Could you please let me know if there’s any justice left in the world? Do you know what a brain worm is? That’s when you get a catchy tune stuck in your head that takes forever to go away. I hope this isn’t contagious, but right now my brain is being assailed by that monstrosity sung by Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore several years ago in a romantic comedy I was privileged not to see. But they still got me with the fucking song, harpooning my amygdala. Bastards.
The reason this particular noisome ditty has colonized the colon of my noggin (ever notice how similar the human brain looks to your intestinal tract? Fractal geometry–in the privacy of your own bod!) is that the other day I heard a Muzak version of said atrocity (for those of you who are exceptionally masochistic, I’m sorry I can’t intensify your suffering with the name of the song; it’s something like “All I Want to Do Is Make an Ass of Myself by Proving I’m a Shameless Dilettante Who’d Better Stick to Acting Instead of Singing”) in a bookstore of all places. I silently wondered whether the proprietors of the bookstore were bent on some kind of self-destructive mission to drive their customers away.
Or maybe I’m the only one who couldn’t dig how awesome the jingle was.
Speaking of injustice, I was sorry to read that Bradley Manning–whose new name is Chelsea (Womanning?)–is being sent up the river for thirty-five years, after already serving three.
“Hey, at least he doesn’t have to go to prison for 125 years!”
By the time they let him out, he’ll already be a middle-aged woman. I can’t pretend to understand his decision to want to change his sex, although as a metaphor it makes sense. If you had to boil things down to the main cause of the world’s problems, you could do worse than point the finger at a number of testosterone-addled men and the sinister systems that enslave them. (For fear of being unduly persecuted, I won’t mention any names–yet.) Manning, like Edward Snowden and Glenn Greenwald (whose boyfriend has supposedly been imprisoned in England, apparently as an indirect way of punishing Greenwald for breaking the Snowden story to the Guardian), is being made an example of for trying to enlighten Americans about the hidden atrocities our military has been committing abroad. He’s another prisoner of conscience, just like Daniel Ellsberg, Martin Luther King, Gandhi, or Hank Thoreau.
Amnesty International has their work cut out for them.
Do you ever read the Huffington Post? Although it’s not my favorite website, I do enjoy scanning it sometimes, apart from (or is it because of?) all the schlocky nonsense its peppered with. For example, was it breaking news to show their readers/viewers pictures of Mel Gibson in a wife-beater with his new hard-earned biceps? It turns out he’s going for the early Arnold Schwarzenegger look.
As I was saying, eruptions of testosterone (or should that be ejaculations?) are all the rage these days. And for the men’s men who make the big decisions in corporate boardrooms and in soundproof military chambers, nothing could be less manly than caring about what happens to the poor, the downtrodden, the animals. That’s women’s stuff. Let the little girls cry over the squirrel squashed by the Hummer on its way to run over a couple of fags holding hands in the road.
Speaking of homophobia, which seems to be a big hit in Russia these days, did you ever see the video that Vladimir Putin released of himself, buff and shirtless on a horse, a few years ago? (He boasts the kind of pectoral muscles that could easily degenerate into man boobs if he’s not careful; then what will people say? “Oh, my God! He’s turning into a woman! We can’t have that. Execute him!”)
It’s funny, because for someone who hates gays as much as he claims to, he’s awfully enamored of his own body. When Narcissus saw his reflection in the pool in the forest, did he want to get it on with himself? And if so, wouldn’t that have made him a shirt-lifter? Besides, is it safe for Putin to post such arousing images of himself on-line in a world teeming with gay perverts who may publicly molest him in a naked, hooting mob?
When I told my wife Jina that homosexuals are being murdered these days in Russia (although that might be a slight exaggeration), she said, “Good.” According to her, God and Jesus, his bearded wonder of a son, hate gays as much as Putin does. I thought you were supposed to “hate the sin, but love the sinner.” (Not that I’m agreeing that gay sex is a sin; I wouldn’t know, and I don’t care, as it has nothing to do with me. In other words, to quote Clark Gable in Gone With the Wind: “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” In fact, I’m grateful to gays for at least two things: 1) they reduce the competition for available women, which may become relevant to my own life again before long; and 2) their sexual practices do nothing to increase the birth-rate in this already heavily human-infested planet. Not that I don’t love people, but once you’ve lived in a megacity for several years, your cynicism has a lot more fodder than it otherwise would. Too much of a good thing turns out to be a bad thing, unless you’re the only guy matriculating at an all-women’s college.)
As Bill Maher says, all of the frou-frou silliness that happens in your average church is pretty fucking gay anyway when you think about it, as is a religion (Protestantism) that has no major female protagonists in the godhead. I prefer the ancient Greek pantheon, which at least was co-ed. And their gods were just as fucked-up, incompetent, and degenerate as we humans.
God love ’em!
P. S. If my wife thinks gays are going to hell, what about the people ordering Reaper and Predator drone attacks that incinerate dozens of innocent people all over the Middle East?
Drone warfare–coming to a theater near you.
Let’s hope most of us can make it through all of these deadly orgasms of machismo with our skeletons and innards intact, if not the dregs of our souls.