"Arrogance on the part of the meritorious is even more offensive to us than the arrogance of those without merit: for merit itself is offensive..." -- Friedrich Nietzsche
Let me just say off the bat: Nietzsche was an asshole.
The theme of this word vomit will be arrogance. In particular, the arrogance --as perceived by others -- of the Overlord.
If you've read the last few entries on this display of mental diarrhea, you will have noticed a tendency for the Overlord to shit upon his fellow human beings.
Not that most don't deserve to be buried in excrement, sez me.
Occasionally, this sort of thing gets me admonishment from those who know me well (they think), and sometimes, it finds me on the receiving end of a return volley of crap from one of the lower order. The last few days have been interesting in this regard, because I've gotten a fusillade of mental manure that should keep me well-supplied in that department all winter long.
Typically, the crapfest begins with a question, delivered in the inimitable style of the New Yorker. There are two versions of the same, basic interrogatory:
a) Who the fuck do you think you are?
b) Who fucking died and made you everyone's fucking judge?
Is the Overlord an arrogant prick?
Why, yes, he is.
Does he care if other people know it and dislike him for it?
Not one fucking whit.
Because I've learned a long time ago that most people's opinions are worth about as much as an Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez degree in Economics.
That is to say, it may have value as toilet paper and that's about as far as it goes.
Now, generally speaking, when I get this sort of static, it's because someone's testes have been twisted or tits knotted because when they read this stuff, they see themselves in it. Part of this is a startling realization that, despite what they think of themselves, someone sees them for what they truly are: a waste of genetic material.
This, of course, hurts their feelz.
The other part of the equation is that upon reading themselves being depicted as nose-picking, no-class, intellectually-challenged monkeys, they're afraid that someone -- somewhere, anywhere -- may read the same thing and think less of them, too.
Because, unlike me, the opinion of complete strangers matters to them. Social media could hardly exist without this human tendency to believe the rest of the world actually gives a flying fuck at a rolling donut about any particular individual, what they do, what they have to say, etc., etc.
And despite the intertoobies being chock full of said clueless individuals taking photos of their lunch (Hooray for you! You're eating.), or making "duck lips" (That isn't attractive. It's more an indication of what you might look like if you had something else in your mouth, Sweetie), or sending pictures of your fat ugly children, your stupid fucking cats, the impromptu selfie with a cocktail in hand hither and yon, no one still gives a fuck. It's a snapshot in time, forgotten in mere seconds by people whose attention span ends the second they click "like" or move on to the next piece of electronic crack.
You are not important.
That is NOT to say that the Overlord IS important.
I get most of this flak from three sources: the first is my family, in particular a certain someone who shall remain nameless, but suffice to say, we both emerged from the same vagina, 11 1/2 months apart. Her complaint is that what I write sometimes embarrasses her.
Because, the Overlord has something of a (very) minor celebrity in these parts. I am often introduced to strangers by people who know me as the author of this page. And since Staten Island is a relatively small place, where people are very familiar with one another and their families, as well, she often gets guilt by association from someone she knows, but I've only met the night before, but who managed to read enough of this without their lips moving to get offended.
This guilt-by-association, therefore, is a threat to her social standing.
The second source is from people who do know me, and they get my humor and my methods of speech, but they wonder why I have to say things "that are better left unsaid".
I often hear "do you really need to go there?" or "did you have to put it that way?" and the implication is that these people are taking offense on behalf of others. WHY they should do so remains a mystery to me, but I can take an educated guess as to why: virtue signaling.
But it's a curious thing: they don't actually disagree with anything that's been written: they object to the "tone" (WTF?), or, worse, that what I write "may make people angry" or "hurt someone's feelings", or some other bullshit.
My response to that is, quite frankly, no one gives a shit about MY Feelings (in a general sense) and I'm just returning the favor. As for stirring up negative emotions in others, well, what the fuck do you think writers write FOR? We want people to feel something; we want people to have to think about whatever it is we're on about.
I don't do this because I want to keep it all to myself, after all. If that was my goal, I would have gotten a little diary with a rainbow unicorn on it, and a pen with one of those long, purple feathers stuck in it, like all the other girls.
What these folks want is to have the best of both worlds: they want someone to give voice to feelings and ideas they share with me, but they don't wish to be associated with it because of the blowback.
As for blowback, I get very little of it, these days., Back when I was writing the Lunatic's Asylum (I had something of a higher online profile, then, but let's not kid ourselves that I was a giant of the medium) blowback was constant, and usually revolved around plans to murder me, blow up my home, nark me out to an employer, attempts to dox or phish me, reports to various "authorities" (who turned out to be no authorities, at all: usually some fly-by-night "activist" group that couldn't run a PTA bake sale, some obnoxious _____ with sand in her vagina).
Fuck, jihadis threatened me every goddamned day for a year, once.
I laughed at all of them and I still do.
The third source is the anonymous poster on the Internet.
Of all people, these are usually the least worth the effort. Generally speaking, what they're interested in is not so much a debate, or even a critique of what's been written, but rather a sordid and drawn-out monologue about how they're the exception to every rule. Since they've exempted themselves -- based on little to no objective criteria, except that they didn't like the reflection in the metaphorical mirror -- therefore, I must be wrong.
That could quite possibly be true., I've been wrong before. But, again, do I care if someone who can take the time to be offended by something that, according to them, doesn't apply to themselves, and write a treatise on why it doesn't apply to them, but then not put their name on it, has an opinion?
Now, in the last few weeks, I've taken cracks at 9/11 widows, the Working Class, three-quarters of the population of Staten Island, 99.9998% of the political left, government "workers", lawyers, Haitians, The Chinese, the Medical Profession, Politicians, and I'm too lazy to go back and see who else.
And this past weekend, I got a truckload of shit for all of it from about half a dozen people.
Half a dozen people, incidentally, whose own foibles and failures I have described in exquisite detail on this page. All demanded some form of apology or implied that I should feel some sort of shame, when they weren't trying to guess what "my problem" is.
(Sorry, but it is not related to my inadequate genitalia, child abuse, drunkenness or addiction, nor "hate". The reason why you don't get it is because you're too fucking stupid to understand it, and think far too much of yourself to even explore the possibility that you might be a clueless idiot).
So, if the opinions of complete strangers, anonymous posters, and moral preeners and posers didn't matter to me, I can say, with full confidence, the opinions of the (dirty) Half-Dozen mattered even less.
Especially after two of them had to be carried out of the bar with their tits hanging out.
It would seem the guttersnipes, barflies and would-have-been-a-hooker-if-not-for-the-goombah-with-a-city-job are the ones with the biggest issues to (not) resolve. To give you even more of a sense of who these people are, I will refer you to a very old joke:
Q: What's the difference between a lady and a whore?
A: A lady wipes her mouth with a napkin; a whore wipes her mouth on the back seat upholstery.
But, I digress....
No one has the right to go through life unoffended.
There is no apology here, for there is no need to give one. If it bothers you so much, perhaps you should take some time and reflect upon why that is.
The Nietzian ideal of merit being offensive is a point-of-view taken by those who have none, but who are semi-aware that they may never attain any.
As for my own merit: this really isn't about me, as you've all made quite clear.