic Imperative to stick her fucking oversized nose into everyone else's business...but she's not going to get out of her car to do it.
Because that's how truly committed and brave Karen is.
So Karen will either slow down, or have the effeminate douchebag who is chauffeuring her around do so, to shout her displeasure and obscenities out of her open window (or to occasionally toss trash at the "violators") and then have her obviously neutered accomplice speed off before retaliation occurs.
In one incident I've witnessed, Karen didn't fare so well with the cascade of tossed trash... as someone took exception to her unhinged fucktard and pulled her out of the car through the same open window by her hair and yelled in her face "WHAT IS YOUR FUCKING PROBLEM?".
Karen escaped mortally-terrified, but otherwise unscathed... the lucky bitch.
Nosey neighbor whom I have described earlier, pulled a similar thing on me when a gathering of three (including myself) assembled in my own front yard to talk hockey. She threatened to call the police, whereupon a brilliantly executed display of choreographed and simultaneous extended middle fingers told her where to get off.
VI. Do As I Say, Not As I Do
In the very beginning of this nonsense, the Mask Directive was taken very seriously by those easily-frightened by the media.
Your Overlord only complies with the Mask Directive because he has better things to do than to punch out pretentious and scared assholes every minute of every day. I keep a mask (several, along with rubber gloves. More on this in a minute) in the car just so I have one if I need one.
I sometimes forget to put the mask and/or gloves on and leave the car to do shopping or enter the Post Office or whatever, and usually remember before I enter (necessitating a walk back to the car). And sometimes I either forget entirely, or sub-consciously forget to give a flying fuck and don't go back for it at all.
I was recently asked to leave a local delicatessen where I have done business for years because I wasn't wearing gloves. I was told that I was "putting everyone at risk of COVID" because I wasn't wearing gloves, which the store had generously provided at the entrance (I did not see them, honestly).
Mind you, I had already been in the store for 15 minutes, ordered cold cuts handled by someone not wearing gloves, no one said a word to me about not having gloves, and it only became a problem because a check-out lady's ancient-as-hell Father-in-Law recently "died of COVID" (more like "died because he was older than Ruth Bader Ginsburg's first yeast infection and was in a nursing home when the pandemic struck, i.e. his days were numbered, anyway, and his "COVID death" was probably no such thing in this day and age of inflated death tolls for money).
I'm being yelled and cursed at. What fucking balls on this Karen! Who does she think she is? I'm already owner of this planet and I'm being extremely good-natured about allowing the rest of you to walk on it, Lady.
So, when I pointed out that a) I've been here twenty minutes now without anyone making a fuss, b) someone just cut my meats without gloves, c) the same lady screaming about gloves was touching every item I was buying without same, and d) her own mask was hanging around her chin (excuse me "chins" .Like most Karens, she had more Chins than a Chinese phone book) until I showed up and she adjusted it properly.
Maybe Karen should shut the fuck up. This was obviously NOT about "masks/gloves saving lives" but her own, subjective feelz.
I don't give a shit about your feelz. I don't have to. I'm not legally or morally required to, and if I do, it is an entirely voluntary -- not compulsory -- courtesy that I have extended. You have no right or expectation to sympathy, empathy, etc. from me. I don't fake sympathy and empathy for effect. I don't even know you, except that you take money from me several times a week. I came in here for Cappocolla and Mortadella.
Just shut the fuck up and take my money (something you also don't seem to have a problem handling without gloves).
Suffice to say, after a brief discussion with the owner, I got an apology and a free container of Bocconcini because "no hard feelings", right?
This was the first instance in which I have encountered "Glove Shaming", which has become the latest fad. This past week, Dr. Fauci - the Mouth of Sauron -- made passing reference to possible new goggle requirements, and the next thing you know, Karens will be out enforcing unwritten Goggle Laws as if that were their job.
The Overlord has copious supplies of rubber gloves at his disposal, and has for years, if only because he has to deal with Mrs. Overlord's respiratory problems and equipment. I have probably forgotten more about rubber gloves than any of you ever knew, so spare me.
This is all bullshit.
In the Old Days before Orient Distress turned the world into an open loony bin, The Karens of that epoch -- the Ur-Karens, or Paleo-Karens, if you will -- were simple scolds motivated by greedy, self-interest, and their territory was somewhat limited to taking (exaggerated) offense over off-color jokes, or anything that could be (tortuously) construed as sexism and serve as the basis of a simple "discrimination suit".
The Neo-Karens -- and if you ask me, they're the same Karens, just older and far-more disappointed in their lack of success in life, barren wombs, and disillusioned by the promises Feminism failed to deliver on -- are bitter, angry, self-absorbed, assholes who live in deathly fear that someone, anywhere, just might be enjoying life. An enjoyment that they have been unjustly (they believe) denied by some Universal Force.
I have yet to see or meet a Karen under the age of 50.
Really, what the problem here is is that these harpies have been trapped inside of their own vaginas for decades, and COVID gives them an opportunity for release denied to them by their sheer lack of physical or social attractiveness and a man drunk and stupid enough to slip her a boner.
By that I mean they have had to live in a self-constructed prison of their own bullshit, anxieties, lack of self-esteem, repeated failure at all aspects of life for lack of honest effort, and severe self-hatred. They subconsciously understand their worlds are limited, restrictive and as infertile as their loins because they've made them such, and through their own choices -- to follow feminism, to be a leftist, to engage in identity politics, to follow every fad and trend as if their lives depended upon it -- only to end up lonely, disgusted, dejected, and living a precarious existence in their old age.
The rage that comes out of them in the form of Mask or Glove Shaming, being unable to mind their own fucking business, of believing they are entitled and mystically required to open their festering pie holes on every and any subject is mere projection. They're directing hate and spite at you, but their real targets are themselves and their dusty-dry, obsolete Baby Makers.
They are now drunk on a heady brew of manufactured panic, the social justice mantras that have begun to replace the old Hippie pieties, and the shopworn and threadbare word vomit of feminism, the emergence of an electorate that is finally waking up to the damage done by the Left, and abject jealously of others who can go about their own lives while Karen's is falling to pieces.
The release of all this pent-up anger and disappointment bursts out of them as Sanctimony in place of self-esteem. It's blind panic in the face of Not Knowing What To Do. It is the passive-Aggressive's form of an Antifa-led riot. Karen gets to berate others while ignoring her own, more-severe-and-obvious deficiencies. She enjoys a power trip while anticipating her own powerlessness and uselessness. She sees the End of the Road in terms of having most people take her seriously, or even pretend to. She desperately seeks the validation and phony accolades of heroism from the other cowardly, useless, self-hating. It is an assumed Authority for the Non-Authoritative. An ego trip for the sort that lives under the same rocks that crushed her ego.
We can assume that whatever the true economic fallout of the Great Chinese Disease turns out to be, we can for damned sure be certain that supplies of vibrators, dildos, anti-depressants and tranquilizers have been severely interrupted.
Karen needs to be put in her place wherever she is sighted, and whenever she starts shit without provocation or just cause.
If it were left up to this wanna-be Galactic Dictator, every American with an IQ above room temperature would be required to carry a roll of duct tape and a cattle prod specifically to deal with this nuisance.
Karen needs a good, horrific beating.
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