HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT YOUR PARENTS
BEATING YOU
Uhhh I actually agree that your pop should be batting you across the back of the head. I have had enough of this "for the children," "we must live for the future generation" bullshit.
While I believe that it is wise not to stink your own bed and that good manners dictate that you not shit in your friend's and neighbor's living room, I don't feel I should be compelled to do this or that, to restrict my life for some brat who may just turn into some mercenary schoolyard meth dealing bully boy.
As friend of my lady so eliquently put on a small protest sign he carried at a Roe v Wade anniversary march in Frisco yesterday: Fuck the Unborn. So just there, save the totalitarianism for the past and fight the authoritarianism that is here head on, if more freedom is your goal. Those who oppose freedom want some kind of totalitarianism anyway (most likely a total Christian taliban state which will make Inquistition Spain look like a day of BJs), so why help them? I never support the notion that it has to get worse before it gets better.
One, people seem to think it is THE truth and it isnt. It also has to get better before it gets better and it has to get worse before it gets worse.
That is like saying you have to get some ugly painful VD through lousy sex before you get the best hummer of your life. How about great hummer after great hummer?
Two, well, I wrote it already. I don't want to live in a shitty, fucked up, repressive world where I am told how to live by people far stupider than I am. You know, that is exactly what happens in totalitarian regimes. There might be some smart, albeit mercentary & deluded people at the top, but the functionaries are a bunch of thuggish dumbshit sheep. Tis one of Orwell's lessons in
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one that seems to get overlooked for the more fantastic stuff. Put yourself in the possition of the One True Leader. Are you gonna cart people off to the ovens? Fuck no, the most you are gonna do is sit there with your spreadsheets figuring out how best to use the bonemeal, sipping some 50 yr old Scotch, while a hairless 15 year old Thai boy lovingly strokes your main apendage. Now lest I be accused of being shallow and not caring about my fellow man, woman, and child, I must say here that I dont want anyone else to go through the same kind of shit. Also my reasoning is based on what I've written before. What is the payoff? What are the chances of marching through Hitler on the path to Nirvana? Given the track record of the human race, I would say none. In this country, we vant even get it together enough to make sure you and I can see a doctor when we are 75 years old, let along put Reagan's mug on Mt Rushmore. No way we are going to throw off 15 years of working the rice fields in black PJs. We will have to wait for the Canadians to liberate us, much like the Viet marched into Cambodia, though I really doubt the Cannucks will be doing anything except moving north to the then topical belt that encircles the North Pole. Hell, they might have found a stairwell into the hollow earth by that time or the space ships might have come. I dont the fuck know. One thing I do know is all this yickety yack is probably just enforcing your notion that We Are All Doomed. And that might be so, however why throw your life away because you are frustrated and in your early 20s. Wait at least until you are 40 before you decided to kiss the pisser. As far as your dad and his he would rather see you in jail than dead. Well, thanks, pops, I guess I appreciate the sentiment, but unless a life in jail is full of filet mignon, Old Talisker, and access to a great library, uhh here's the spade, start digging my grave. I am sure your dad didnt mean it but what he is saying is "I'd rather see you taking joy in a night where some Aryan brute named Nemo decides he needs some fresh meat and lets you use the light bulb coffee maker to heat up a cup of water, than see you finally at peace." Before you take this as an invitation to off yourself, please note that it is not. To me that is just as much of a bad choice as taking some pig out because your dad really wants to speak to you over a phone, though a glass window once a week for the rest of your life. As a man much wiser than I once sung, "You gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run. You never count your money when you're sittin at the table. They'll be time enough for countin' when the dealin's done." You mostly likely have plenty of life ahead of you and you will run into wall after wall in your journey. That is just the nature of life. But there will also be times when you pull your head out of the manure to see some flower with the most perfect lips eager to blow you into heaven. Happens to me all the time and I aint even bisexual, which mean I have half the chance of that happening as you. I dont need to tell you that you have a family of freaks and that, whatever their good intentions, you might just wanna take their advise with a wee bit of levity, which you seem to do. I mean, no one parties with their parents, especially when the party talk turns to sex. You poor enough booze in them and pretty soon dad will want to show you how they conceieved you and mom will be spread on the floor, crying with warm memories while she shows you where you came out. You have a drink with the folks over dinner. As times have changed, you share a joint with them. You maybe indulge pop as he puts on the Paul Butterfield Blues Band record and shows you how they used to dance. And then you excuse yourself and let the booze or dope work your folks into some private amorous encounter. But you don't party with them, for god's sake. I can only counsel this but perhaps what you need is something silly in your life: Like a flower that shoots milk, that you can attatch to your lapel. Or maybe a tie that lights up. No I know, one of those fish that moves and sings. I dunno, something to distract you from the dire doom filled world you seem to see all around you. Life is not just revolution, street fights and blowing your mind. It is fart jokes and the Funky Chicken. It is okay to take your pants off and do funny dances. Only the most prudish among us denies the pleasure of Pee Wee Herman and doesnt understand than when in an adult theater a man had to do what a man has to do. Believe me, I know what it is like to be too damn serious, to care so damn much that you wind up not caring at all. I would like to think that I have always maintained a sense of humor, even when I was at my "fuck the system" best; but I am pretty sure I wasnt the funnest person on the block. In fact I was probably the least funnest person in my own apartment, at least until one of my politico girlfriends showed up and told me that we could only have sex lying side by side & face to face because that way neither one of dominated the other. I would walk down the street staring at the ground, not because I was in the dumps or looking for change, but so I wouldnt step on another member of this precious planet, a bug or a worm or a child. Then one day I woke up with a hard on after dreaming of standing in a rally chanting "Hey Hey Ho Ho Bush & Quayle have got to go" among a gang of two hundred pound women from the Hirstute Freedom Alliance and I knew that something had to change. I dug up a copy of War of the Superbikes put it one, determined that it did indeed blow, found Inside My Head and embraced my inner Samoan. That, my friend, is the tao. Unless you can chuckle to My Old Man's a Fatso or I'm in Love With Your Mom, you are just taking up space. I mean, the Angry Samoans aren't the only thing in life or the main thing in life and just because you have embraced them doesnt mean you are exempt from local customs or mores. You still say "excuse me" when you rip a big one in public, though you never have to acknowledge a silent emmision. And that balance is probably the best way to look at all of life so I will leave this at that.
"I'm making a career of evil."
