No one ever said, “I really enjoy having the government telling me what to do, and I don’t think I should be free.”
Or, if they do, it’s such an extremely rare occurrence that it’s not really important to the discussion.
When people challenge the ideas of liberty and freedom, it’s never the speaker who has the problem; it’s never the speaker who can’t be trusted with liberty–it’s all those other people. It’s everyone else. I’ve talked with countless people who want freedom for themselves yet immediately recoil at the idea of freedom for others, handing out responses that range in ridiculous from “What about murderers?” to “What about those who would dump poo in your water?”
It’s telling that we’ve become so conquered by fear that we’d meet the idea of freedom with intransigence and build from the assumption that not only could someone dump poo in your water, but that it’s inevitable that someone will do so. The existence of murderers, rapists, and thieves is hardly a matter of concern to the libertarian or anarchist, because such people exist today, and all available evidence (as well as logic) suggests that the state and its laws do nothing to prevent such behavior, and instead simply exist as frameworks for punishing the behavior. Since the state has not managed to eliminate crime, it isn’t necessary for anarchists and libertarians to propose an alternate social structure that would eliminate crime before anyone can take it seriously.
It would be like if I proposed a new version of American football that has slightly different rules than the current set, and people rejected my idea on the grounds that I didn’t propose any way of preventing head injuries and brain damage caused by years of physical trauma. Even if my modified rules would reduce the number of fractures and other injuries, people would gleefully reject the proposed changes because, “What are you going to do about head injuries and brain damage?” in full disregard of the fact that their rules similarly fail to do anything to prevent head injuries and brain damage.
It’s simple mathematics to realize that something that affects two sides of an equation can be reduced. If we have an equation that reads “2x + 4y = 2x + 9,” we can immediately see that “2x” doesn’t factor into things at all–we are, instead, dealing with “4y = 9”. Crimes such as murder are never going to be eliminated from society, and we have a hundred thousand years of human history and societies that range from despotic tribes to fascist police states to serve as evidence, and not only have all of these societies failed to eliminate murder, but there is a noticeable correlation between the murder rate and the power of the state–the more powerful a state is, the higher its murder rate. It wasn’t a fluke that caused Hitler, Mao, Stalin, Lincoln, and Mussolini to murder millions of people; this is actually a feature of the state. It also remains true that no Charles Manson or Ted Bundy ever came close to approaching the murder rate of various states.
This is because society deals with murderers, rapists, and thieves before they can organize to the point that they can commit crimes against thousands and hundreds of thousands of people–unless those murderers, rapists, and thieves call themselves a government. Take, for example, the American Government, which murdered more than 1,000 Americans last year, as well as the year before (and are thus far on the path to surpassing last year’s record). Even the most barbaric and bloodthirsty mobster would look at those numbers and be impressed, because this works out to nearly three murders per day for the individual, if the person wanted to be more bloodthirsty than the government, and anyone who murdered three people each day would leave a trail of bodies and evidence that would take us directly to them for punishment. Without even including the 100,000 Iraqi civilians murdered by the American government since 2003, and the similar number of murdered civilians in Afghanistan, it’s readily apparent that if we want to reduce murder, there isn’t a better way of doing so than abolishing the government.
But these excuses for allowing the continued existence of the state persist.
The reality, however, is that the overwhelming majority of people aren’t murderers, rapists, and thieves. I cross paths with tens of thousands of people every single day, and none of them are murderers, rapists, and thieves. This notion that “It’s okay if I have freedom, but I can’t trust anyone else with it, because they might be a murderer!” is blatant fearmongering, and every bit as bad as suggesting that we should reject all refugees because one among two hundred thousand might be a terrorist, or that we should regulate immigration because one in millions may carry a deadly disease. In fact, the arguments are exactly the same:
“We need to have laws against open borders because some immigrants may be drug dealers, murderers, and rapists!”
“We need to have government, because some people may be drug dealers, murderers, and rapists!”
“We need to ban refugees from entering the country because some people out there are bad people and are terrorists!”
“We need to have government, because some people out there are bad people.”
It’s amazing how easily we recognize blatant fearmongering when we’re not the ones peddling it, and how blind we are to our fearmongering when we are.
Liberty is trust and faith in your fellow human beings, and an end to fearmongering. It’s time we stopped living in fear of everything and everyone.
I don’t really know what this is. A short story I just started writing. I’m not really sure where it’s going to go. Sometimes I just sit down and start writing; this will be the first time I’ve simply posted one of these “random things.” This one stands a really good chance of getting finished, though.
Support your local businesses.
Everyone said that. And it made total sense, really. In fact, nothing made more sense as I put yet another can of Supergrocery brand Processed Corn Goop on the shelf, marked down to eighty-four cents a can–a savings of 1.2 cents an ounce, according to the obnoxiously red piece of cardboard paper I’d slid over the yellow one. Of course, it was all bullshit. There was no real savings going on here, since whatever poor sap bought this crap was basically paying eighty-four cents to shit out this hyperprocessed, homogenized goop that the FDA allowed to be called “food.” There was about as much food in it as there was human excrement. And even so, the price had been just eighty-two cents a can just two weeks ago, before management upped the price temporarily so that they could reduce it a bit and sell it back to the fat fucking idiots at a “discount.”
Most people wouldn’t buy the goop anyway, because they’d insist on buying Namebrand Goop, declaring to anyone who would listen that there really was a difference. And yeah, in some cases that’s true, but when Supergrocery Brand is a subsidiary of Neutral Brand that is a subsidiary of Namebrand and it’s all just Goop made in the same factory–yes, factory. This stuff isn’t produced on a farm or anywhere else you’d expect food to come from. But that’s the rule of American society, that rule that only heretics break: Namebrand is better than Supergrocery brand.
I wasn’t surprised when I watched the clan of fat white trailer trash come down the aisle, inexorably toward me like a ball rolling down a hill that no one could stop. Like an old cartoon of a cat chasing a mouse, the woman–if you can call her that, because she was more like a giant toad that some circusmaster had tricked into standing up and putting on a pair of sweat-stained sweatpants–had seen a sale on pudding further down the aisle. She wouldn’t have been trailer trash without towing three kids behind her–and I felt bad for them, but there was nothing to be done.
She glared so hatefully at me as she pushed her basket–a basket that might as well have been called a Repository For Corn Syrup–past me and my ladder, as though I was in her way, or as though I was the enemy in my stupid red vest and nametag. Like I had betrayed her by not calling her and telling her the pudding was on sale. And I realized–that’s probably how she felt. That was her pudding.
Her kids meekly passed by, and one of them even said “Excuse me.”
I pretended to move cans of Processed Corn Goop around while I watched the woman from the corner of my eye, and it was actually kind of cute, once she reached the pudding, how she acted like she hadn’t been running to get there before anyone else could. Well, no, she wasn’t running, not really. She was too fat to run. She’d have keeled over and died right there in the aisle if she’d tried.
It’s why all employees are trained to perform CPR.
For when fat asses get over-excited about the 3% discount on Processed Corn Pudding Goop.
It wasn’t even hard to figure out how this had happened. Of course, no one is talking about in the open, and no one is going to. It’s that elephant in the room, that open secret that everyone knows but is too afraid to say, and that’s why there will never be a direct study on it. In fact, the only graph you can find about it simply shows the increase in how much corn has been grown in the country over the past century. The increase is alarming, but it doesn’t suggest, by itself, that the corn is more present in foods.
Everything contains high fructose corn syrup. It’s so common that we’ve now started stamping the outliers with things like “Contains Real Sugar!” This, of course, leaves people like me asking “As opposed to what? Fake sugar?”
As opposed to fake sugar.
Aka, corn syrup.
And it’s everywhere. Fast food places load their foods with corn syrup, even things like hamburgers, in order to make them more addictive. That chocolate syrup, that can of Ravioli Pasta in Tomato Sauce Goop–it’s all corn syrup, with corn probably listed somewhere in the first five ingredients.
And what do you know. Diabetes has increased proportionally. Imagine that.
Who would ever have guessed.
Of course, I don’t really blame the sack of puss and corn syrup at the end of the aisle, hungrily licking her lips as she estimates how many little containers of Processed Corn Pudding Goop she can suck down in twelve seconds, because she wasn’t really the one who put the Mom & Pop stores out of business–that happened when she was a teenager, and it was her parents who did it, because they couldn’t resist the temptation of paying eight-four cents for a can of Processed Corn Goop instead of a dollar and seven cents for an ear of actual fucking corn. And then they’d have to shuck it themselves, boil it, cook it, and ugh.
So much trouble.
So much easier to just save money and buy Processed Corn Goop.
I closed my eyes and silently groaned. That nasally, whiny voice could only have been my supervisor, standing on the ground behind me in his red vest lined with a white stripe, with a stupid fucking black star by his name and the words “Assistant Supervisor” under his name. I didn’t have to look at his balding head and gigantic nose, or that stupid Hitler mustache that he was so fond of–really, if you watch him sometime, you’ll see him reaching up and caressing it every few minutes.
Steve is the kind of guy who probably spends a few minutes in front of the mirror every morning reminding himself that he’s the champion of the world. He probably does that despite the fact that his wife left his impotent ass for a guy who was half his age when her uncle died and left her enough money that she could live out the rest of her days without being married to a cretin that weighed seventeen pounds and spent his college years on the Quiz Bowl team instead of getting laid. What happened, Steve? Did getting that last question in the finals wrong fuck your life up that bad? Was your entire future really riding on that one question? Because now you’re a sad, pathetic, forty-nine year old man with a combover and Hitler ‘stache, wearing a gay ass red vest with a black star on your nametag, haunted by the word Assistant Supervisor because you just can’t kiss up to Anthony’s ass hard enough or fast enough to outrank the new blonde with a huge rack.
And I’m just curious when things went wrong.
“Eric,” Steve said, this time more firmly.
“What, Steve?” I asked, but I still didn’t bother to look at him. I was too fascinated by the scene unfolding with the pile of diabetes at the end of the aisle and her daughter saying that she didn’t like butterscotch and that she wanted vanilla. What a dilemma, especially since the Repository For Corn Syrup was being paid for with food stamps that were, according to the law, intended to buy food for the children. But was it really for the children if she got the flavors that she liked, and not the flavors the kids liked?
How about an apple?
“I asked you yesterday to take the boxes from Storage Room A–the ones stacked near the door–and move them to Storage Room C so that we can bring a new shipment of–”
I asked you yesterday.
That’s why Steve had to remind himself that he was a champion every morning.
Because he wasn’t a champion.
Champions don’t ask their employees to do things, Steve. It’s not just the blonde’s huge rack that Anthony likes looking at that caused you to become her assistant, and not the other way around. It’s because people listen to Jillian. I mean, yeah, people listen to Jillian because she’s a hot blonde with huge tits, but that’s not the point. One way or another, people do the things that she asks them to do, so it doesn’t matter that she’s asking rather than telling. But you, Steve, with your combover and Hitler mustache–you have to command. And you don’t. You’re a pitiful sheep in a world ruled by lions, and the only reason you’re an assistant supervisor is that they’ve taken pity on you.
Praise your masters, Steve.
Then lick their boots.
Watching Steve suck up to Jillian is some of the best entertainment we get. We take bets on how long Steve has left before he’s fired, but it’s just a matter of time before he’s walking out the door for the final time, banned from the premises as long as Jillian works here, because Steve isn’t the kind of guy that can look at a girl’s bouncing tits without it being creepy. Some people can do that. Some guys can openly check out the goods–the real goods, not the Processed Corn Goop–and grin at the girl without her being offended–it’s just human nature, and some guys can pull it off.
Steve would be wise to grow a goatee to go with his Hitler stache. That way, something will catch his drool, and he won’t have to worry about it sliding down his chin and into the floor as he stares hungrily–almost exactly like Mrs. Diabetes down there looking over the Processed Corn Pudding Goop–at Jillian’s breasts.
“Clean up on Aisle 7. Steve was staring at Jillian’s tits again.”
“…then I’m afraid I’m going to have to file a formal reprimand,” Steve finished.
The formal reprimand.
Paperwork acknowledging that Steve came and interrupted me while I was trying to do my goddamned job, put his hands on his hips, narrowed his eyes, and told me he was disappointed in me.
Take it back, Steve!
“What?” I asked.
Steve scoffed, but it wasn’t a true scoff. It was the Wannabe Supervisor’s Scoff. It was that thing people do when they’re frustrated because their entire life is a joke and they themselves are a joke, and everything about their life sucks, and everyone knows it, but no one calls them out on it because we’re a society of civilized people. After all, we don’t even eat that uncouth, uncivilized corn. No, we eat Processed Corn Goop, by God! And so we serve up synthetic respect with about as much authentic admiration in it as there is real food in the Processed Corn Goop. Fake food, fake respect. Hell, fake faces, fake tits, fake tans, fake clothes, fake money.
“I said that if those boxes are still there when the shipment arrives, then I’ll have to file a formal reprimand!”
So there was no need for me to move the boxes before now, right? So why did I have to do it yesterday? And with all the effort you’ve spent bitching about the boxes, wouldn’t it have been faster for you to move the damned things?
“How about you move the boxes, Steve?” I asked.
Most people wouldn’t dare mouth off to a supervisor an assistant supervisor like that, but this was Steve. Mr. Combover. Mr. Hitler Mustache. Mr. Some Guy Half My Age is Fucking My Ex-Wife. This was Assistant Supervisor I’m a Champion Steve.
“I–ech–” Steve stuttered out, his typical response. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, making weird noises as he tried to process the reality that he wasn’t even worthy of Fake Respect from the people who stocked Fake Food in a Fake Society. “I asked you to do it.”
“I’m busy, Steve.”
Your entire life is a lie, Steve.
“What time is the shipment coming?” I asked. I’m not a bad person. I do feel bad for Steve. It’s not really his fault that he’s Mr. Combover.
After giving me the info, I assured Steve that I’d move the boxes by then. So Steve turned and started to walk away, but decided to mouth off a bit himself. “You’d better, otherwise I’ll have to do a formal reprimand,” he threatened again, as though that had any sway at all. That’s what’s funny about people like Fake Steve and our Fake Respect. If we don’t show that Fake Respect, and if we don’t show Fake Fear for the Fake Reprimand, then the entire system crumbles–if we don’t Fake Kneel to the Fake Threat and the Fake Consequences, then Fake Steve can’t do anything. His threat was every bit as fake as the Processed Corn Pudding Goop.
What do you do when you wake up on a mattress at eleven in the morning, to banging on your apartment front door, to the landlord outside wanting to find out why there were men coming and going from your place at all hours of the night? When you groggily look at her naked body beneath the sheet and wonder briefly why the two of you have never bothered to actually put the sheet on the bed, why you lay down on the bare mattress?
Because why bother to?
It’s that moment, with the landlord knocking at the door–and you know it’s the landlord, because it wouldn’t be anyone else–scratching the back of your neck and catching a glimpse of your naked body in the nicotine-coated mirror above the desk–when you see out of the window everyone going about their lives, running continually in circles, hamsters on a wheel.
Birth. School. Marriage. Kids. Death.
Chasing fake things in a fake society, sustaining ourselves on fake food purchased with fake money, giving fake respect to fake supervisors because of fake fear about a fake reprimand. Too many of these fake reprimands and we’ll lose our fake job putting fake food on a shelf, lose our ability to earn fake money to buy that fake food and pay our fake rent and fake taxes to a fake government that oversees a fake society and implements a fake morality to govern our fake lives.
Hamsters on a wheel. Birth, school, marriage, kids, death.
Some people say that I have an attitude problem. I say that I understand why it looks that way to them, but what I really have is a reality problem. I’ve seen through the bullshit. All these fake human constructs that we bow to, not out of wisdom or insight or progress, but simply out of habit and tradition. We were birthed on the hamster wheel and we’ll run our lives on the hamster wheel because we’ve been on it since birth, and it never even occurred to us that the hamster wheel was bullshit.
Real text messages from fake friends, that blurry line between what is actually real and what is total fiction. Fake friends born not out of love and compassion but out of circumstance–they were tolerable people that happened to be around me, and vice versa. “Your place this weekend?” the fake friend asked, wanting to watch “the game” somewhere and being too cheap to go and pay fake money at a bar for the beer that he uses to forget how much it sucks to waste his real life running on a fake hamster wheel, and too cheap to pay a fake bill for cable television–that wretched box of fake fictions that people escape into from their fake lives in a real universe.
An average child watches 1,480 minutes of television a week. That’s a figure that would horrify a real person. 24.6 hours of television every week–about 3.5 hours a day. Just sitting on their fat asses eating fake food and watching fake realities unfold. In that same year, the child will watch more than 16,000 thirty second commercials advertising fake shit for their fake parents to buy with fake money.
Why are their parents fake? Because the average person spends 5 hours and eleven minutes a day watching television.
Nothing has been more destructive to our species than television.
So now 67% of American families sit around–a stepdad or stepmom, since the divorce rate is so high, and a real parent, 2.5 kids–not at a dinner table, but on a sofa, staring at the fake realities glowing at them and eating fake food that their fake parents bought with fake money working at a fake job. I’ve never felt so patriotic–just behold the American dream.
Lana is even crazier than I am, though, and it’s thanks to her that I see all this fake bullshit for what it is.
She’s stunningly gorgeous, and sexy beyond what you can imagine since you’ve never seen anyone like her. And that was the problem. She’s part of those statistics, too, and Fake Dad had a hard time keeping his hands to himself. When she told Fake Mom, Fake Mom didn’t believe her, and even when she showed Fake Mom the bruises, she simply got grounded and was accused of seducing Fake Dad. So she ran away.
I would point out that even as a fifteen year old, Lana was sexy and gorgeous, but that would violate society’s fake morals–the same ideas that led to fake laws that would have prosecuted Fake Dad if Fake Mom had been able to tell the difference between real and fake. But a fifteen year old beautiful and sexy girl running away didn’t have an easy time of it, and she was a hooker on the streets within six months, addicted to heroin and HIV Positive. Turns out there’s no shortage of Fake Dads out there looking to fuck a fifteen year old girl away from the watchful eyes of the fake laws of a fake society.
When I met her, she was twenty years old, a year younger than myself, and propositioned me as I walked back from a night of drinking beer with fake friends and watching a fake sporting event. She was too damned sexy and too damned beautiful, so I accepted–then I visited her again the next night, and the next, and the next. Her pimp started getting irritated–apparently that industry doesn’t care much for “repeat customers”–and beat the hell out of her.
So I put a real gun to his head, pulled the real trigger, and ended his fake life.
The cops made a token effort to look into it, but a pimp and drug dealer shot and killed in a city filled with drugs and prostitutes? Hell, I did them a favor. That’s one less drug dealer and pimp on the streets. They just weren’t allowed to say it. Just like I’m not allowed to tell Steve that his life is a lie and he should kill himself. So they pretended to look into it, but even as Lana–known to be one of his girls–moved into my apartment, they didn’t even bother to come and question me. Fake rules governing a fake society. Don’t show them fake respect, and the whole thing comes apart.
The really difficult part came in later, when Lana made it clear that she intended to become a… “freelancer,” and that she had no intention of finding another line of work. She had real feelings for me, and we had a real relationship–her points about it all was that it shouldn’t matter if she had fake sex with other people. I really wasn’t ready then to accept that, but I cared too much about her to let her go, so I fake accepted it.
And at some point I just stopped caring about that. What did it matter? What did any of it matter?
“Why do you care if other guys pay to fuck me?”
That’s the question that will turn your entire world upside down if you try to come up with a real answer to it. It’s impossible to answer in the first place without laying some kind of claim on the girl, without suggesting that her pussy is yours, and that’s never a good thing to say in a relationship. Because no–her pussy is hers. And trying to go beyond that to come up with any answer at all when tear away delusions from your worldview one by one, until you’re a frightened little child crying in the corner, trying to figure out what, exactly, is real.
I ignored the banging on the door, because I knew it wouldn’t last long. Captain Stick in the Ass would get bored and waddle his fat ass back down the stairs. There wouldn’t have been a problem anyway, if it hadn’t been for the people who lived below. They were an elderly couple–well, sixty or so.
The man was a sack of fat ass–Yes, everyone is fat. I don’t know very many people who aren’t fat, in fact. Anyway, he was actually extremely fat, diabetic (which I knew because it was a topic that came up within the first fifteen seconds of talking to him), and had no idea how to speak at a proper volume. Whether you were a hundred yards away or right in his face, he was the loudest motherfucker I’ve ever met. I’ve actually met his son, and his son was a pretty cool guy who offered up the excuse that his dad had changed drastically “after he ran himself over.”
I’m sorry–come again?
Ran himself over.
He was working on his truck one day and had it jacked up, but was on a hill apparently and had done nothing to keep it from rolling. When paramedics arrived on the scene, he had been dead for 7 minutes. They managed to resuscitate him, and he recovered pretty well, but the working theory is that 7 minutes without any air going to his brain left him obnoxious as fuck. He didn’t become stupid or helpless or anything–just tremendously annoying.
His wife wasn’t any better, and she was probably fatter than he was, although shorter and with a better mustache. Neither of them worked, because they were both on disability. He was on disability because he’d been run over and never really recovered physically–which I would believe, but I don’t think he tried to recover. Like, he’s exactly the kind of diabetic people think of when they think of Adult Onset Diabetes. For years, he ate breakfast at a popular fast food place every single day, ballooning the entire time, and was finally diagnosed with diabetes. Did he stop the breakfast?
No. He simply started injecting insulin or whatever people like him do, and he continued to plop his fat fucking ass down and eat greasy fast food breakfast every single day. A year later, he had a heart attack, and the doctor finally convinced him to stop eating fast food. It didn’t really change anything, because he just had his wife start cooking the same sausage and bacon instead of ordering it, but… Baby steps, I guess.
The man was fully convinced that it was the doctors’ responsibility to simply cure him, and that he shouldn’t have to change his diet or start exercising. “That’s what I’m paying them for,” he would say. “To cure me. Why am I paying them to cure me, if what I have to do is cure myself?” He rejected it completely–the doctors were supposed to cure him and accommodate his lifestyle, diet, and laziness. Of course, he wasn’t paying the doctors anyway. The government was.
His wife and her mustache had spent about two years fighting with the government so that she could retire early on disability or something like that, and they were finally successful, which resulted in her receiving a check for something like sixteen thousand dollars for doing nothing except being lazy, fat, and ignorant, and randomly deciding one day that she just didn’t want to work anymore. Presumably, someone somewhere in the government shrugged and wrote her a fat fucking check to go into her fat fucking pocket so that she could support her husband’s addiction to fast food Processed Corn Sausage Goop.
I’m ending this here for the time being, because I have something to do, but yeah… There’s no way I’m letting this one go neglected. I’m enjoying it way too much.
I’ve spent the better part of the past two weeks arguing on behalf of conservatives in the United States, because it’s evident that conservatives are the victims of open and blatant discrimination, to the extent that many people on the left openly admit to marginalizing conservatives and self-righteously claim that this marginalization is a good thing. Seeing this, it’s difficult not to argue on behalf of those who are being systematically oppressed.
The reality is that no U.S. state should ever have needed to pass a law guaranteeing its people the right to religious freedom, but they did have to–and I’ve argued in favor of that law. I argued in favor of that law because a compromise is possible. We can reach an agreement. It won’t make everyone happy, but it will be one that everyone can tolerate. The first step in reaching that compromise is allowing conservatives the right to do as they think is best, to isolate themselves from this community and that community if they so desire, and to basically bubble themselves off from the rest of the world. If that is what they want to do, then that is their right, and I wholly support that.
It’s been my contention that we can persuade the left that there’s nothing about that position that violates anyone’s rights. Just yesterday I attempted to break down the idea of rights so as to make that case and demonstrate that, as long as there is no force, violence, or coercion there is no violation of rights. If we can get the liberals to accept that, and to accept that people have the right to be as racist, homophobic, and transphobic as they want, then we can reach an agreement where we leave them the hell alone and they leave us the hell alone.
Not only is that endeavor destined to fail because no one on the left is capable of pushing through their self-righteous bullshit belief that they are on the side of truth and justice and therefore have the right to force their beliefs onto others, but the reality is that the right isn’t willing to compromise, either. I’ve primarily targeted the left recently and the ways that it attacks and oppresses the right, because the left is currently the group with the power in the United States.
Make no mistake about it: the left has won the war. We’ll soon see legalization of marijuana across the country, gay marriage is already legalized across the country, and it’s just a matter of time before the Federal Government rules on the transgender bathroom issue and undoes the North Carolina and Mississippi laws. We are more than likely heading straight toward Civil War Part 2. LGBT issues are this generation’s slavery, and the right has made its position and unwillingness to compromise clear. Unfortunately, they are laughably outnumbered, and the idea that they can somehow come out of this and still have their worldview intact is delusional. The future is clear. Homosexuality and transgenderism will never again be illegal. Sexual and gender openness are the future, and I hold that’s a good thing, but the good/bad judgment on that is irrelevant; it’s simply the future, and nothing is going to change that. In the future, everyone will be bisexual and transgenderism will be so common and so irrelevant that we probably won’t stop to ask people what gender they are. These things will become non-issues. It is inevitable.
I’ve made the argument on behalf of conservatives (which I gladly admit was arrogant of me) that they truly do simply care about protecting their kids, and that they don’t take issue with actual transgender people. I was being facetious and giving them the huge benefit of the doubt, and I knew it at the time. So did everyone who heard the podcast. We all know it. Conservatives are simply using “omg we have to protect the children” as a front to mask their transphobia and intolerant behavior, in the same way that they use “Obama is a muslim!” to mask their racism. I know it, you know it, and they know it. But it would have been fine–it wouldn’t have mattered that I was being facetious and they were being underhanded–if they had been willing to compromise. If they were willing to actually meet the left in the middle and hold the position that I attributed to them–that they simply wanted to prevent pedophiles and sex offenders from gaining access to the restrooms, and that they simply wanted some kind of screening process in place to prevent that–then everything would have been okay.
But they weren’t, and they aren’t. They are not willing to compromise. They don’t give a flying, duck-squatting shit about Liberty. All we ever hear from conservatives is “small government this, small government that,” and I tried giving them the benefit of the doubt in the interest of healing our fractured nation. Because it is my estimation that we are brazenly marching directly toward Civil War Part 2, and it is my belief that this can only be avoided if we agree to Live and Let Live. Neither the left nor right is willing to do that, however, and North Carolina’s law requiring that people use the bathroom of the gender checked on their birth certificate is proof of that.
I’ve already made the argument that these are private restrooms. And they are. With very few exceptions (schools, courthouses, etc.) these are private restrooms. It is up to Kroger, Target, Wal-Mart, McDonald’s, and all these other places to set the usage policies on their restrooms. If they want to allow people to use the restroom of their choice, then that is their right as the people who own the restrooms. However, North Carolina’s law proudly spits on this idea of limited government by granting the state the power to dictate the policy on privately owned restrooms in a way that corresponds with the morality of conservatives. This, again, reinforces the notion that conservatives only want small government when the policy is liberal; when the policy to be imposed is conservative, they don’t care how much regulation is necessary.
Conservatives need to realize that they lost this war. That restroom law simply won’t be allowed to stand, and neither will Mississippi’s. It doesn’t matter what my position is on these laws, and I’m not making a judgment call on whether it’s good or bad that these laws will be forcefully repealed by the Federal Government and other 49 states (thus violating the very basic principle of self-governance). It’s simply going to happen.
That guy isn’t alone in his idea that his way is the only right way, and thus it’s okay to force his way onto everyone else. In fact, that’s the mentality of 85% of the world’s population, if estimates are to be believed. It’s at least the position of about 90% of the U.S. population*. Conservatives, realistically, hold that same position–they consider homosexuality behavior to be abhorrent, and the only reason they’re not banning it today is because they know that they wouldn’t be able to get away with it. The Federal Government, which has decreed that outlawing homosexual behavior is itself abhorrent, would drop the hammer on them instantly.
Now, everything the state does is done with force, violence, and/or coercion. Everything. No exceptions. The state is force, violence, and coercion. It is the entity in our society that we have bestowed with the authority to use force, violence, and coercion in the manner we have prescribed in the U.S. Constitution. This is why I’m an anarchist and not a Libertarian, strictly speaking. So I’m obviously against outlawing homosexuality, because that is an act of force, violence, and coercion.
But if the conservatives could, they absolutely would ban homosexuality. They did in the past, and they would certainly do it again. They refuse to take the high road of compromise; they refuse to say, “You do what you want and let me do what I want.” The left isn’t willing to do that, either; the left’s behavior is simply more obvious in modern America, because the left has already won the war, leaving the right unable to ban the things they want.
Might equals right has become the mantra of our society. Whoever has the majority has the power. When the majority of people were Christian conservatives, homosexuality was illegal. Times changed. Now that the majority of people are liberals, being anti-homosexual is fast becoming illegal. We are not a society of liberty and rights. We are a society of might, authoritarianism, brutality, force, and violence. We are ruled by the majority, and those who dare speak out and say otherwise, no matter how sound their position is, are ridiculed and cast off as bigots. We have fallen prey to the flaw of democracy that was known thousands of years ago: If rights are not properly valued, then it becomes a tyranny of the majority over the minority.
I couldn’t begin to tell you how many times in the past month I’ve been called transphobic, homophobic, hateful, and bigoted. That’s the Go To response for the left any time anyone dares speak against the oppression of conservatives that we see across the country. If I’m speaking against the marginalization, then I must be hateful and bigoted–without knowing anything, they immediately apply the very same labels to me. This, more than anything, should highlight that they aren’t thinking anything through, that they are merely reacting with the bullshit they’ve been taught to react with, and that they aren’t arguing for anything except the use of force against people who disagree with them. They’ve called a transgender person transphobic, for crying out loud, because I dared speak up against the way the conservatives are being oppressed.
I did a podcast last night (but didn’t publish because of weird mic issues) explaining that I could not and would not continue arguing on behalf of conservatives as long as they continue to insult and disrespect me. Calling transgender people “mentally ill” and “delusional,” never guessing that they were fixing those labels to someone who was honestly fighting their rights–at pretty extreme impact to myself. Realistically, yes, if I jumped on the bandwagon, it would be all too easy… A friend of mine told me this morning that I should make a new Go Fund Me campaign with the title “I’m Transgender! Please Help Me Escape Mississippi!” because that campaign would immediately go viral and would hit its goal in just days. Not only are there esoteric costs such as that, but there are demonstrable costs–I’m a Mississippi resident. The businesses around here now have the unquestionably legal ability to not sell me food, gasoline, or anything else I might need. It is only my rapport with the workers and owners that would spare me that, and not everyone is so lucky–and the vast majority of these businesses don’t even know that I’m transgender. Will they continue to do business with me once they know? I don’t know. I live at very real risk–I’m putting myself at a very real risk by arguing for these people’s rights. In the process, I’m seriously pissing off the liberals who would otherwise have my back, and seriously antagonizing the rest of the LGBT community that just wants to walk all over conservatives’ rights. I stand to gain nothing by fighting for their rights, and stand to lose a great deal of (immorally gained, admittedly) benefits.
I have put myself in No Woman’s Land arguing for these fuckers’ rights. The left rejects me because I argue for the conservative’s rights to be bigots, and the conservatives reject me because they’re bigots. And I’m not going to do it any longer. They’ve shown no willingness to compromise. They’ve shown no sign that they are willing to live and let live. They’ve shown no sign that they are even capable of recognizing me as transgender. They had the easiest possible way with the transgender restroom issue–all they had to do was back down a little bit, and there would have been a compromise that everyone could have accepted. Instead, they revealed that they are merely using children as a front to hide their desire to impose their morals onto others, all the while saying things like “Now our children have to be at risk because we have to accept these people’s delusions?”
My position hasn’t changed. I still think conservatives should have the right to do as they think is best–as long as they don’t use force, violence, and coercion. But they’re clearly not willing to forego the use of force, violence, and coercion. North Carolina’s law makes that all too clear. The cries that we’re delusional make it as plain as day. I will fight for their right to do as they think is best, but not when “what they think is best” involves using force, violence, and coercion to push their morals onto me and onto others, and not when all they have to say to me are insults.
The United States is heading toward Civil War because no one is willing to compromise. The left isn’t going to compromise, and the right isn’t going to compromise. Both sides are gearing up to use force to impose their way of life, moral values, and beliefs onto others. We are destined to fight another civil war, and the signs and issues now are identical to what they were in the mid 19th century. The only difference is that today the issue is LGBT stuff. The south wasn’t fighting on the side of justice and liberty then, either, and that is why they lost. No one who fought a war in the name of justice and liberty ever lost. But the previous civil war wasn’t about justice and liberty; it wasn’t about states’ rights. States’ rights were just the front that they used to mask the fact that they wanted to keep slaves. Today, it’s protecting their children that is the mask to hide they’re unrespectable positions
And in due time there will be another civil war, and we’ll just become the nation that tears itself apart every 150 years. We have no choice. Conservatives are never going to die out, and liberals are never going to die out. Whatever willingness to compromise there is, the tendency to negotiate and reach an agreement that satisfies everyone, giving no one 100% but everyone something, steadily decreases over time. Compromise becomes taboo, untenable, and unacceptable. Oppression begins, marginalization begins, and resentment begins. It builds and builds, and eventually battle lines are drawn. We can see battle lines being drawn today.
You cannot win this war, conservatives. The best you can achieve is the right to carve out your own little existences. The best you can do is to earn the right to be left the hell alone. But you’re not content with that, are you? No, and you never have been. If you sought that, instead of seeking to push your way onto others, then the left might be willing to compromise with you. But as long as you’re unwilling to, they won’t be, either. And I’m not going to lament the destruction of your tyrannical mindsets. Embrace liberty, or watch your way of life be dismantled before your very eyes. I won’t be the one who does it, but I’m not going to continue arguing against it. You don’t deserve it.
This is the kind of person for whose rights I was arguing:
It should be noted that I replied to this one, saying: “I’m an atheistic transgender lesbian and resident of Mississippi. If you really think you can say anything to me that I haven’t heard before, then you’re crazier than you think I am.” This, of course, prompted him to go to my page and comment about a half-dozen unrelated Tweets, at which point I decided to simply ignore him. He almost immediately moved on and targeted someone else.
That is his reply to the auto-posted Tweet for my article “I Am Not An Adjective.” That’s right. While I wrote a lengthy article explaining that we are people, and not adjectives, his solution was to attach an adjective to the adjective that he thinks I am. I am not a person in his eyes; I am not a person who is gay and/or transgender. I’m a mentally ill gay. I’m a gay. I’m an adjective to him. What a narrow-minded fool.
He also added that I’m creepy, to which I replied “Says the guy with an honest to god dick pic on his profile. Mmkay.” I won’t share the image here, but I took a screenshot of it in case he wanted to continue things, and I took a screenshot of his self-written description. Behold:
Now, I’m not really going to make fun of the dude for naming himself after the slang for “hard dog dick.” I’m gonna be classier than that and point out that anyone who prefers paying for sex is full of shit. No one who ever got consensual sex for free thought “Man, I’d rather just pay for this.” Or, at least, no one who can get consensual sex for free thought that. And this is substantiated by his admittance that he loves porn. That’s okay–I love porn, too. But… “loving porn” isn’t really a key characteristic of who I am. When I think “Give 10 sentences that describe yourself,” then “loving porn” isn’t on that list, and neither is paying for sex. But here we have a conservative who loves porn and paying for sex named after slang for dog dick and who had an actual dick pic that he personally uploaded.
And I’m the creepy one…
And, remarkably, this one is one of the leftists! “This guy”. This guy.
Eventually I just reached that point where I had to ask myself “Why am I pissing everyone off? What do I have to gain from it? Clearly, these people are never going to respect me and recognize my right to live as I choose. So screw them.”
* This is derived from the fact that Libertarians comprise about 10% of the U.S. population, since Libertarians are the only ones who don’t want to force other people to do things.Except, perhaps, to leave other people alone, but using force to stop the application of force is allowed under the NAP. I’m not a fan of it, but it’s at least not a contradiction.