I Refuse to Stay Behind With the Rest of the Class, and More Passive-Aggressive Revenge

bizarrechildhood
The dirty birds of political correctness and feel-good leftism have come home to roost, and the results are grim as well as predictable.

I was fortunate enough in some ways to grow up in a sort of cultural backwater.  In the 1970s and 1980s the leftist devolution of American society hadn’t really taken hold in the tiny towns.  It was still OK to pray in school.  The whole town was scandalized when it became permissible for girls to wear pants to school if they chose (this was the late 1970s.)

icky plaid pants
Given the dreadful thick, itchy, badly patterned, hot polyester that was popular in the 1970s, it was almost better to wear a dress, but then you had to wear tights, which were almost as bad as these pants- they were hot, itchy, and didn’t stay up, so the crotch would be at your knees by the end of the day no matter what you did to try to keep them up.

tights

When I was in elementary school, kids were expected to say the Pledge in the morning, unless their parents sent them a note excusing them from it.  I remember one poor Jehovah’s Witness kid who had to sit out the Pledge in the hall, which made no sense because the principal always had a student of the day read it over the PA system for the whole school, including the halls, to hear. I don’t think he understood his parents’ objection to the Pledge any more than he enjoyed being teased for having to sit it out.

Now the kids in public schools have to endure the dreadful Common Core curriculum that teaches to standardized tests (forget about critical or analytical thinking, learning at one’s own pace, or learning subject matter that isn’t included in the pre-fabbed one-size-fits-none test box) and to the religion (and yes, it is a religion of sorts) of secular humanism.

religion

Even atheism, in its tenacious and oft irrational hanging onto a belief that there can be no God, is its own religion. Living under the assertion that there is no God may be a poor belief system, but it’s a belief system nonetheless.

I remember in third grade I was told to “stay behind with the rest of the class,” and I resent that directive to this day.  I absolutely hated it when the teacher would have the kids read a paragraph at a time out loud in class.  I’m hyperlexic, which means (among other things) that I speed read.  Constantly. Compulsively.  It is very difficult for me to stay awake– forget staying focused- when other people are reading aloud, painfully slowly, in a monotone voice.  By the time my turn would roll around I was usually three or four chapters ahead.

Usually I was a good enough multitasker to flip right back to the paragraph the class was currently reading in time to read my assigned lines without being noticed, but this particular day I was more scattered than normal, and the kids reading before me were even more tedious and hesitating and monotone than normal.  It took me a few seconds to scan back to the paragraph the teacher expected me to read, which didn’t sit well with her.

kids-reading-in-library

I think elementary school teachers really hated me for a number of reasons.  I didn’t fit into the box.  I didn’t adhere to the normal template of child development that they learned in college.  I freaked them out with my vocabulary. I alienated them with my avoidance of eye contact and repulsed them with my intense reactions to fear- but more than that, I simply didn’t follow the paradigm.  I couldn’t identify the paradigm, let alone follow it, and even at 47 I struggle with keeping up the semblance of “normal.”

When you’re a kid, autism kind of sucks- because you haven’t had a chance to learn the scripts that can help you navigate through the world  of “normal.”  Those scripts come naturally for most, but people like me have to learn and memorize and practice those social scripts until they become habit.  You know you’re different, they know you’re different, and until you learn how to play the social game to your advantage, you pay (dearly) for that nonconformity.

Of course at first, doing things differently than other people wasn’t a conscious choice.  I speed read. I have my own road map.  I am extremely pragmatic and rational in the way I approach life. There’s nothing I can (or want to) do about the way I’m wired, and I have come to the conclusion that staying behind is just not a viable option for me.

What is disturbing to me about collective education is that teaching to a group discourages individual excellence.  I understand that teaching to a norm is going to reach the greatest percentage of kids, but what about those that deviate from the mean?  Much has been done- in fact too much- to address those who can’t or won’t meet the basic standards.  Lowering the standard is not a good answer, although for funding and other reasons, lower standards seem to make politicians happier.

The kids who are capable of excellence generally do what I did.  I coasted.  I partied, though very clandestinely.  I multitasked, and I read a lot of Mad magazines as well as Stephen King novels, history and scientific non-fiction, and not a few books that would have been porn had they been illustrated.  I read a lot of extra curricular material in study halls as well as in class.  I was quiet and did well on tests, so I was pretty much left alone, even though some days- I admit it, I was stoned or hung over or both.  By that time the teachers had better things to worry about than the weird loner in the corner who aces tests but doesn’t talk much.

Even with my somewhat laissez-faire approach in high school, I graduated with a 4.1 average, thanks to taking some weighted courses to offset my rather average mathematical aptitude.  For the life of me, higher math, or at least the way it was taught, simply didn’t make much sense.

 

 

 

 

 

Whatever I Fear, the List is Long

Hell_LavaPit1

I do believe in a literal hell, even though this rendering sort of reminds me of a mosh pit backlit with a red light.  Jesus talked about hell frequently in the Bible, and I don’t think He was being allegorical.  This being said, thankfully, I have neither the authority nor the desire to consign anyone to that realm.  There are enough horrors right here on this earth to convince me that I don’t want to see such things escalate or continue.

I’m sure that the way I’m wired has something to do with the fact that I tend toward fear most of the time.  Now that I’m older and have the life experience and scripts to be bit more rational about my fears, I don’t always appear to be a deer in the headlights, but those fears are far closer to the surface than I would like to acknowledge.

bad_dreams_for_kim_kardashian-115965

I’m not necessarily talking about dreams one has while sleeping.  I almost never have the vivid and terrifying dreams I had as a child, but neither do I have the wonderful, majestic visions in “good” dreams I once enjoyed either.  If I remember my dreams at all, they are usually rather banal and bland.   Whether the neutralization of my dreams is a side effect of the medications I take, or this numbing occurs because I seldom sleep soundly, or this graying effect can be attributed to the cumulative grimy jadedness of age, I don’t know.  I am thankful for the dearth of terrifying nightmares, but I could use a really good fantasy or two to savor these days.

full mourningWhy does Victorian mourning garb remind me of burqas?

I am terrified of the prospect that some day my granddaughter could be forced to wear a burqa and be subjugated to the barbaric laws of Islam. Maybe I am over reacting to what I see and read, but history has much to teach us about Islam and what happens when radical Islamists find their ways into civilization.

burqa-banNot here.  Not unless it is a personal choice and 100% voluntary. And who would voluntarily choose this?

I remember as a child being afraid (and this was during the Cold War) that the Soviet Union would randomly nuclear bomb the entire world into kingdom come. Of course my childhood was filled with fear around-the-clock,  fear of pretty much everything apart from dogs and books.

offended yoda

Historically speaking it takes pretty dire situations to wake up the American people.  We like to stay quiet and peaceful and complacently bucolic.  For the most part that is not a bad thing, except when change is necessary or a great adversity needs to be overcome.

We have dealt with an ever increasing degree of corruption, graft and cronyism in our government at all levels.  Obama is arguably the very worst and most corrupt president this country has ever seen, so much so that his very ineptitude and disdain for this country and disregard for the people is waking people up. We are pissed. We are afraid for our future, and we are realizing the need to do something about it.

wake up

The Times, They are Weird, and Payback, the Ineffable Bitch

Conservatives Gather Near Washington DC for CPAC 2015  (February 27, 2015)

Donald Trump speaks at the 2015 Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC) at the Gaylord National Resort & Convention Center at National Harbor MD on February 27, 2015. (Photo by Jeff Malet)

 

Ok, I will say it.  I’ve not been as wound up about a presidential election since I was an 11 year old kid passing out flyers and knocking on doors for the Reagan campaign in 1980. The last two election cycles (really, the last four, if you count G.W. Bush) I’ve sort of held my nose and voted for the Republican front runner not necessarily because he was the best choice there could possibly be, but because the Democrat running against him was a certifiable nut job or a flat out socialist/communist/leftist kook.   I’ll take a Mitt Romney- a moderate at best- over Barack Obama (in fact, I’d take my dead Husky -Sheena, as she had more sense and would do less damage in her current state of decomposition) any day of the week, but Romney was certainly no Ronald Reagan.

offended yoda

At first I saw and heard Donald Trump and thought, “Ross Perot 2.0,” but I’m not thinking that so much anymore.  The Donald gets things done.  Better yet, he makes sense. This could get interesting.  I might actually enjoy voting for this guy. I might actually be downright gleeful to see him win.

There are some good arguments against Trump.  He is vulgar.  He is brash. He has been on both sides of the political fence over the years.  He is in your face.  He is NOT the epitome of diplomacy and graciousness that was Ronald Reagan.  But these aren’t Reagan’s times.  We as a country, and a society have devolved much since then. If nothing else, Trump speaks to What’s Happening Now, and like sane and rightfully pissed off Americans everywhere, just having someone address what’s wrong and how it can be right again, is a breath of fresh air.

hobo died

Establishment suits like Cruz (who has the same nebulous eligibility issues as good old Barry O) or Rubio are just Democrat (socialist) lite and will continue on treading the “hold your nose,” lukewarm waters of appeasement like the entire GOP has during the entire illegitimate Obama presidency.  I, for one, want the anti-Obama. Someone who won’t be lukewarm, and who refuses to feed alligators.

burger_king_obama

Trump’s vulgarity is mild compared to the greater vulgarity to which he stands in opposition. He’s voicing all those politically correct truths that nobody dares bring up- the issue of immigration from terrorist harboring countries, illegal immigration, welfare dependency, the unfair taxation of working people to subsidize programs and people who taxpayers strongly oppose, and the unholy disaster that is Obamacare. Trump not only identifies the elephants in the room, he exposes the “Emperor” wannabe’s total lack of clothing, substance and morals.  I am thoroughly enjoying that.

All of the things I listed above are far more vulgar than Trump calling Obama a pussy, or Trump referring to Hillary Clinton as evil. Obama is a pussy, and Hillary most certainly is evil, but that’s beside the point.  I don’t like to engage in ad hom attacks, but I agree Obama is a pussy (and if you’re telling the truth, and backing it up with facts, then it ceases to be an ad hom attack) because he is not man enough to flat out tell the truth and tell the world he is a globalist, communist MUSLIM who is perpetrating jihad right along with his terrorist buddies. Hillary is evil because she is behind the very things that Obama also supports, which is especially heinous.  A woman being a cheerleader for the legality of late term abortions up until the due date of the child, (?) which to me says she is right up there on the evil scale with the biblical account of pagans sacrificing their offspring to good ol’ Molech.  Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose- the more things change, the more they stay the same. Baby killing is nothing new, but it’s still evil no matter how you try to rationalize it.

joan

I dare to hope that the abomination of Obama will end some day. Maybe Hillary will go to jail for her treachery and fraud as well.

And I haven’t even started on the mysterious (yet oddly convenient for Obama and evil crew) death of a Supreme Court justice…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Enough With the Size 2 Models, and Persistence Is Not Always a Virtue

 

model

I think “she’s” a chick.  Maybe.

Just a thought to share with the purveyors of apparel and fashion designers out there:

The average woman who buys your wares is NOT completely flat chested, is NOT  6’2″, is NOT 100# or less, and does NOT wear a size 2. Many thirteen year old BOYS fall into those categories (of being flat-chested, tall, and super thin), and I understand that many men called to the fashion industry aren’t exactly straight, but please, remember who your customers are.

Just because that dress might look good on a thirteen year old boy, (or on my 24 year old who’s about 6’1″ and maybe 140..but don’t get any ideas, because he doesn’t swing that way) that doesn’t translate into looking good on the average 40-something cougar with a body ravaged by time and stress and childbirth.

average woman

Here’s what real women look like.  Heads up, boys. Meaning “boys,” as in “Boy” George, I presume.

The average woman who buys your wares DOES have these things springing from her chest area called breasts, otherwise known as tits, fun jugs, bazongas, hooters, and/or boobs.  Those of us with rather large things springing from our chests need to wear an item of clothing known as a BRA, not as a decoration, but as a functional support device, preferably one with suitably wide straps so as not to leave divots in our shoulders, to keep those things from hitting our knees as we perform our daily functions.

This being said, sleeveless garments of any type are generally not acceptable for the meaty-armed set unless they look good worn with a t-shirt underneath.  Please try to bear this in mind when designing and marketing clothing for and to us.

sleeveless

Notice how pencil-thin her arms are?  This woman has never unloaded trucks, manhandled unruly toddlers, or even picked up something as light as say… a fork!

Also, dresses should come in lengths other than “just below the butt-crack” and “3” past the feet.”  Either I buy a dress that is so short I have to wear leggings or tights with it or give the general public a free show that they really don’t want, or I end up chopping and hemming just to keep from stepping all over the son of a bitch.  I’m 5’4″, dammit.  Neither extreme is a good one, boys.  How about a dress that hits me just below the knee?  No butt-crack exposure, and no tripping over it.  That would be nice.

mid calf

Now, how about something like this in a size 12- that doesn’t drag the floor?

My grandmother made a lot of her own clothes.  She was a far more accomplished seamstress than I am, although I can do the basics.  I have two of the dresses she made for herself back in the 1950’s, which fit me relatively well, even though she had a bit more ample chest than me and I’m a bit taller than she was.  I don’t have time to make my own clothes, and I don’t have a sewing machine (that was one of Grandma’s things that my oldest sister- who has never sewn- made off with before Dad could hide it.) Otherwise I would.  At least I could have dresses made to the proper length, with sleeves, and with enough shoulder and boob room.  In a perfect world… all the clothes would have been made in the 1940s.

1940's dresses

Not just dresses, HATS!  I love hats- and I’m not afraid to wear them!

Steve-o has always displayed the propensity for wisdom beyond his years.

Yesterday he pointed out to me that persistence isn’t always a virtue.  Sometimes persistence is the manifestation of obstinate and perverse stupidity.  Of course, his perspective on persistence and vexation is colored by being the father of a three year old. Sometimes it takes her (my three year old granddaughter) awhile to realize that throwing fits and screaming will fail to achieve the results she wants.  In the three year old’s defense, she’s not stupid. She is beginning to understand when “no” means “no” and when it is unwise to push the issue. That’s a skill that a few more adults need to get- before I throttle them.

stupid burns

Oh, yes, it does.

If I tell you that I can’t get you something, it’s because I can’t get it for you.  It’s not because I don’t want to.  It’s not because I haven’t tried.  It’s because what you want isn’t available for me to get.  Get it through your skull.  If you feel it necessary to keep ordering the same thing I’ve already told you myriad times is not available, discontinued or otherwise non-existent on Planet Earth, your persistence in requesting the impossible has become a form of stupidity.

So what is the definition of stupidity, friends?  Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

i-see-stupid-people

At least my offspring has a clue.

Voice

voice1

I understand the mechanics – to a degree.

God has a sense of humor.  Many people on the autistic spectrum struggle with language, especially with making one’s use of language audience appropriate. As a hyperlexic I deal with verbal language much more easily than many people on the spectrum, but I still have my limitations.  I understand what I mean to say and I understand the vocabulary I use, but not everyone else does.  I prefer to communicate in writing for this reason.  Writing allows me to organize my thoughts more effectively and to communicate more clearly.  Writing also takes away that awkward non-verbal factor that can distract and vex me as well.   I talk with people all day on the phone (again, don’t have to deal much in the non-verbal there) but when the day is done I really don’t have much left to say.  I’m usually all talked out by noon, especially here lately that I’m stuck doing two people’s jobs again, so I’m craving my solitary time away from the idiots and inquiring minds.

chatty_kathy

Call me back when you know what the hell you want, dipshit…

The humor in this is that somehow I ended up with a loud, resonant speaking voice that carries, and a broad (almost four octave) vocal range.  I studied classical voice for a number of years, and was even the lead singer in a heavy metal band for awhile.  The two are not nearly as far apart as most might think, and classical technique will keep you from destroying your vocal cords.   When I was in high school I performed a capella in a hall that seats 1,000 without amplification.  The people in the back could hear just fine.  Oh, yes, you bet your sweet bippy. In spite of my bad sinuses and history of bronchitis and pneumonia, I can project.  Just ask my son.

Even though I can communicate relatively articulately (especially when non-verbals are out of the equation) every morning I have to fight the temptation to simply choose not to communicate.  With anyone (except maybe the dogs and cats, because they can’t fend for themselves, because they don’t have thumbs.) Definitely not with humans.

I don’t know if it’s an Asperger’s thing or just my own personal frustration with dealing with people in general.  I’m not specifically incensed with stupid people or angry people or people who want stuff, although I very seldom speak with anyone that isn’t in at least one of those categories.  I pretty much don’t want to talk to anyone.  I especially don’t want to have to fulfill anyone’s request, placate anyone’s anger, or explain the obvious to the stupid for awhile, but I will have to start right in again in the morning, just like Sisyphus pushing the boulder up the hill every morning only for it to roll back down to the foot of the hill to start all over again.

homerchokebart

There are too many times when I’m afraid to use my voice.  Too often I stay silent either out of self preservation, fear or expediency.  My own cynicism and sense of “why does it matter anyway,” keeps me from saying what I should when I should speak out.

When my emotions kick in – especially when I am angry, insulted or outraged, I lose what eloquence I thought I may have had.  At that point my silence is a result of not finding the words, of not being able to express my loathing, fear or outrage in a coherent and logical way.  The voice loses its connection with my rational mind, and a breathless, mindless silence is the result.

I guess if I were to continue on the cynical rant, I might as well be resigned to the fact that since nobody gives a rat’s ass about my opinion except me, then why bother sharing it?

It might be funny.  It might be twisted.  Somebody might get some entertainment value out of the things I say.  Maybe.

Today I got to see yet another medical specialist- an endocrinologist- to try to figure out why my blood sugar is so damned hard to control even though I’m trying to do all the “right” things.  Of course he took more blood and pee and he’s going to do more tests the other doctors didn’t do, etc.  This Dr. thinks I could have a thyroid and/or adrenal issue that’s playing into my sugar control as well as the lingering fatigue and the depressive funk that just won’t go away.  I’m not holding my breath.

I’m thankful I can communicate.  Sometimes it’s everything I can do to communicate- but God had a sense of humor when he gave me a voice.

Observations of a Cynical Old Bitty, Sports Commentary, and Keeping it Simple

I don’t drink beer.  I don’t like beer.  But to Jerry, this swill is the elixir of the Gods.  Go figure.

Tomorrow I begin a brief vacation.   Not because I’m sick, a family member’s sick or I have some stupid errand(s,) which is usually the only reason I take time off.  Granted, I did tell Jerry I would list a bunch of his crap on E-Bay tonight (joy and rapture) and I did put the rack of ribs in the slow cooker.  But he’s on his own for a couple of days which means the drive-thru better have some cold Natty Packs, and I better make sure he has Katie’s (the local good pizza joint) on speed dial.  Tomorrow morning I head for the hills- literally- where Sprint access is a crap shoot (so no internet and probably no phone either) and things should be somewhat bull-shit free as long as Jerry doesn’t show up and ruin the quiet.

I’ll have Miss Clara with me, to screen any potential “visitors.”

Clara enjoys being at the campground.  I do have to make sure she’s on a leash any time she’s not in the cabin, but I give her a long lead and let her explore.  Clara is obedient and usually a good listener, but my only fear is that with the prey drive she has that she would lunge off after a critter and get lost.  Prey drive is an instinctual thing with dogs, and when she’s locked on to something she may or may not respond to verbal commands.  This is why a lot of people who work with protection breeds use shock collars (no I am not going there) so they can get a dog’s attention should they get locked on a prey item.  I don’t want to take that chance in an area where she can get lost and/or mistaken for a deer.  Admittedly, I’ve been paranoid with Clara ever since she was hit by a truck three years ago.  She has never attempted to get beyond the fence since then, even when Sheena has found – or fabricated for herself- ways out.   Sheena has about ten pounds on Clara, so any hole big enough for Sheena is more than big enough for Clara.  Before she got hit Clara thought it was a fun game to try to find holes in the fence and such, but she has not strayed even once since.  Still, I’m not taking any undue chances with her.

I’m not trying to get my hopes up about the upcoming election, though I was most encouraged by Romney’s debate performance last Wednesday.  I’d never really thought Romney was much of a public speaker but this debate was a most pleasant surprise.  The man knows what he’s talking about, and more importantly, he believes in what he says.   The absence of the teleprompter was rather telling for Obama.  Apparently Eastwood was right.  Now if only the rest of the world will get a clue and see what I’ve known all along.  The self-proclaimed “emperor” is naked as a jay bird.

Bluejays may not wear clothes, but at least they do have feathers.

Bluejays are interesting birds in that they eat almost anything, and they’re rather aggressive.  A few years ago there was a huge scare in Franklin County regarding West Nile virus and people were asked to report any dead crows or jays (crows and jays are actually related types of birds) so the health department could test them.  Of course I’m the lucky one to find a dead jay out in the front yard that wasn’t visibly mauled by cats or hit by anything, just stiff and dead as a post, so kept my distance and called the health department to come and get it for testing.  I’m not a big fan of communicable disease, so I figure better safe than sorry.  If there’s crap like that lurking about in my yard I want to know about it.

In response to my call, some guy from the health department showed up, with his hazmat garb and everything, to pick up the dead jay (with thickly gloved hands of course.)  The health department guy observed that the jay’s mouth was open and that it had another bird (likely a baby starling) jammed in its throat in such a manner that it likely choked to death.  He still took the dead jay for testing, but assured me that the cause of death was most likely asphxyiation rather than West Nile.  Apparently this is a somewhat common manner of death for jays.

Thankfully no one needs to tell me this twice.

Most sports are pretty stupid when you think about it.  Football for instance, involves chasing a funky shaped ball up and down a field.  It also involves having very big guys jump all over your sorry carcass.  I spent the first thirteen years of my life trying to avoid having my ass kicked.  Even if I were coordinated and could play a sport for money, I don’t think the scratch would be worth daily ass kickings all over again. NFL players are coming out and saying that they are getting brain damage from all the concussions they get playing football.  Granted most athletes aren’t rocket scientists to begin with (and I say this from deep within the highly uncoordinated geek camp) but shouldn’t brain damage be your sign that playing certain sports might not be worth it?

Today you’re throwing a football on national TV.  Tomorrow you’re sucking up pureed bananas in a straw whilst shitting your drawers.

Hockey is another sport I don’t get.  It’s only fun if they fight.

Which brings us to NASCAR fans and WalMart shoppers….

Perhaps that’s mean of me,  and a bit ironic, because occasionally I go to WalMart, if I have to get something I can’t find at Target, or I’m in Marion where there is no Target.  But NASCAR, I can’t bring myself to watch that shit.  Ever.

Must have taken this pic in Newark (OH)- the Lardy Lady Capitol of the Midwest!

Freddy Mercury would have loved Newark.  Big fat Fannys everywhere!

Speaking of big fat Fanny- but she’s a cat- and she’s cute.

Things That Suck #361: Weenie Commentators, and #362: Assorted Ass Pilots

Disclaimer: I like Will Ferrell.  The character he portrays in Anchorman, Ron Burgundy, is a humorous depiction of the douchebag that lives inside just about every newscaster.

It’s inevitable.  Whenever there is some kind of highly visible public tragedy there has to be at least one highly visible public figure who says something so asinine you want to bitch-slap him or her through the monitor. Usually there are several such weenie commentators, as they start repeating each other ad nauseam once one weenie commentator rears its ugly head.  I try not to watch TV news too much as I am prone to anxiety and depression. At least I can pick and choose a bit more getting my news online.

Most of the crap in the mainstream media is exactly that- “Crap” with a capital “C”-so sickeningly politically correct and skewed to reflect one particular world view that it lacks any kind of substance.  Don Henley said it back in 1985- crap is king, and we all love dirty laundry.  I don’t think even Don Henley had any idea just how stupid “journalism” would eventually become, although he was spot on as far as humanity’s flaming desire to see the carnage broadcast live and in color.

I hate to admit it, but even though I try not to have that “stop and gawk” mentality, I do too.  It’s human nature to go past an accident scene and try to determine if anyone’s injured, if it’s anyone I know, and worse yet for me, because of my automotive background, I’m actually assessing the damage to the vehicles.  Saturday I actually came upon the scene of a car/motorcycle accident.  Those seldom turn out good.  The motorcycle was in pieces, the front end of the car was pretty much hosed, and the guy that was on the motorcycle ended up motionless on the pavement.   I figured if he wasn’t dead he was probably close to it.  I’m glad I was wrong.

There is a reason why I don’t ride these things.  Note the damage to the Explorer is comparatively minimal (though that front fascia, fog light, bumper reinforcement, core support, radiator and condensor will cost you.)

I found out today that the dude involved in Saturday’s accident actually got off with relatively minor injuries, though he was life-flighted to the trauma center.  He got sent to the trauma center because he was knocked unconscious, and God only knows what kind of brain injuries and internal injuries and broken bones can happen to someone thrown off a motorcycle.  Especially if you’re not wearing a helmet.  ER staff have a name for motorcycle riders who choose not to wear helmets: organ donors.  This guy dodged a bullet so to speak, and what he does with his motorcycle riding in the future is up to him.  I wouldn’t ride one of those things but hey, if you want to, knock yourself out.

Society is not obligated to protect people from every possible stupid thing they can do.  Shit and stupidity are the two most common elements in the universe, and even the most intellectually astute among us are not going to avoid either one entirely.

One of the beautiful things about individual freedom is that you are entitled to be stupid to a degree.  No one should have to tell you the coffee is hot, that you shouldn’t smoke crack, or that riding a motorcycle without a helmet is a bad idea.  But no one should have the “right” to sue because of pouring hot coffee on themselves or because of their own negligence.  No one else should be obligated to bail others out of the consequences of their own stupidity.

Another situation that disturbs me is when a weenie commentator excuses a person’s criminal behavior based on their past experiences.  I am appalled every time that some ass pilot gets a pass for everything from armed robbery to mass murder because “he/she had a bad childhood.” So you peed your pants and your peers called you “Pissy” when you were seven, so you decided to go on a killing spree 20 years later and take out people who never knew your sorry ass from Adam’s housecat?  I have no sympathy for dumb shit like that.  Neither should anyone else.

Do you whiz your pants when you’re executed by lethal injection?

I had a shitty childhood.  I got my ass kicked every day.  I was lucky to get three hots and a cot- and didn’t always get that.  Big freaking deal.  Does that give me the right to go fire bomb the WalMart for failing to have English speaking cashiers on duty when I need to buy a jug of Pennzoil? Give me a freaking break.  No one owes me a damned thing, and what is the point of taking out my misdirected feline aggression on others?  I’m fortunate in that my cats get along well and don’t fight- but what good would one cat beating up a completely innocent cat do?

Isabel is not impressed.

It disturbs me that the media almost immediately wants to exonerate people who get caught doing the most ghastly things.  I understand in this country (and this is probably unique to the US) that a suspect is innocent (according to the law) until proven guilty.  I don’t think criminals should be tried and convicted in the media (though they often are, and often wrongly) but when someone’s caught red-handed, on camera, committing an atrocity, let’s not just start in making excuses for the alleged criminal.

I don’t want to hear about some ass pilot who molested kids but he’s “not responsible for his actions” because his Dad beat him.  Bullshit.  Yes, life cut you a bad deal.  I’m sorry to hear that.  Welcome to the club. Now get with the program, learn from history, and figure out how to be a decent human being.

I also don’t want to hear from the ass pilots who scream and cry on either side after a shooting incident that either a.) everyone who is not a convicted felon should run out and buy a gun (I am a believer in the 2nd Amendment, but whether or not to carry a gun is an individual choice) or b.) guns should be banned, like in the UK and other parts of the world.  Screw that too.  Both of those views are too extreme and uncalled for.

Gun laws aren’t the issue.  By definition, a criminal is one who breaks the law.  How many criminals are going to give a rat’s ass if guns are suddenly made illegal?  They don’t give a rat’s ass about the law, otherwise they would be law-abiding citizens.  Outlawing guns would simply create a black market much like the one already in place for illegal drugs.  That “war on drugs” is going so splendidly, ‘ya know?  Why not expand it, and expand the crime that naturally follows?

Why not expand the concept of personal responsibility, and enforce the notion that individual choices and individual actions have consequences?