I'll get back to the End of My Generation soon, just lacking the creative hojules to get a complicated blend of hate and psychic powers to write about it right nows.
But what I have noticed is, along with probably anyone with a quarter of a brain, is how Politicans talk down about their own people they represent. Bush is a prime (and far too easy) example of this, as he wrongly defines words he uses in the speeches he didn't write. For anyone that can cut through the bullshit of politics, which frankly is difficult even for a skeptic as strong as myself, to get to the actual point, I tip my hat to you.
But when campaigning (which is always, apparently), it's easy for a major party member (example: Layton in Canada) to round up a bunch of idiot supporters and tell them everything they already know. If you're running for a socialist party, it's not like you're going to go in front of a mass of supporters and say they're going to give corporate tax-cuts. And yet, they seem to underline the point that they won't, which creates a big-ass "he's perfect, looking out for us!" bullshit mentality. Harper did it in Canada, basically saying that "vote for us cause we're not fuckups like the Liberals", and it worked. Nobody seemed to notice that since being in office, Harper's increased the military combatants heading to Afghanistan, to actually REPLACE the troops Bush threw in there.
Is it just me, or are Canadians becoming just as retarded as the average "Bush is the best president evar" American voter? I mean, it's pretty clear most of Canada/the world not including the UK do NOT support the war in Iraq, or how the administration handled Afghanistan - and the approval ratings reflect this in the states as well - but yet, here's the Canadian government, taking a page out of "my god, I think he's onto something, with all that disapproval!" and fucking up our country just as much (or at least heading us that way).
There's so much American politics seeping into Canadian politics. Attack ads are a given; although they all lack creativity and offhand I just remember how shameful they were rather than effective. Then there's the closed-door mentality, where everything big happens quickly and without people catching wind... but when they do, well it's already too late.
I'm a firm believer in open government - these people were elected by us, so why the fuck should they keep anything secret from us? They don't even have a right to do it, in my opinion. Sure, there's a shit-ton that most Canadians and Americans wouldn't give two shits about reading - but there's a minority, like myself and a few others, that would actually care about the little shit that goes on.
The open government creates more pressure for the government to do what's best for the country, not just their party or personal interests. And the fear of having rising tension between different groups would make sure that everyone is included, not just from your country, but to the world (example: If you're gonna bomb the shit out of a country, then one would have to declare so to your people - thus making wars only out of absolute necessary, not pointless escapades.
But in an age where Politicans advertise that "I'm just like you!", they're treating you as though you're a bigger douche than they are. Think about Bush - his whole campaign was "I'm just like you" and it worked. Do you think you could run a country, you asshat? Do you really give a flying fuck about balancing a budget, improving the state of the country, solving poverty and diseases, keeping the infasctructure strong, and most importantly, looking out for the population of an entire country? Of course not, your major dilemma is what the fuck you're going to eat tonight - home cooked or take out, or if you're younger, why that bitch of an ex-girlfriend slept with your friend while you were still together. But you voted for Bush cause he's just like you. And you're getting what you voted for - a trainwreck of a leader.
Canada's not innocent of this either - the only advantage we have is that it's a minority government and a different electorial process (vote in ridings for a specific person, not vote for one person in all the country). Harper can't just fuck off and do whatever he wants cause his opposition can shut him down.
But the states? Yeah, you're fucked.
-Mark
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Thursday, June 15, 2006
The end of my generation, part 3: Religious Nutbag
Introduction + Part 1: Wannabe Rapper
Part 2: Emo
Religious Nutbag: You've grown up getting up early on Sunday mornings and listening to some old dude ramble about how Jesus was holy and why God would kick the fuck out of you if you didn't believe in him. You once questioned the point, but after your parents threatened you with eternal damnation, you decided everything the Bible says must be right.
You always wear a collared shirt and tuck in your pants - God demands it. The more you learn about Jesus and co, the more you realize how much better you are than everyone - but instead of just leaving it at that, you dig deeper into the Bible, ignoring reality and the changes in society. You briefly become a recluse. That fades away because you still go to Church on Sunday, which is also the only time you go outside during this part of your life.
Through your blind acceptance of customs from 2000 years ago, you realize how screwed the world is without your constant harping on the heathens. You first go out to street corners to read scripture that you wonder why it's written like a retarded kid's attempt at a poem, but regardless you read it and make many people uncomfortable. When confronted, you quote the Bible endlessly. People get into arguments that you never could have started even though you approached and criticized them first, but even though you want to throw the Bible through their head, you maintain your stature and tell them they're going to hell. They leave before you do, so you figure you've won.
Your idiotic beliefs go deeper to the point that you reject common sense and facts. The world was obviously created in 10,000 years, despite the... trillions of evidence that say otherwise. The Big Bang is a fictional tale told to people to counter your obviously and unquestionably true Bible. Because you have a hard time accepting life is pointless, God must have created you. To further close any other gaps from people with brains, God created you in his image, cause he's a self-richeous prick that wants constant thanks, despite him being all good.
Of course, as time goes on, you get out of the ses-pool of high school heathenry and get paid into University by your parents. You naturally go into theology cause studying anything else with the word science is the study of lies, and arts students are just homosexuals under a guise.
Your eyes open how tame highschool was in sin compared to reality. The TV sells sex, which appalls you - girls sleep with men.. multiple men.. without even thinking about getting married... and although you've never seen it, Brokeback Mountain is obviously directed, written, and starring the devil. Anyone that watches it is going to hell - in fact, you think that it's the first sign of the apocalypse.
You're still in your early-twenties, and you decide to launch a crusade against the evil - you use the media to sound even more insane than you already are, you stage dumbassed protests, and you beat up a hooker.. er, a girl supporting abortion. You're doing well. You graduate from theology top in your class, and hated by everyone, you stay at the church and start studying to become a priest.
This takes some time, especially with your frequent protests about why women shouldn't have rights, why gays are destroying everything including your dinner, and how pre-martial sex is the most evil thing in the world.
But something hits you that you didn't expect - there's a bunch of crazy fucks in the middle east that are just as pushy as you. You don't believe in war when it's you getting hurt, but you support bombing the shit out of them in an effort to control them. Luckily for you, God has told you he wants you to send non-believers instead of you - but he's also given you the opportunity to take away everything they need to be safe, but they didn't deserve it anyway, the heathens.
You receive strong criticism of both your war, Bible, faith, leadership, and your unwaivering ability to contradict yourself every two days. This is only a minor problem, however, cause you assume they're going to hell and go on a rampage, spreading your heavenly terror out across as much of the world as you can.
You're in your mid-30s now, and hated by everyone in the planet. Except Jesus, who's already dead. You've become a full-out Priest, and are harping your message out across the church, and the community. You've got a set of followers, who you'd gladly throw in front of a bullet to save yourself cause you're more holy, and an angry mob of devil incarnates at your door protesting all your human rights violations.
At this point, one of three things happens.
One: You confront the mob, trying to calm them down by telling them they're going to hell and you're going to heaven, but it seems to unexplainedly make them more angry. You're carried off and forced to watch your Bible dissected by facts, which you still refute. At this point, you're beaten to death. Nothing happens to your soul.
Two: You take refuge in the church for years, emerging only after people have forgotten about your stupidity. You start right up again, and are building up a following again. You hate homosexuality, but one day a class of 7-year-olds looks hot for some reason, and you convince yourself God wouldn't give you these urges if he didn't want you to do them in his name. Years pass from that exhilarating experience, but a court case is brought up, that you lose miserably cause the courts hate God. You are thrown in jail, where you're routinely forced into homosexual acts. You wonder why God has forsaken you, but still have faith this all has a meaning. A huge guy named Bubba rapes you so hard it wrecks your internal organs and you bleed internally to death, where unfortunately your cellmate is a necropheliac... things get messy, there's a riot, but you're dead already... and again, nothing happens to your soul.
Three: You go to your bishop for guidance. He rapes you.
Up next: part 4, Goth
-Mark
Part 2: Emo
Religious Nutbag: You've grown up getting up early on Sunday mornings and listening to some old dude ramble about how Jesus was holy and why God would kick the fuck out of you if you didn't believe in him. You once questioned the point, but after your parents threatened you with eternal damnation, you decided everything the Bible says must be right.
You always wear a collared shirt and tuck in your pants - God demands it. The more you learn about Jesus and co, the more you realize how much better you are than everyone - but instead of just leaving it at that, you dig deeper into the Bible, ignoring reality and the changes in society. You briefly become a recluse. That fades away because you still go to Church on Sunday, which is also the only time you go outside during this part of your life.
Through your blind acceptance of customs from 2000 years ago, you realize how screwed the world is without your constant harping on the heathens. You first go out to street corners to read scripture that you wonder why it's written like a retarded kid's attempt at a poem, but regardless you read it and make many people uncomfortable. When confronted, you quote the Bible endlessly. People get into arguments that you never could have started even though you approached and criticized them first, but even though you want to throw the Bible through their head, you maintain your stature and tell them they're going to hell. They leave before you do, so you figure you've won.
Your idiotic beliefs go deeper to the point that you reject common sense and facts. The world was obviously created in 10,000 years, despite the... trillions of evidence that say otherwise. The Big Bang is a fictional tale told to people to counter your obviously and unquestionably true Bible. Because you have a hard time accepting life is pointless, God must have created you. To further close any other gaps from people with brains, God created you in his image, cause he's a self-richeous prick that wants constant thanks, despite him being all good.
Of course, as time goes on, you get out of the ses-pool of high school heathenry and get paid into University by your parents. You naturally go into theology cause studying anything else with the word science is the study of lies, and arts students are just homosexuals under a guise.
Your eyes open how tame highschool was in sin compared to reality. The TV sells sex, which appalls you - girls sleep with men.. multiple men.. without even thinking about getting married... and although you've never seen it, Brokeback Mountain is obviously directed, written, and starring the devil. Anyone that watches it is going to hell - in fact, you think that it's the first sign of the apocalypse.
You're still in your early-twenties, and you decide to launch a crusade against the evil - you use the media to sound even more insane than you already are, you stage dumbassed protests, and you beat up a hooker.. er, a girl supporting abortion. You're doing well. You graduate from theology top in your class, and hated by everyone, you stay at the church and start studying to become a priest.
This takes some time, especially with your frequent protests about why women shouldn't have rights, why gays are destroying everything including your dinner, and how pre-martial sex is the most evil thing in the world.
But something hits you that you didn't expect - there's a bunch of crazy fucks in the middle east that are just as pushy as you. You don't believe in war when it's you getting hurt, but you support bombing the shit out of them in an effort to control them. Luckily for you, God has told you he wants you to send non-believers instead of you - but he's also given you the opportunity to take away everything they need to be safe, but they didn't deserve it anyway, the heathens.
You receive strong criticism of both your war, Bible, faith, leadership, and your unwaivering ability to contradict yourself every two days. This is only a minor problem, however, cause you assume they're going to hell and go on a rampage, spreading your heavenly terror out across as much of the world as you can.
You're in your mid-30s now, and hated by everyone in the planet. Except Jesus, who's already dead. You've become a full-out Priest, and are harping your message out across the church, and the community. You've got a set of followers, who you'd gladly throw in front of a bullet to save yourself cause you're more holy, and an angry mob of devil incarnates at your door protesting all your human rights violations.
At this point, one of three things happens.
One: You confront the mob, trying to calm them down by telling them they're going to hell and you're going to heaven, but it seems to unexplainedly make them more angry. You're carried off and forced to watch your Bible dissected by facts, which you still refute. At this point, you're beaten to death. Nothing happens to your soul.
Two: You take refuge in the church for years, emerging only after people have forgotten about your stupidity. You start right up again, and are building up a following again. You hate homosexuality, but one day a class of 7-year-olds looks hot for some reason, and you convince yourself God wouldn't give you these urges if he didn't want you to do them in his name. Years pass from that exhilarating experience, but a court case is brought up, that you lose miserably cause the courts hate God. You are thrown in jail, where you're routinely forced into homosexual acts. You wonder why God has forsaken you, but still have faith this all has a meaning. A huge guy named Bubba rapes you so hard it wrecks your internal organs and you bleed internally to death, where unfortunately your cellmate is a necropheliac... things get messy, there's a riot, but you're dead already... and again, nothing happens to your soul.
Three: You go to your bishop for guidance. He rapes you.
Up next: part 4, Goth
-Mark
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Half-assed explanation
I'm not dead, just been out of town for the last week (thank god/evolution.. I was ready to fuckin' kill everyone that lives here, too). I'll blog my Religious Nutbag part 3 soon.
Corpse.
-Mark
Corpse.
-Mark
Thursday, June 01, 2006
The end of my generation, part 2: Emo
So I'm back again, this time with part two (of this ever growing series.. I've got at least two more good ones, and ideas swelling) of The end of my generation. If you wonder what the hell I'm talking about, the introduction and part one is right here. Read that first if you haven't yet.
Moving on. . . part two.
Emo: Your life has been an absolute hell, even though it's been exactly the same as everyone elses - the only difference is that you cracked under the minimal pressure. Apparently you thought High School would be sunshine and rainbows and everyone would be hugging, and when someone made fun of you, you cried for hours.
You believe you're a loner, and you are, but only because you've made yourself one. The cuccoon of your own stupidity has blocked oxygen from your brain, keeping you from making rational decisions, specifically with the clothing selection. In order to be different from everyone else, you dress like you showered in your jeans and then rode them in the dryer, because they're now so tight any kind of movement rips them - which would usually be bad, but apparently in your "unique" style, you thought it would be cool. You wear a tie with a t-shirt or a really shitty button-up shirt - you claim it's a statement about the 9-5 workingman, but the truth is you just think people will talk to you if you wear it.
A tragic hair searing accident made your hair ridiculously uneven, some of it covering your eyes - but again, it's different and totally not retarded, so you leave it. You manage to bruise your face by walking into things because your depth perception is off, but you make up another lie that supports your made-up "my life is hell" story.
You claim to be your own person, but deep down you know damn well that you look like a dumbass, and that the attention you get is why you do it. If nobody noticed you dressing like such, you'd change. But you're unique, cause you dress just as stupidly as everyone else around you.
With the public eye spurning you, you turn to the only other viable place to get attention - the internet. You take your made-up life online, and are pleased to find other idiots giving you sympathy and encouraging you. You call them "friends", but there's no fucking way you'd ever meet them. You're now popular in your cyber-world, but it's not enough for you.
So you start posting shitty poems to get more attention when your readership starts to dip - poems you claimed were "just for you". Whenever you receive ANY criticism whatsoever, you launch of barrage of self-defence tactics, which range from calling them 'mean' to telling them 'they don't understand me'.
You pretend you're educated on actual issues, like politics or environmentalism, but you know jackshit. Whenever you get into an argument over it, you get caught in your traps and resort to your usual fallback - they're mean or just don't get you.
Time goes on, and you continue to have hairstyle and warddrobe malfunctions, while desparately trying to stay in the attention circle. You'll take anything to try and tell people smarter than you your opinion, but when it's to no avail, you start dabbling in lighter drugs for artistic inspiration, which you believe you have talent in. You don't.
Your emotional front starts to crumble when people stop giving a shit about anything you say or do. You begin to cave to the "popular" things, like smoking and drinking and drugs, all the while criticizing the people that do it, making you a delicious hypocrite, although you'd claim otherwise.
You end up in college or University for something in the arts, as you continue to chase the dream that someone will notice your black-hole of talent. You tell yourself and anyone that'll listen that you're a shy person that loves humanity and you don't like corporations, but you'd sell out instantly if anyone ever offered you something.... anything, really.
You stumble through college acting the same way you did in high school, proving to the world that you've maxed out intellectually when you were about 17. Now in your early 20s, you find out that your art that nobody gets isn't marketable, nor is your shitty poems. You work in some retail job for years, during this time you manage to meet a girl that's so pale your surprised she doesn't vaporize when the sun hits her skin. She's just as fucked up in the head as you are, and she likes it that you're a tool/emotional.
You fall head over heels for her, only because she's the only one that'll listen to your unending complaining. This is the happiest you'll ever be, and after copulating and a near-pregnancy, she realizes what a deadbeat you are and leaves you for someone with a real future.
You wonder why your BA in Art History can't land you a job - but to counter the depression of being in a dead-end job and now without a girlfriend, you listen to bad music from angry middle class teens that you totally get. However, you listen to it way too much and it starts to melt your brain, making you more depressed.
The internet once again becomes your haven, where you even more desparately try to get attention, this time by taking a razorblade to your forearms and then posting pictures of it. People ask you 'what's wrong?' and you make an even more elaborate lie about how you were beaten as a child and that nobody understood you and you were made fun of etc etc etc, and how you'd tried to commit suicide once but couldn't do it. The people listening act like they're concerned, but they wouldn't even remember your name if you died. You know this, but pretend they care.
You spend years in your parent's basement on the computer talking to your 65,000 myspace friends, while your few real friends have realized how much of an idiot they were to dress like a 1980's backup dancer for Pat Benetar. After your internet-friends refuse to meet you, you spiral down into an emo chatroom, where people are talking about suicide. After a brief conversation with a few, your last-ditch for attention reaches the extreme.
Trying to make friends, you slit your wrists. You didn't expect it'd hurt as much, and the blood spray scares you. You realize immediately what a bad idea this was and how you don't actually want to die, but apparently a band-aid won't stop the bleeding. You run around the basement trying to wrap the wrist in something, the blood spraying all over the walls.
You get light-headed, which only makes you more desparate. You call for help upstairs, but remember your parents are out for the weekend. You try and call the police, but with minimal bloodflow to your hands, you can't pick up the phone and dial.
You manage after a few minutes to dial 9-1. Alas though, you've lost too much blood, and before you can hit the last button you slip into a coma.
Your last thoughts are "maybe someone will give me a big funeral". You bleed to death days before anyone finds your badly-dressed corpse, and instead of a big funeral, they sell your body to pig farmers, making that the most useful you've ever been to society.
Or: Moments before slitting your wrist, you realize that how pathetic you are if this is what you're going to do for attention. You back away from the computer, look at your life, and vow to do something with it - you cut your hair in the bathroom, change into actual clothes, and hurry to the front door - you've got a new lease on life, and you scream happily as you burst outside.
In your glee, you skip out into the street without looking first. A city bus plows into you, killing you not even 20 feet from your front door, which you left unlocked. People loot your home as you lie in the middle of the road.
Your last thoughts are of that girl who's name you forget when you were 14, the one that made you go Emo in the first place. With only yourself to blame for what's happened in your life, you bitch up again and blame her.
Up Next: Part 3, Religious Nutbag
-Mark
Moving on. . . part two.
Emo: Your life has been an absolute hell, even though it's been exactly the same as everyone elses - the only difference is that you cracked under the minimal pressure. Apparently you thought High School would be sunshine and rainbows and everyone would be hugging, and when someone made fun of you, you cried for hours.
You believe you're a loner, and you are, but only because you've made yourself one. The cuccoon of your own stupidity has blocked oxygen from your brain, keeping you from making rational decisions, specifically with the clothing selection. In order to be different from everyone else, you dress like you showered in your jeans and then rode them in the dryer, because they're now so tight any kind of movement rips them - which would usually be bad, but apparently in your "unique" style, you thought it would be cool. You wear a tie with a t-shirt or a really shitty button-up shirt - you claim it's a statement about the 9-5 workingman, but the truth is you just think people will talk to you if you wear it.
A tragic hair searing accident made your hair ridiculously uneven, some of it covering your eyes - but again, it's different and totally not retarded, so you leave it. You manage to bruise your face by walking into things because your depth perception is off, but you make up another lie that supports your made-up "my life is hell" story.
You claim to be your own person, but deep down you know damn well that you look like a dumbass, and that the attention you get is why you do it. If nobody noticed you dressing like such, you'd change. But you're unique, cause you dress just as stupidly as everyone else around you.
With the public eye spurning you, you turn to the only other viable place to get attention - the internet. You take your made-up life online, and are pleased to find other idiots giving you sympathy and encouraging you. You call them "friends", but there's no fucking way you'd ever meet them. You're now popular in your cyber-world, but it's not enough for you.
So you start posting shitty poems to get more attention when your readership starts to dip - poems you claimed were "just for you". Whenever you receive ANY criticism whatsoever, you launch of barrage of self-defence tactics, which range from calling them 'mean' to telling them 'they don't understand me'.
You pretend you're educated on actual issues, like politics or environmentalism, but you know jackshit. Whenever you get into an argument over it, you get caught in your traps and resort to your usual fallback - they're mean or just don't get you.
Time goes on, and you continue to have hairstyle and warddrobe malfunctions, while desparately trying to stay in the attention circle. You'll take anything to try and tell people smarter than you your opinion, but when it's to no avail, you start dabbling in lighter drugs for artistic inspiration, which you believe you have talent in. You don't.
Your emotional front starts to crumble when people stop giving a shit about anything you say or do. You begin to cave to the "popular" things, like smoking and drinking and drugs, all the while criticizing the people that do it, making you a delicious hypocrite, although you'd claim otherwise.
You end up in college or University for something in the arts, as you continue to chase the dream that someone will notice your black-hole of talent. You tell yourself and anyone that'll listen that you're a shy person that loves humanity and you don't like corporations, but you'd sell out instantly if anyone ever offered you something.... anything, really.
You stumble through college acting the same way you did in high school, proving to the world that you've maxed out intellectually when you were about 17. Now in your early 20s, you find out that your art that nobody gets isn't marketable, nor is your shitty poems. You work in some retail job for years, during this time you manage to meet a girl that's so pale your surprised she doesn't vaporize when the sun hits her skin. She's just as fucked up in the head as you are, and she likes it that you're a tool/emotional.
You fall head over heels for her, only because she's the only one that'll listen to your unending complaining. This is the happiest you'll ever be, and after copulating and a near-pregnancy, she realizes what a deadbeat you are and leaves you for someone with a real future.
You wonder why your BA in Art History can't land you a job - but to counter the depression of being in a dead-end job and now without a girlfriend, you listen to bad music from angry middle class teens that you totally get. However, you listen to it way too much and it starts to melt your brain, making you more depressed.
The internet once again becomes your haven, where you even more desparately try to get attention, this time by taking a razorblade to your forearms and then posting pictures of it. People ask you 'what's wrong?' and you make an even more elaborate lie about how you were beaten as a child and that nobody understood you and you were made fun of etc etc etc, and how you'd tried to commit suicide once but couldn't do it. The people listening act like they're concerned, but they wouldn't even remember your name if you died. You know this, but pretend they care.
You spend years in your parent's basement on the computer talking to your 65,000 myspace friends, while your few real friends have realized how much of an idiot they were to dress like a 1980's backup dancer for Pat Benetar. After your internet-friends refuse to meet you, you spiral down into an emo chatroom, where people are talking about suicide. After a brief conversation with a few, your last-ditch for attention reaches the extreme.
Trying to make friends, you slit your wrists. You didn't expect it'd hurt as much, and the blood spray scares you. You realize immediately what a bad idea this was and how you don't actually want to die, but apparently a band-aid won't stop the bleeding. You run around the basement trying to wrap the wrist in something, the blood spraying all over the walls.
You get light-headed, which only makes you more desparate. You call for help upstairs, but remember your parents are out for the weekend. You try and call the police, but with minimal bloodflow to your hands, you can't pick up the phone and dial.
You manage after a few minutes to dial 9-1. Alas though, you've lost too much blood, and before you can hit the last button you slip into a coma.
Your last thoughts are "maybe someone will give me a big funeral". You bleed to death days before anyone finds your badly-dressed corpse, and instead of a big funeral, they sell your body to pig farmers, making that the most useful you've ever been to society.
Or: Moments before slitting your wrist, you realize that how pathetic you are if this is what you're going to do for attention. You back away from the computer, look at your life, and vow to do something with it - you cut your hair in the bathroom, change into actual clothes, and hurry to the front door - you've got a new lease on life, and you scream happily as you burst outside.
In your glee, you skip out into the street without looking first. A city bus plows into you, killing you not even 20 feet from your front door, which you left unlocked. People loot your home as you lie in the middle of the road.
Your last thoughts are of that girl who's name you forget when you were 14, the one that made you go Emo in the first place. With only yourself to blame for what's happened in your life, you bitch up again and blame her.
Up Next: Part 3, Religious Nutbag
-Mark
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