Ammosexual metrosexuals, metrosexual ammosexuals, and the tax-avoiding rich guys who love/hate them. Part II.

Metrosexual ammosexuals, ammosexual metrosexuals, and rich fellas agree: Kyle is a hero.

Part I.
Also posted on
my website.

***

<cue dramatic music>

The big-ass explosion goes off.

The cataclysmic event lets humanity know: yup, the moment is here.

Yes, indeed.

Planet Earth is fucked. Beyond fucked. No going back.

Fifteen or twenty seconds later, every woman-hating white bigot in the United States of America, regardless of their financial worth, proceeds to let out a guttural laugh while dancing victory dances, high-fiving one another.

In unison, they yell at the Heavens:

“THAT ONE WAS FOR YOU, DAD…OR COACH OR EX-BOSS OR GRANDAD OR GREAT UNCLE OR—WHICHEVER RACIST, PATRIARCHAL AUTHORITY FIGURE HATED MY GUTS WHEN HE WAS ALIVE…THAT ONE WAS FOR YOU!!!! WE TORCHED THE EARTH FOR YOU!!!!!”

Then, in a softer voice, they will utter, with a little sniffle, “…do you finally love us now? Or…at least hate us a bit less?” <sniffle, sniffle>

Aw shit.

Lookit me. I done it.

Every woman-hating white bigot in the United States of America now thinks I’m Benedict Arnold.

I gave away the plan…the desired objective, at least.

So not bro of me.

Chickenhawks will tell each other that I am not trustworthy in battle.

(Take a sec and unpack that last sentence if you need to.)

Corporate media spins these hate mongers’ performative nonsense in a way that serves money-making purposes. But I live here and deal with the angry white males. The lies and exaggerations about their sad behavior make me feel the need to blast out posts with my take on it all. Unlike the corporate media shareholders, I do not have a financial stake tied to this civil war.

These times are ominous and I write this as an acknowledgment of the civil war possibility. But I also know who is pushing for a national fight and mass suffering: the people who have taken steps to insulate themselves, then make money off of the destruction. Chickenhawks dream some big-dollar dreams.

World: these people are much more insecure and threatened in real life. Not nearly as confident as the financially-driven narrative says.

And the super-rich, along with most of the Petting Zoo Bourgeoisie, do not envision a future for this planet. It needs to be said. The wealthiest Americans have a financial stake in it. They want us to fail.

Strange thing, being judged by sheltered white dads like JD Vance because I don’t have kids. The Ward KKKleavers aren’t as fatherly-sounding as they like to think, reminds me of the fellas who need to shout to the world that they are “alpha males” and “sheepdogs.” Talk about trying too hard.

But the fact that they are posers is not what makes these boys repulsive human beings. The wannabe-patriarchs bought into a supremacist, fatalistic line of thought about how the planet is not worth saving.

Unlike them, I believe in working to better the future for all kids — no matter their nationality or skin color or religion. Whatever I can do leave this place a tad better than I found it, that’s what I gotta do. Which doesn’t seem like a hard concept to understand.

Too many men who are responsible for the care of children don’t approach life this way. Instead, they have chosen to rack up the short-term gains before everything comes apart. It’s eerie to think that they are instilling their values in the young’uns, kids who get more privileges than other kids. Oh, on a random, unrelated side note: Netflix has this great documentary, Einsatzgruppen: the Nazi Death Squads. Check it out.

Fellow humans: these people, from Neoliberal Wall Street Democrats to the Far Right, have given up.

No. They invested in our downfall. They bet against you and I.

If we ruin their financial quest, we will inflict more pain on — no…they will inflict more pain upon themselves than we can imagine. These guys are ticking time bombs. Their dead idols did a number on their psyches during the formative years.

And their bullshit, repressed-Freudian breakdowns will be gnarly to observe.

Gnarly.

I do not want civil war. I want racism to die — notice I said “racism” and not “racists.” Non-violence will ruin the financier’s business plan.

Bros: maybe I’ll just ruin your sociopathic little movie now and give away the ending.

After you existentially-threatened sadists torch the Earth and meet those old, existentially-threatened sadists in the Great Beyond, they are still going to hate you.

Whatever kind of acceptance you’re seeking — not only will the old codgers still NOT give it to you, they are also going to bitch-slap you just like they bitch-slapped you back when you both were alive. They have never stopped despising you and they are going to let you know this fact when you see them again on the other side.

Instead of pushing for a Rich Man’s Road Warrior outcome, you all could realize that most living humans are potential friends and allies. As a group, we could relax, take a deep breath, then get down to the hard work of counteracting climate change together, for the benefit of humanity.

But I know: you’d rather pine away for pats on the head from dead white guys.

Non-violence, everyone.

Non-violence will ruin this racist business venture that has been mislabeled a civil war.

I posted the man’s quote before. But I’m posting it again.

“When it gets down to having to use violence, then you are playing the system’s game. The establishment will irritate you — pull your beard, flick your face — to make you fight. Because once they’ve got you violent, then they know how to handle you. The only thing they don’t know how to handle is non-violence and humor.”
― John Lennon

Non-violence and humor.

All you funny motherfuckers and motherfuckerettes: your country needs you.

No. Your planet needs you.

Part I. Riffing off of earlier posts:
Operation White Privilege, one year later.
Bros: America’s new Jews, part V.
There is civil war and there is “civil war.”
Before MAGA and QAnon, there was Doc.
Fuck customers. The investor is always right.
The 1% pay enough in taxes to start wars, but not enough to finish them.
The New Einsatzgruppen wants to talk fatherhood. Oh, boy!
Open letter to a selfie of my drunk-ass self, taken on August 11th, 2001.

I write fiction and have two dark comedies available, Fearkiller (Volume 1) and Notes from Trillionaire Island: Fearkiller (Volume 2), as well as Revolutionizer Alpha, the first book in a sci-fi series. I also wrote a story about God. It was weird, but then I decided to make the story and its sequel free. And all of the sudden, it didn’t seem as weird. Writing about God is much less weird when you write about God without charging money for it.
Here’s my professional site, my trade.

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