How Liberals Can Win (VENT POST)

Do you want to fucking save America from Trump and the goddamn assholes supporting him and calling everyone else cucks? Here’s how to do it:

Forget morals. Have no ethics whatsoever. Tell whooping lies every day. Threaten to jail your political opponents.

Use hatred. Blame conservatives for all the world’s problems. Threaten to deport all the Russians. Say Christians are dangerous.

Yell a lot. Just scream at the top of your lungs. Make large hand gestures. USE ALL CAPS AT EVERY OPPORTUNITY.

Use fear. Say that liberal values are being threatened.  Say that the Republicans will destroy everything we love about America. Claim there’s a war against liberalism going on when you know for a goddamn fact there isn’t.

Appeal to humanity’s base instincts. Tell people they must lock their doors, lest the conservative come and kill them. Say white people cause all the crime. Say that all conservative men are rapists.

Basically, do everything you can to emulate your opponent. Be scared, be angry. Throw everything you believe away, because America isn’t about morals anymore. America–and humanity as a whole–is about fear, hatred and dirty tricks. The right does it, the left does it and centrists do it too. Everybody hates each other and the best way to get power is to use that hate. Decent people have no chance anymore. You gotta be the lord of the fucking flies if you wanna change anything.

TL;DR: Fuck America. Fuck humans. Fuck the whole goddamn world. Nothing is ever going to change because human kindness is dead and gone. Sometimes I wonder why God doesn’t just turn out the lights already.


Public Service Announcement

How about we NOT shoot people? That’d be great.

Apparently the Republican Party whip was shot today by a progressive who supported Sanders vocally during the campaign. As a liberal, I am extremely disturbed and scared for the future of this nation. I don’t care if it was the fucking Antichrist, liberals don’t shoot people. Or at least, they shouldn’t.

What the fuck is this? Do you want us to be looked upon as terrorists? Assassins? That’s not who we are. We Democrats are supposed to be the party that talks it out and finds solutions, not the party that shoots our politicians and gets branded as radicals.

So this shooter can officially go fuck himself, and I am praying for Rep. Scalise to make a full recovery.

Your Doomsday Prediction Sucks

May 13th, 2017. It’s such a lovely day today. I dunno what the weather is where you are, but where I am, it’s sunny and a nice temperature. Spring is showing itself and I can smell bacon in the kitchen. A perfect day.

Sure would suck if a global thermonuclear war started.

Well, too bad! According to some random guy who had a dream, sometime today the world will be engulfed in a nuclear hellfire! I mean, it’s already past 5 PM where I’m at and there have been no indications of any such thing being imminent, but that’s besides the point.

Can I just say that our doomsday predictions these days just aren’t very good? I’m not talking about them being false despite us falling for them over and over–that’s always been the case. No, I’m talking about style.

Think back to 2012–who remembers that? I was about fourteen back then and I more than lowkey fell for it. I was a dumb kid. I remember the movie–entire cities being swallowed up by massive earthquakes! Tsunamis as high as the Himalayas! Yellowstone erupting and chocking all of North America with volcanic ash! All centered around an ancient Mayan calendar–Mayans are fucking cool. And don’t forget Nibiru–always had a soft spot for that doomsday theory. We get to see a cool new planet as we all die horribly.

Nowadays? No style at all. What’s this whole thing based on? Some random psychic and some visions that are important to the Catholic church (you’ll notice that said church has already interpreted said visions to refer to past events, but y’know, besides the point). And what will happen on this terrible day? Trump will…nuke North Korea or something I guess?

I mean, goddamn, we have gone seriously downhill in the last four years. If you’re going to perform blatant fearmongering and fuck with gullible people, at least do it in style. Add some personality, man! Why have a nuclear war when you can have a whole planet?

It’s not hard, people.

Psychopathy is Bad

Boom, I just blew your goddamn mind.

Why do I bring this up? Because of all the times I’ve seen people saying they’re proud to be psychopaths, and that they struggle so much and you should totally stop stereotyping them. Well, I’m sick of it.

Most of them probably aren’t even psychopaths, just edgy teenagers being edgy. Here’s a word of advice for them: I’ve been there. I know what it’s like. You will be so much happier when you let go of the idea that to gain sympathy, to gain love, you must earn it through pain. Love is your birthright. And in fact, claiming to be a psychopath will only make you less likely to receive it. I don’t want to see that happen to you.

And for the other people who are telling the truth–and they do exist–here’s my advice: Seek professional help immediately. It is a disease of the mind. The inability to feel remorse is a horrible thing, and while I can’t promise a cure, professionals can show you what you’ve been missing. Listen to me now. Mental health issues is one of the biggest problems facing America. Don’t become a statistic.

But I ramble. Can’t wait for the comments on this one.

How to be a REAL WRITER

Hey, you! Yes, you right there! Do you want to be a REAL WRITER? Sure you do! Doesn’t everyone just have that little creative bug in them that makes them want to write something to call their very own?

(Well, actually, no. If you say you want to try out writing but you’ve never written before, or if you haven’t written in a while but want to get back into it, you should probably just leave now. REAL WRITERS have always been writing consistently since they could understand and convey human language onto paper. So yeah, if you want to get in after having not written for a few years, or God forbid not at all, you’re kind of fucked. We REAL WRITERS are a pretty exclusive club.)

Okay, now that we’ve weeded out the wannabes from those with actual potential, let’s get to it. Here are the things you must do to become a REAL WRITER.

REAL WRITERS write every day.

Hence why you can’t be a REAL WRITER if you haven’t written in a while. The rule is that you must produce at least five thousand words per day. Anyone can do five thousand words a day! You just have to cut out the unnecessary things getting in the way. This leads nicely to the second point:

REAL WRITERS have no life beyond writing.

That means no friends, no contact with family, no job and no basic hygiene. Also no sleeping. You may only eat, drink or pee if you write while you do it. This is the only way you can possibly reach the five thousand word goal every day and become a REAL WRITER. And while we’re on the topic of things that get in the way of your writing time:

REAL WRITERS never read.

“What?!” You may cry with a hand over your chest. “But reading is what makes me even want to write! And every other writing advice thing I’ve ever read says to read a lot!”

Well, my very young apprentice, here is the problem with reading. First of all, it cuts into time you should be writing. Procrastination is, of course, the greatest sin any writer can ever commit, and you must not do anything to facilitate it. Secondly, reading makes you write differently. It makes you a lazy, unoriginal hack pretty quickly by making you writer like everyone else. REAL WRITERS learn to write like Jimi Hendrix learned to play music—without any help at all. Reading is for the common folk on the receiving end of your greatness.

Some people may tell you that your writing can’t be influenced after a certain point because you have your own voice that cannot be tampered with as long as you are confident in it. These people are not REAL WRITERS.

REAL WRITERS never, ever have ‘Writers Block’.

“Writers Block” is a myth created by wannabes who wish they could be REAL WRITERS, but can’t reach the five thousand word goal every day and so blame it on ‘a lack of ideas’ rather than their own inadequacy as human beings. REAL WRITERS are always a fountain of brilliant ideas which spring onto the page, almost seeming to write themselves. Although, before you get too swept up in that, I must add a caveat:

REAL WRITERS see no magic in writing.

Writing is a very serious thing, my friend. It is not a playground where you can just toss words around like candy. Nor is it a roller coaster where you can be surprised by every twist and turn. REAL WRITERS don’t get swept up in the story. This is for the commoners who must see you as a god descended to bestow upon man words to keep them from losing their souls to their pathetic commoner lives. To you, writing must be a mundane, well-planned-out task. You must not take any joy in writing.

“What?!” you cry again, my naïve student. “But the magic of being swept up in the characters and world I create is why I started writing! I write because it’s fun!”

Thanks for saying that, my padawan learner. This leads us to the final, most important point of all:

REAL WRITERS don’t have fun. Ever.

REAL WRITERS do not write because the process is ‘fun’. REAL WRITERS write to impress the commoners, who see them as great literary artists who can string words together in such a way as to make their heads explode from the sheer brilliance of it. This is why The Hunger Games and Gone With The Wind can never, EVER be literature. Literature is not fun. It is beautiful. If a piece is to be devoid of fun, its creator must be devoid of fun as well.

And there you have it! That’s how to be a REAL WRITER! Now, if you excuse me, I think I hear someone at the door. Probably the repo man again, here to remove yet another distraction from my home. Bless his heart.

Writing I Guess

So this blog does actually need posts. But I’ve also been in kind of a drought in terms of ideas and all. So what am I to do? Well, a late night haiku of course.

Go the fuck to sleep 

Why are you up still reading 

 Random wordpress blogs

I mean, come on, it’s three in the morning here. I’m not sure where you are, but wherever it is, I’m sure it’s plenty late. I promise I have nothing interesting to say here right now and this is mostly to make me feel less guilty about neglecting this blog. Go to bed, kid.

TRUMP, does that help.

Two Things I Thought About Today

I have no idea whether this will be a regular thing or not, but the two things I thought about today that would make good blog posts are probably not extensive enough to be a full post for each, so why not get them both in one go and have a full post? This is what is known as efficiency. Or laziness,  whichever you prefer. Writers are like that.

1) The Oscars

So surely by now you’ve heard about the great fumble at the Oscars, how they announced La La Land had won Best Picture, then quickly came out and said that there was a mistake and Moonlight had actually won. Considering I have watched neither of these films–I don’t watch that many movies in general–perhaps I can give an objective perspective on this. Maybe.

I’ll be honest, at first I thought Jimmy Kimmel was being his usual unfunny self and pranking us all like it’s a fucking Youtube ‘social experiment’. I really hate Jimmy Kimmel, you must understand. This is a blog, I get to be a little soapboxy. Also, I wasn’t paying enough attention and didn’t notice that Kimmel wasn’t even announcing the winner at the time. Go me.

But no, there had been an honest, genuine mistake. They had the wrong piece of paper, specifically the one for Best Actress, for Emma Stone’s performance in La La Land. Okay, fair enough. Mistakes happen, papers get mixed around, someone isn’t careful enough when they put things in envelopes. It just doesn’t usually happen on national television. Protip, if you are ever on national television, under no circumstances whatsoever should you make even the tiniest mistkae. You will go viral, people will make fun of you and you will not ever live it down. I’ve seen it happen before, and I have no doubt in my mind that I will see it happen again. Probably won’t even be that long.

I learned one thing from this experience, and that’s this: the public does not decide who wins the Oscars. I genuinely did not know this until I looked it up and found out the La La Land had actually blown every other film in the running out of the water with a whopping 38% of the votes. Moonlight got 11%. Here’s a good article on who actually decides who wins the Oscars (will open in a new tab, as will any other links I put on this blog). Apparently, I thought it was like the Kid’s Choice Awards on Nickelodeon or something.


Oh, those aren’t fair, either. Never mind, then.

2) Reading Rainbow and Memory

So. How do you remember the Reading Rainbow theme song? You know, from the PBS show? If you’re anything like all the people I’ve asked so far, you either somehow haven’t watched it, or you remember it like this or like this.

So how the fuck do I very clearly remember it like this?

That’s right, I specifically remember it going, AND I SAY HEEEEEY HEY HEY HEYAYAYA, HEEEEEY HEY HEY, I SAID HEY, WHAT’S GOING ON?

This isn’t like the whole Bernstein Bears or however the fuck you spell it, where a lot of people remember it a different way. No, I am alone in this very clear memory of standing in front of the television as a kid and hearing that song.

I see three possibilities:

  1. Memes have ruined my memory. I would not be surprised one bit, but it would be discouraging to say the least.
  2. I remember it the same because the two songs have very similar notes and vocals. I find this the most likely explanation, honestly. It’s happened to me before. I’m a forgetful person that way.
  3. I’ve been dropped into an alternate universe wholly different from my home one. I’ve suspected this too, considering the Oscars fumble, Donald Trump and Moby Dick being about gay sex. When do I get to go back to my homeworld?

Okay, that’s all for now, I think. Excuse me while I go find the time crystals that will send me back to my homeworld.

How Do You Know?

Have you ever wondered how we can possibly know we’re on the right track? That what we believe is correct? That we’re on the right side and history will look back on us and think, “those were some pretty sweet dudes”?

I’ve thought about this before. I think about it a lot, honestly. As a solid liberal , I’d say I’m about 90% sure that I’m right and that the Republicans are wrong. But how do I know? You might say any number of things in response:

  • You know you’re right because they’re wrong. How does that not strike you as incredibly childish? You might as well cover your ears and go “LALALALALA” too.
  • You know you’re right because they’re jerks. People who are right can also be jerks. Hell, I can name several liberals who are just as big jerks as the conservatives. It’s what my mom call the Asshole Rule–in any sufficiently large group, there’s going to be a few assholes. It’s just human nature. Some groups have a higher rate of assholes than others, but they all have at least a couple.
  • You know you’re right because of [XYZ evidence]. Okay, that’s a pretty strong argument. You’re on the right track. I won’t go with the worn-out argument of ‘evidence can be faked’–the favorite of every conspiracy theorist ever. Instead, I’ll present you with this: Some things you think are right, you can’t provide solid evidence for. I garuntee you. If you’ve never seen an atom up close, only pictures and models, you have no evidence atoms actually exist, now do you?

So how do I know I’m right? I don’t. And I’m okay with that. Sure, it’s worth putting some thought into what you believe and deciding whether it’s really what you’re heart leads you to. But once you’ve decided, unless there’s a clear reason to change your beliefs, beyond the idea that you might be wrong, worrying about it is just going to drag you down.

So yeah, I’m okay with not knowing I’m right. Much better to try and be the best person I can be and shape my beliefs around that instead of some arbitrary concept of ‘rightness’.

Blogs and I–A History

Have you ever noticed that writers these days always have to have a blog? I suppose this makes sense–if you shout your opinions into a journal no one can see, that isn’t marketable. No one wants to buy your writing if they can’t vet you, just like no one would want to commission a painting from you if all you had to show for your art skills was some shitty crayon drawing your mom keeps on the fridge. So, it follows that if I consider myself a writer (which I do) and want to publish someday (which I do, even if I don’t necessarily want it to be my only  source of income), then I must have a blog.

There’s a couple reasons I’m only mildly enthusiastic about this, of course.

  1. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed by now, but I often have no clue what I’m talking about or what I’m doing. I’m going to be bouncing between video games and anime and politics and philosophy and history and science and religion and just about anything else that happens to momentarily catch my ever watchful, ever twitchy Eye of Intense Obsessive Interest.
  2. Blogs and I have an interesting history.

What is the interesting history that the second point so speaks of, you may ask? Let me take you on a journey back in time, to when I was young and silly…behold, a timeline.

  • 2007, age nine. My mom decides that in order for me to be a Successful Writing Prodigy by the time I grow up, I’m going to need a Tumblr. So I get a Tumblr blog and start writing blog posts about ‘things I learned’, adding snappy comments that I thought were witty as hell when I was nine. Prime example of what I thought was funny when I was nine: I had learned that the largest star in the universe had been discovered. My witty comment? “Wait until it becomes a black hole.” That’s right, I thought casually mentioning the (probably scientifically impossible) future destruction of all the universe via supermassive black hole was witty when I was a kid. I was a pretty odd child.
  • 2012, age fourteen. I get myself a WordPress blog. I write nothing but shitty game reviews, a shitty Let’s Play and a shitty fanfiction on it until two years later, when I write a post about Ebola that no one gives a shit about. Remember that, Ebola? That was a thing.
  • 2015, age seventeen. Ha, this one is far too recent for my comfort. I get another Tumblr, clearly not learning from the first time. What follows is what I call the Shitty Thing, in which I get sucked into the weirdest sides of the Tumblr world and nearly ruin my life following these people. I will never speak highly of Tumblr here, and that’s why.

So yes, that’s three failed blogs in my past. Hopefully this one will be better, even though, again, I usually have no fucking clue what I’m talking about. Maybe you’ll find my writings here entertaining.