Sunday, May 24, 2009

Fear: The Rant.

A little red car pulls into the driveway.
It's Todd, and he's pissed.
Rough day at the salt mines.
"That bitch had better have dinner on the table", he thinks to himself.

Thankfully, she does.
After two black eyes, she's finally learned to listen.

All the same, Todd glares at her from across the table as he shovels processed meats into his gullet.
"...and that fucking Anderson out doing yard work, and you sipping your lemonade, watching him, and...and...I bet you'd just love it!!", goes his twisted train of thought as it rattles past.

Ah, yes, Todd is a delightful grab bag of insecurity, why not this one too?

But no, don't worry, no beating for her tonight.
It's his son's turn.

Todd loves his son.
That's why he's got to have his beatings.

And Todd's reptilian hind-brain is squeezing out all the right juices for it to happen.
Ah, yes, that sweet, sweet, fear and anger gravy.

And beat his son Todd does.
No, no, not with fists, with a belt, with a belt, settle down.

You don't punch a kid around the kitchen, that's for wives.
Mommy's a big girl, so she needs bigger spankings.
In the face.
Of course in the face, let's be logical here.

Anyway, back to beating Todd's kid.

What a glorious beating it is.

And when Todd's done, his son will run up to his room, and go read Ender's Game, and plot his revenge.
Which will involve becoming an asshole like his dad.
But he'll feel bad about it.

Until the day he's beating his son with his belt, and suddenly he "understands", and "oh, daddy, you did love me, it was for my own good, just like in Ender".

And Todd's son becomes another convert to the Cult Of Daddy.

Just like Todd already is now.

"It's for your own good", and "this hurts me more than it does you", are its daily mantras.

Of course, this is Todd's home life, tomorrow, he'll be back on the road, with his little red car, and meeting up with Eric at the place, and telling old stories about going to the place with Keith, and...

And Eric and Keith will go back home in their little red cars.
And maybe they'll punch their wives around the kitchen.
Or maybe not.
Maybe they'll just watch some TV, and get pumped full of fear.
Maybe by Glenn Beck.

Fear of atheists, fear of liberals, fear of the gays.

The queers, they're out to get ya.
And they want....your ass....hoooooole!!!

Ah, if only there were someone at hand to whip with a belt, or punch around the kitchen.

Oh, Eric/Keith would feel awful after, but it'd be for their own good.
The victim isn't the victim, the victimizer is.
Just like daddy.
Just like daddy.
Daddy did love me.
Of course, Eric/Keith can't quite swallow this load, so it needs to be washed down with some strong whiskey.
But not too much.
Got to be straight enough to drive.
To drive their little red cars down to the single's bar, to find someone to punch around the kitchen.
And to squeeze out a fine son.
A masculine son.
To carry on the name.
And the belt.

So all this swirls around, the beatings, the insecurity, the victimized victimizers,....and the slogans.
The patriotic slogans.
Because on top of being in The Cult Of Daddy, you need your nationalist bullshit.
Can't fight wars without that shit.
And you can't churn out soldiers without The Cult Of daddy.

And you can't stir up both of those without fear.

Fear of an enemy, fear of yourself, fear of your body, fear of,...fucking everything.

And when those aren't enough, make shit up.
Pull it out of your ass.
Then you've got superstitions.

Superstitions are excellent for keeping people under control.

Especially the religious ones, nothing beats Hell.
Hell's a really good one.
That's some time tested bullshit.

You've got your Cult Of Daddy, you got your nationalism, you've got your superstitious boogeymen, and you've got the reptilian hind-brains of a couple hundred million ya-fucking-hoos squirting fear.

And the ya-fucking-hoos need to be made to be afraid, because dammit, the people in charge are scared shitless of them!

More fear!

So they've got to be made scared of what the people in power are scared of!

So the ones not on board the nationalist drumbeat need to be vilified!

Branding critics "elitist", and making that a dirty word, that works too.

Whatever it takes.

Just so long as everyone's afraid of each other.

Unless they hop on board the right cults, of course.

The Jesus cult, the Daddy Cult, the flag cult.

Gotta have the "cult", in "culture", as Pat Buchanan once said.

And you use fear for that too.

And the cults need their myths.
The Jesus myth, of course, but also the economic myths, and the war myths.

Gotta have your war myths.
How else you gonna get the drumbeat for new wars going?

And you've got to have wars, the world's governments are all scared of each other.

More fear.

Course, when we drop our bombs on some kids, we feel bad about it.

"This hurts me, more than it does you".

"It's for your own good".

Countries are bigger girls, and need bigger spankings.

From Todds, Erics, and Keiths.
In little grey planes.
At the place.

It's tough love.
There's a lovely slogan.
God bless whomever invented that one.
And God Bless America.

Of course, you're not to criticize any of this behavior.

Why, that might be elitist.

And people "get their backs up", when you confront them with such notions.

And you don't want people to "get their backs up".

They'll start punching someone around the kitchen perhaps.

Ever notice when you're over someone's house, and someone's getting punched around the kitchen, there's always a baby crying?

More fear.

Say, I bet if that baby had a way to release that rage, if they had a bigger stronger body say, why...I bet they'd punch someone around the kitchen.

What? You say I'm implying punching someone around the kitchen is the behavior of a psychological infant?

Come now, that'd be elitist.
And elitists hate America.
And American hating elitists hate our freedoms.
And people like that need to be feared.

How dare they criticize this wonderful culture we've got going?
What, they think they've got freedom of speech or something?

Pound the bastards.
For their own good.
Because we love them.

Like Jesus, with his special place full of fire.

The ultimate spanking.

For questioning an invisible being who apparently is jealous.

Sexual insecurity, and superstition, a two-fer.

Now that's putting the "cult", in "culture".

You've got to be taught to be afraid.

How else can you run a planet?

Honesty? Please.
Don't be a damned hippie.

Now what shade of red do you want your little car to come in?

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