When Illustrations Illustrate You’re An Idiot

Dear trivial, clueless fuck who rode Peter Thiel’s fascist coattails to the top and isn’t going to get even a microscopic drop of juice from me by naming him:

The arc of modern civilization bends to the left. It’s been moving that way for hundreds of years, and in the absence of authoritarian obstruction, it always will. That’s what makes it “modern civilization”… that’s the deviation from the historical norm. In reality, that progressive stick figure has been steadily walking at a (sometimes too) steady pace in one direction all along… said individual has never stood still.

Meanwhile, there have indeed been motionless conservative stick figures pegged to a spot. Folks who share the same reality with the progressive stick figures, but have a —wholly legitimate and reasonable— concern about rapid change and unforeseen consequences. They are valuable parts of the body politic, because sometimes there needs to be a person in the room saying, “I dig your goal, but your solution has holes in it.”

Unfortunately, almost all of those stick figures are gone, either dead or plunged into political obscurity. They wield no influence, because no one listens to them. They’ve been cancelled… and not by the progressives.

They were cancelled by the Jewish space-laser monitors, international germ cabal investigators, and very stable geniuses who exist way, way, way off the right side of that line… cultural leeches who manifest every 40 years or so and have nothing to offer a productive society but their Mean Girl hatred of things they don’t understand. Which is virtually everything. (Despite being nominal capitalists, they can’t compete in the marketplace of ideas. Fascinating, that.) All they know is that either by birth or cunning, they’ve found free rides, and they will literally kill people to keep the metaphorical Infinite Uber driving around forever.

And you, Charles Foster Botha? (That’s an unjustified slur for funsies, BTW, but you’re cool with those, as we all know.) You don’t exist on that line at all. You’re quite convinced you’re floating above it, and everyone on it are the raw materials from which you will build Xanadu.

Good luck with that, fuckboy.

Also, Amber Heard was a perfect Susan Alexander. You should have locked that down.

The work you endure and the money you earn, the food you eat and the energy you burn, the thoughts you have and the lessons you learn… it’s all for me.

I am the tree of your life. And you, little leaf, exist to nourish me.

I am the context that makes sense of the disappointing and discordant symphony of nonsense you call your every waking moment.

How does it feel, knowing that seeing you will never be enough… that you will always be a work in need of description?

I was just reading a post about doms safewording, and my slightly warm take was “what in the hell are you all on about?” I literally cannot envision a scenario where I would need a code phrase to express distress. 

But upon reflection, I realized that has less to do with me than the company I keep. I wouldn’t be involved with a girl so emotionally detached and self-involved that she’d need me to “avocado kumquat!” just to let her know I’m going through something.

There is nothing more boring than a clever girl who thinks she poses a challenge.

Because there is nothing more clever than knowing you’re in over your head.