Ripe for Revolution, one in a series

When it comes to predicting the arrival of revolution, try looking at the little things.

Here we have an article about the “Secret” Stupids that got caught cheating honest workers out of fair payment.  

These dopes embarrassed our nation and their Service, and though I despise the Hawaaiian-raised-by-marxists-in-muslim-Indonesia, this honest-to-Allah gaffe had nothing to do with him.

Apparently, getting fired was a good career move for these SS douchebags. Not only will they receive no prison time for alleged drug use, they’ve gone from being potential bullet sponges to enriching their worthless hides with outrageous federal pensions, all at taxpayer expense, of course!

Hey, if it were up to me, both hookers and blow (actually all drugs) would be decriminalized tomorrow. Let the States decide.

But that’s not the issue here.

There’s nothing I despise more (for the length of this rant) than a cop who will arrest a man for the same behavior he engages in. It’s why I’ll always have the titanium bones of a “spiritual” anarchist within this…dull conservatarian exterior.

You libs who hate those devilish CEOs’ fat paychecks and severance packages should take note of this one, it’s the same exact concept of rewarding failure, only instead of sharholders its you and me with our dicks in the blender.

Reflect on the 30 million Americans out of work, struggling to survive.  Now think of these fat-assed dirtbags reaping huge taxpayer-funded rewards for being disgraceful.

I read shit like this article and am ready to hoist the black flag and start slitting throats.

To help calm the fuck down, I’m adding this editorial cartoon from Nick Anderson of the Houston Chronicle, the funniest of all toons I’ve read this year:

Have you ever wanted to kill someone?

Some men are alive only because it is against the law to kill them. –attributed, various

Have you ever wanted to kill someone?

I came very close last Friday.

My intended target was a vile old bastard, universally despised, with an unkind word for everybody, summarized in this passage from Henry Miller’s The Air-Conditioned Nightmare: “a man, and I say it calmly and soberly, whom I could kill in cold blood.  I could shoot him down in the dark and go quietly about my business, as if I had just brushed a mosquito off my arm.”

There are no clichés or maxims that will save you in the fiery moment you decide someone must die.  I didn’t give a fuck that the bastard himself probably suffered the most from this cruel remarks (not always true; sociopaths feel nothing).  Once I decided the world would be better off without him, fantasy after fantasy about inflicting a gruesome death upon him played and replayed.

It was the hated job where this all took place (too many cameras around) and I’m wondering if on Monday there’ll be any blowback from the events Friday.  The old bastard now knows I hate him, but not how close he came to getting his head bashed in.  I swear to fucking Christ just typing this makes me ready to kill all over again.

But I’ve said too much. The prisons creak with murderers and the only difference between them and me (and you) is they acted on their impulses.

The rude elderly pissant, a coward who likely was treated cruelly by others, is not worth this many words, or any words, as there are millions like him around the globe:  horrible, failed human beings despite displays of wealth or other outward appearances.

A real human being accepts his own depths of hatred as natural and normal, the monstrous power of emotions over the feeble intellect.  Hopefully society provides enough programming that the deadliest impulses stay suppressed.  Hopefully.

If I see the old SOB again–and I’m sure I will–I can’t tell you I won’t feel this furious.  It’s natural to destroy and even more natural to destroy ugly things.  Right now my hatred remains beautiful and alive.  Something’s gotta give.