Reality, or what's left of it

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Editorial and Opinion  |  House: Booksie Classic
I wrote this for a free write final in an english class about a year ago. The teacher hated it. I aced the class, as a side note.

Submitted: March 26, 2008

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Submitted: March 26, 2008

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The prompt says three things: Write about a personal hero; write about deep philosophy; write about dogs. Three rather paltry options. Fuck it, let’s start with all three.

Perhaps the philosophy behind idolizing a dog? I’m sure lots of people hold Marmaduke and Air Bud as heroes. Is this useful? Or is it a kind of canine retooling of Equus? I’m not entirely sure what it says that a huge number of children’s cartoons present dogs as the heroes, infinitely superior to the people shown. A striking similarity to adult sitcoms, always portraying men as bumbling, lovably stupid fools. Culturally speaking, is this acceptable?

Does it even matter?

Maybe. TV has a way of influencing how people look at the world. Most people, nowadays, if they have someone to look to as a hero, find them on TV. A character, script forcing its way into life through the puppet-flesh of an actor. The masses take these false Gods and place faith in them. I know a girl who claims her hero is, no joke, Paris Hilton.
Little children have Spiderman and Superman as heroes. All children take their heroes from fantasy, but we’re meant to outgrow it.

My childhood hero? Joseph Stalin.

Mass murderer, yes. Complete asshole, pretty much. Malicious dictator? You got it. But was he a political and charismatic genius?

Is the Pope catholic?

Joseph Stalin, Adolf Hitler, Pol Pot, Julius Caesar, Chairman Mao, the list is endless. You have to admire someone who can brainwash and corrupt an entire nation in less time than it takes to sneeze. These were evil, evil men (for the most part). They were also brilliant, savvy, opportunistic leaders. If someone like Bill Clinton or George Bush tried something like what these men achieved, they would be laughed out of office.

Just so no hypocritical, PC asshat tries to sue me for insensitivity, here’s the bit where I state that I have no sympathy for any sadistic, fascist tyrant stupid enough to get himself deposed and/or executed for crimes against humanity.

Stalin, by the way, was never called to answer for anything he did, and died in his sleep, still at the helm of Soviet Russia.

Which, since I seem to be on a roll, might as well bring me to another point in this ceaseless textual tirade. Overpopulation.

Seven billion people live on this very small planet, and most of them are completely miserable. Their lives are shit, and we hear about them only when charity drives come knocking. Mormons, or Greenpeace, or whoever. America could fixed easily enough. Mandatory armament, staring at age six. That would bring the population down in a hurry, and probably provide material for some kind of crazy reality TV show that everyone could talk about when I’m trying to ignore them.

Because let’s face it, we’re sort of fighting for no real reason to save the planet. Once the entire world is so crowded that New Jersey has the same population as Beijing, it’ll all be over. Kaput. The oil will stop flowing, the water will dry up, and the skies will thicken and become smoke. Humanity will burn in it’s own little Hell, and the Catholics will start throwing parties. The human race has become morbidly obese, and it’s only a matter of time until inescapable truth rears its ugly head in the form of cardiac arrest.

I’ve still got another half hour, so let’s touch on fat people while I’m here.

Actually let’s not, it’s too easy. Too much like beating up a toddler with his own arms.

Too many nights spent sleeping in soft beds. Americans are weak. A culling of the herd is in order, to protect the end of the gene pool that TV and Krispy Kreme haven’t crapped in yet.

My mother thinks she raised me better than this. My father probably thinks he raised me better than this. But the saying is true, you either end up jut like you’re parents, or their polar opposite. My parents are each other’s polar opposites, so where does that leave me? Different enough from both of them to have written this paper, my treatise on a subject I hate bitterly: reality. A place from which no hope can come, no joy can derive, and no laughter can be heard.

Life is shit, even if you’re happy. If you’re happy, you’re oblivious, and more power to you. But when you were co-raised by people who see the world in two completely different ways, you learn quickly to see things for what they are, with no pretense. The glass is neither half full nor half empty, it just is. That’s as deep as my philosophy goes. Life doesn’t have a grander plan, no storybook plot, and no happy ending.

Deal with it.



On that note, I still have another twenty-two fucking minutes, so I’ll write about a topic near to my heart: swearing.

Of all the words in the English (well, I think it’s actually American by now) language, only a handful seem to have the tremendous power to disgust and anger. The words that old ladies turn away from, and which I wear as comfortably as a favorite T-shirt. People every day ask me ‘not to swear in front of them,’ but to this day no one can give me a valid reason why. The best I get is ‘because it’s inappropriate.’ But no one seems to know why. A word only has the power that people give it. When I use the word ‘shit’, it lies inert on this paper, until someone who takes offense reads it, at which point it becomes a massive, glaring pustule of ink and obscenity. Why? One day, I hope to know.

One excuse for such squeamish and childish behavior is that ‘it evokes the image of what it means.’ So. Fuck. These people find sex disgusting? Most of the people who dislike this word have spouses and children. Hmm.

Ass. Everybody’s got one. Also, who doesn’t love donkeys?

Whore. A legal profession in Nevada, also back to the weird aversion to the sex act. What’s up with that?

Bastard. One whose parents were unmarried at the time of their birth. I happen to be such a thing, and in this time of skyrocketing divorce rates, I’m really not alone.

Have I made my point yet? I Didn't think so. I’ll probably be reprimanded for my use of so much profanity, but then, anyone who has seen my record probably knows that I really don’t care. Go ahead, give me ASA. It won’t be the first time, and I will still stand vindicated in my belief that people are stupid, gullible sheep for finding the words I’ve written in this essay ‘offensive.’ Words are words, and I refuse to be silenced for the minor relief of some antique in a school board office with a stick up their ass the size of a fucking alp (yes, the mountains).

I was told to write what I love, and what I love is to write. I know that anyone who reads this paper the way it was meant to be read already sees the way I do (more or less), and anyone else will simply think of me as a misguided youth, too young to "really understand." I accept that I'm preaching to the choir, the choir at least has a few gray cells between its members.


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