Posts Tagged ‘stupidity’

So it’s been over a year since I’ve been on the blog, but hey– whatever.

I saw something last night that didn’t just set dominoes falling in my head, it rage-flipped the table and hit me with a chair.  Concussive realization aside, it all comes down to one thing: World War Fucking Three.

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…and then it all went dark.

Yes, this sounds a bit tinfoil hat at first, but stay with me.  A couple weeks ago, I stumbled across an article online that floored me.  Giovanni Gambino, yes one of those Gambinos, told NBC that “the rise of global terrorism gives the Mafia a chance to show its good side. … We make sure our friends and families are protected from extremists and terrorists, especially … the Islamic State.”

Well, historically speaking, the Mafia was supposed to protect their own from the abuses of others– among other things.   Hearing the son of the Teflon Don making a bold comment like that on a mainstream media source gave me a huge grin.  Yes, every last one of my great grandparents came from Italy, and no— I actually have no clue how to get in with La Cosa Nostra.  I know, I’m disappointed too.

Looking at it from the outside, a famously criminal organization is better suited to tackling another such organization.  Naturally, thanks to my heritage, I grinned and drank my wine thinking about how profound his commentary was.  Guy’s smart, and his points were valid.  There are certain kinds of things that no amount of surveillance can unearth.  You need to know how to look, and know people who know people.

nose_tap

Makes sense, right?

Yesterday, I came across a series of articles where El Chapo (the head of the notorious Sinaloa Cartel) had some choice words for Abu Bakr Al Baghdadi– and although they ended up being false… well here’s the thing: pit a ruthless cartel that gives fewer fucks about collateral damage than China (a nation ISIS has also managed to piss off) against a ragtag group of fanatical assholes… and well… I’m not the only one who would be positively throbbing to watch it go down.

Why?  Because fuck yeah, these guys play by the same lack of rules– which boil down to one premise.

MjAxMy01NDkzNGQzZTZhMTFjNjg1

— and everything you hold dear.  Really anything around your general vicinity.

That kind of no-Geneva Conventions firefight would be precisely what it would take to eradicate ISIS.  Right?  Right?

That’s when it dawned on me.  This is how World War 3 kicks off.

Think about it this way.

  • ISIS has pissed off pretty much all of Western civilization (I’m including Russia in this lump sum).
  • ISIS has also pissed off China.  Big Red doesn’t come into this equation just yet.
  • ISIS has pissed off La Cosa Nostra.  The days of Capone may be long gone, but if you think the Mafia is out of cement overshoes– you’re just dumb.
  • If ISIS fucks with the Sinaloa Cartel’s operations, or even has the ability to compete, I’m pretty sure El Chapo will react as the now-debunked reports depicted.
  • ISIS lacks popular/global Muslim support because fuck those guys, they don’t speak for Islam.  They look at those Daeshbags the same way Christians look at the Westboro Baptist Church.  (Yes, I realize WBC doesn’t kill people, but they’re still sanctimonious fuckpiles of shit stew that would have served the world better as a stain on their parents’ mattress.)  In fact, ISIS kills more Muslims than anybody else.  Then again, considering their “home turf,” this should pose no surprise.

Now you’re saying, “Yeah, we get it, fuck those guys in particular. What’s the point?”

get_on_with_it.png

With the exception of Big Red, class, what religion is generally associated with the aforementioned nations/organizations?  If you said Christianity, you’ve just found the lynch pin I was going for.  Let’s say Daesh does piss off El Chapo… and the Sinaloa Cartel decides to hatefuck them with a steel pineapple.  The day Santa Muerte starts soaking sand with blood, the terrorists will make it out to be a Christian vs Muslim thing.

Ponder this for a few hours.

The common attitude towards this particular cadre of assjacks is pretty well known.  Let’s play a probable hypothetical situation here.  If a cartel decides to take a plane full of whoop ass overseas, it will take a token bribe at best to have law enforcement look the other way.  Why?  Because everyone is saying, “Fuck those guys in particular.”  See a pattern yet?  Good.

These guys have fewer fucks to give about a little thing called “collateral damage” than Big Red.  You get a war party of contract killers together, and now send them on a no-holds-barred fragfest somewhere far from home.  How many are going to know how to speak any of the languages over there?  If you answered “probably none,” you already see where this is going.  They’re not going to try and root out those Daeshbags with any sort of delicacy.  Nope.  They’re going to fight every bit as dirty as those Daeshbags– which is appallingly thrilling on a visceral level.  Because fuck those guys right?  Except this kind of insurrection is exactly what they want.

Those bastards are going to call it another fucking crusade… and they’re going to call for a plausible jihad that many otherwise-peaceful people will blindly follow.  Think about how many players are in town right now.  Big Red and Russia have oil interests, with Russia spanking the shit out of both rebels and Daeshbags.  Oh wait, Turkey just shot down a Russian jet, and apparently they’re on the same side as us– whatever the fuck that is. Pretty much anyone with a bomber is hammering Syria with anything they can get their hands on.  It’s already a fucking war zone, and everyone’s already scared, pissed off, or both.

All of the rules of engagement would go sideways at that point, because when you live in a shitty, bombed-out country… your life flat out sucks in ways neither you or I can comprehend.  Suddenly assholes from across the Atlantic show up, and prove that those crazy “fundamentalist” assholes that were killing your neighbors were right all along.  Boom.  You have a front that will rapidly rise, and will see both the whoop-ass squad and the foreign militaries in the same light: as crusaders.  You have to protect your own, right?

This is how war starts.  I’m not talking the kind of war that has been fought over the past 70 years.  That’s timid compared to what would happen… battlefields on a scale not seen since WW2.  Not to mention, a totality not seen since… oh… the last of The Crusades.  By the way, the F-35 can’t dogfight or much of anything else.

we-are-fucked

Tell me I’m wrong.  No, seriously, with the cards already on the table– and knowing what complete assholes people generally are these days…  It doesn’t take very much of a stretch of imagination to see how this could all get much, much uglier.

Right now, I am glad that I’m too old to draft… the The Force Awakens in less than a week.  Time’s on my side for this one…

Unplug.

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This. Means. War.

Posted: July 27, 2014 in Rant
Tags: , , , , ,

*ahem*  Let’s see how good my faux German accent is today.  Buckle up.  *snicker*

…before we begin our next phase, I would like to take some time to address a rumor floating around ze fleet.

Some of you have come to believe zhat I.  Like.  War.
I vish to dash these rumors.  I do not like war.
I.  Love.  War.

Through my life, I have discovered so many forms of war.  You get up in ze morning.  You get into your shitty car, und you see a rich CEO who works half as hard as you do drive down the street in his Porsche.

Class war!

Zen you try und post about it on your Facebook, but zen all your friends start arguing about vhat’s right und vhat’s wrong–

Flame war!”

— The Major, Hellsing Ultimate Abridged (Episode 4… definitely NSFW…  Check out Takahata101 on YouTube)

Ah, now that feels better.  The whole speech truly encompasses the goddamn euphoric feeling I get when I am gloriously justified in loosing my wrath.  I never once anticipated that my current Bitcoin obsession would eventually result in me picking a fight with the powers that be in Albany, NY.

Those of you that live in The Empire State are already facepalming, realizing that I am voluntarily preparing to stick my size 11 boot in the biggest pile of sycophants and fail found outside of The Federal Beltway.  Why would I take on such an implacable edifice of feckless bureaucracy?  Well, let me cut to the chase– they’re poised to shit in my Wheaties.  In short, fuck that noise.

GET SOME.

Bet you were expecting Alucard to show up here. You were mistaken.

I will not sit idly by and let some six-figure-pulling jackass destroy my opportunity to make a decent living using my own ambitions and abilities.  Sooooo, here’s where things are about to get interesting.  Why, you ask?  Well, it comes back to war.  Waltzing into a fight without allies is more stupid than a bunch of technophobe Baby Boomers trying to regulate a global cryptocurrency.  It’s bad enough that Wall Street is under their jurisdiction– and wouldn’t you know?  They failed at regulating that so hard, it hatefucked the USA into another recession.

I’m not letting them screw my ambitions just because they’re idiots.  Luckily for me, there’s a state assemblyman who has his head screwed on straight…. and I happened to have met the man a few weeks ago in person.  The following is a verbatim copy of the letter that I’m sending to his office via certified mail tomorrow to fire my opening volley.

Have a read:

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have opted for such an informal salutation, however after meeting you while I was working at the [redacted]—you told me this is how you prefer to be addressed. I am writing you to express my concern and disdain for NYDFS’s proposed regulation/licensing of Bitcoin-based financial ventures. As you once said, NYS has a disturbing habit of squashing ambition and incentivizing failure—and I believe the proposed actions of NYDFS to be yet another sign of your observation. They claim that this is to strike a balance between protecting consumers and setting common sense rules—but the proposal is precisely the opposite in every way. No private individual or business entity can or will be affected by Bitcoin that does not choose to deal with it. Furthermore, virtual currencies like Bitcoin are of no danger to the public—contrary to this reactionary proposal. Truth be told, it’s plainly obvious they consider Bitcoin to be a criminal endeavor only—and they wish to destroy opportunities for residents who aren’t among the financial elite.

Firstly, as you plainly know—economic and employment opportunities in Western New York are pitiful if put politely. This proposed burdensome set of licensure and data-collecting measures reflects two things about NYDFS—and namely Superintendent Benjamin Laswky. One, they have no grasp of what they are trying to regulate. Two, they do not care if innovation and businesses continue to flee from New York State like first class passengers from the Titanic. Their myopic and alarmist set of measures betray their lack of understanding for what Bitcoin is (how it works, how it’s produced, and how it’s used)—and demonstrates deliberate ignorance of the IRS’s ruling that Bitcoin is a commodity and not a currency.

According to the IRS’s decision, virtual currencies like Bitcoin are to be treated in the same manner as birdhouses produced in one’s garage.  Similarly, individuals like myself who have the technical knowhow to set up a Bitcoin “mine” have the opportunity to lift themselves from the current economic climate—and potentially return more to our respective communities than if we were stuck in the traditional job market. With their current proposal, any small mines like mine (in my case uniquely benefitting from the inexpensive electric service by the Jamestown BPU) would be driven out of business– or out of New York State. This is an economic boon that NYDFS will deny enterprising individuals, and exclude from the state’s taxable revenue.

It is very obvious that this proposed direction is an alarmist and reactionary move in response to articles on MSN, Yahoo (et al) that demonstrate that Bitcoin may be used for money laundering purposes.  In the case of Bitcoin mines (the production side of the equation, where specialized computer hardware generates Bitcoin for sale/usage), that is impossible. I am not surprised by the myopic response by the NYDFS—it is on par with individuals who lack the technical abilities to handle the simplest of tasks like setting up their own email client. These cumbersomely stringent (and presumably expensive) licensing and documentation procedures reflect their erroneous understanding of virtual currency, from production to purchase/sale.   If Mr. Lawsky has his way and this proposal becomes law, the only individuals with the resources and capital capable of accommodating the regulations/licensing will be large businesses. There will be no room for forward-thinking individuals to better their circumstances through their own ability and ambition. So much for the American Dream of creating opportunities from your own hard work and ingenuity, right? I am not surprised by this disregard for the common citizen as the NYDFS members have little first-person experience with the current job market and economic climate. Their six-figure salaries and stock portfolios are already taken care of.

This brings me to my final, and probably most ireful, point. NYDFS has already failed pathetically at regulating Wall Street (which is already under their purview, and has harmed the lives of millions of Americans through their questionable practices.)   After reading their proposal—I have little doubt that these individuals are borderline computer-illiterate, Mr. Lawsky included. If you will pardon the phraseology, they have no business attempting to regulate a technology that they only understand through diluted third-party explanations. I am further disgusted by the fact that public funds were wasted on drawing up this reactionary policy, instead of focusing on aspects of public business and finance that do affect the majority of citizens in NYS and beyond. Instead of focusing on the spate of problems already on their desks that they have shirked and ignored, they have chosen to collect their salaries while demonstrating their clear lack of priorities—and understanding of the digital world.

Andy, my Bitcoin-generating hardware is at a stage where it pays my personal electric bill for my apartment—and part of a credit card payment. Currently, I can net roughly $120 per month, and while that is modest—it is a beginning of my business, one that Mr. Lawsky clearly seeks to squash through ill-conceived overregulation. I have a degree in English composition, and even I lack the words to properly express how much this effort by NYDFS must be publicly and permanently ceased.   I cannot stress enough the immediate need to generate a vocal and decisive opposition to his measures in Albany among the decision-making members of government.

Thank you for your time and consideration. I hope to speak with you in the near future about how to stamp out these measures before they permanently drive more ambitious, youthful, entrepreneurs from New York State.

You feeling that joyous quiver in your loins yet?

And the moral of the story is...

Next step, picking five or six other officials to receive similar letters… and then the media….  I don’t take prisoners.

Never piss off a guy with an English writing degree.

It’s showtime.

Unplug.

“The power of accurate observation is commonly called cynicism by those who have not got it.” — George Bernard Shaw

A friend of mine recently posted a LifeHacker article entitled “How to Stop Being a Cynical Asshole.”  Naturally I took offense, because if the world had more “cynical assholes” like myself– well the world’s idiot population would still be checked by their own stupidity and probably exploited for our own amusement.  The article presupposes that members of my elite type of humanoid, the cynic, are the product of a defense mechanism gone wrong.

Plausible hypothesis.  But.  Well.  Wrong.

It’s a defense mechanism against stupid– and it’s what keeps us from utterly and completely losing our shit when faced with a sea of entitled fucktards that are breathing the air we share.  You’ll notice that most cynics have an astounding command of sarcasm.  That’s not a coincidence.

I got it from my parents.

You don’t say.

Cynics aren’t fans of optimists– because fuck you, the world isn’t just kittens and rainbows.  You might fart glitter, but that’s probably because you deep-throated a twitard two  nights ago.  Cynics also aren’t a fan of pessimists– because fuck you.  No, seriously, fuck pessimists in general– they’re never any fun.  Nihilists on the other hand…  oh wait, I’m getting sidetracked.  Back to deriding an asshat who dubbed himself a cynic and then self-righteously claimed it to be a downer.

Pal, lemme tell you from the other side of shit creek, you need to learn how to properly appreciate the very essence of what we are.  Cynics aren’t downers, those are pessimists.  We don’t like those, remember?  They’re never happy, and the world is out to shit on their heads after a Taco Bell binge.  Cynics acknowledge that there is usually some variety of fecal matter falling from the sky, but therefore we can do our best to not get hit with it.  It’s kind of like demanding the best out of your fellow human, but knowing the odds favor them being more worthless than an iPod shuffle to a deaf guy.

See, that’s the biggest bonus to giving in to your cynical nature and spinning it to your advantage and entertainment.  It’s the best kind of poetry.  We are always right, but when we’re actually wrong– we’re pleasantly surprised.  Tell me what’s bad about that.  Hey look, there’s a silver lining without having to brainwash yourself into ignoring the agonizing fact that life’s full of fuckwits that won’t get a reservation at the bullet buffet.  You don’t need some rose-colored specs to grin at the absurdity of life.

... ironically, I am a bit envious of idealists and their eyewear.

Now turn the whole thing on its head– imagine someone with ADD who pays attention to all the things at random.

Face it, if there were more cynics calling “bullshit,” the world would be a better place.  If there were more of us around, there wouldn’t have ever been a mortgage bubble– because it wouldn’t have lived past the cacophony of laughter at the guy proposing to sell and trade mortgages held by people who don’t pay their bills in the first place.  NSA spying?  We know everyone’s a bunch of assholes, and giving a cagy bunch of megalomaniacal ones unspoken power is an idea so stupid– the English language lacks the proper adjectives.  Have I made a dent here?  Bueller?

Fuck sakes, I could go on for hours– but if you don’t get it by now, I’m wasting my keystrokes.

The world needs us more now than ever.
Celebrate what it is to be smarter than the rest, and quit being a dick.  You might actually enjoy it.

Unplug.

When I first carved out this little corner of the intarwebs with but a left hand tossing painkillers and shots of Jameson down the hatch, I was writing purely for my own sanity.  I would mock my own crippled ass, and marvel at how difficult some tasks could be with only one usable hand.  All in all, more of you read that shit than my rants and running commentary.

It’s ok, I understand that I was a better writer while shitfaced.  It’s been a trait that I’ve been aware of for about a decade.  That, however, has positively jack dick to do with this edition.  I think I may have killed Jill 2.0.

That which hath gimped me, sans sling.

Remember this?  Yeah, very real fear.

That’s right, my precious repaired hand has given me reason to worry enough to call a physician.  What genius move did I do to cause this, you ask?  What could I have possibly done that would do more damage than a Tough Mudder (let alone two?)  I’m almost embarrassed to say, and it actually didn’t involve a foray into my boxers.

I played dodgeball…  for five freaking hours.

That’s right.  It wasn’t catching a fridge, it wasn’t doing dumb shit at the gym, and it surely wasn’t a marathon fap session in front of the tube.   I was playing a game that fellow 80’s children know and love.  I hadn’t played since maybe high school, and I was being called in as a ringer for my wife’s company team…  I figured, “Hey, what’s the worst that could happen?  We’ll play three or four games, get eliminated, and it’ll be fun!  I can’t wait to see what this body of mine can do compared to runt me.”

Yeah, I'm saying the same damn thing.

Shut up, Jean Luc.

So here I am, two full weeks later, and my wrist is snapping in ways it hasn’t since the doctor fixed the initial injury.  Was an astounding third place ranking in the tournament worth it?  Maybe.  Would I do it again?  Maybe–  it was pretty funny seeing what this body can do when I’m listening to Amon Amarth and playing a game based upon agility and relentless hostility.  There’s a certain delectable joy that can be derived when you’re playing against a team of high school varsity athletes, you’re the last one standing, and you gun down the three remaining members of their team with extreme prejudice.

Then again, that might also be how I threw my hand off my wrist.  That’s all I can figure happened.  The arm hasn’t thrown full power in years, it’s a lot stronger than it used to be, and Jill 2.0 isn’t as durable as she was in yesteryear.

Tomorrow I get to find out where I go from here, and if I’m going to be able to tackle Tough Mudder #3….  if my last workout is any indication, I’m seriously worried.

Unplug.

 

Anyone who’s paid any attention to anything about me knows that although I’m a serious fan of doing dumb shit, I’m allergic to stupid.  I’m talking full-blown anaphylaxis– which is probably a good thing because my lack of breathing prevents me from breaking out in handcuffs.  This is especially true since I work with the general public six days a week, and believe you me– I should probably be lacing my coffee with antihistamines.

Naught to be seen.

Dumbasses don’t seem to understand… Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised.

I am not a patient individual.  I can fake such qualities that might make me seem almost saintly.  Seriously, have I gone full Postal yet?  No.  Calling Pope Franny– next saint.  Over here.  My head hasn’t exploded yet– another miracle right there.

Example:  how many people can’t comprehend a simple task like addressing/stamping an envelope?  When did this become quantum mechanics?  A girl, probably 13 or 14, came into my office with a large envelope.  There was no address written on it, two random stamps slapped in the wrong corner, and wanted me to send it out.  At first I was confused– seriously, was this shit really happening?  While I’m too sober to appreciate it?  Mind filled with “no fuckin’ way” pity, I inquired what she wanted to do with this envelope– because people often figure that they can fill out the appropriate label at the counter.  No way could this be happening, right?

Wrong.  It was happening like a case of diarrhea on the first hill of a roller coaster– this fine example of what I deal with on a daily basis just fractured reality for me.  I told her to put the address on the front, I’d slap the postage on it– and away it’d go.  You know, give her the benefit of the doubt.  Now, if you’re the kind of asshole that just thought “I’ll bet she couldn’t even fill out the address,” I love you.  Guess what.  The little jiggling wad of fail before me couldn’t even write out the address right, but I won’t get to the icing on the cake yet.  I noticed that the address is for one of the boxes in my very office– but the envelope is clearly labeled as a Tim Horton’s camp submission.  As expected, the next day it’s delivered to the box she wrote down.

Just wait for it.

In so many ways...

That moment when you realize that the person in front of you is the very personification of irreconcilable fail.

Well yesterday the box holder showed up with the envelope, with several pieces of opaque tape slapped over her writing, addressed to where a Timmy Ho Ho’s camp would be expected… Canada.  That’s right, not only did she have no idea how to send it in the first place– she sent it to herself.  Oh yeah, and according to this cloud of piss in the gene pool– she was sending this in because she was invited back to be a counselor.

Nice try, assjack, I think camp counselors have a basic understanding of how to send a letter.  Well.  You’d hope.  That bit of brain-melting ignorance aside, I saw that same porcine sack of genetic party favors screaming obscenities at one of my elderly neighbors last summer and the summer we moved in.

I am nothing short of astounded that these toxic levels of stupidity haven’t killed me.

When Buddy Christ says you're fucked...

I mean, what else can you do?

Ladies and gentlemen, do the world a service and cockblock/beaverdam your dumber friends.  You know the ones.  Otherwise, life’s gonna go full Idiocracy before I’m old enough to retire.

Fuck you, it’s not on the horizon!

Unplug.

Over the past couple months, I’ve seen a lot of posts giving attention to the picketers demanding over $15 an hour to work at McShitheads.  It’s either that or ridiculously raising the minimum wage.  Political posturing aside, let’s break this down for the dumb kids who think this is a good idea…

Truth hurts, don't it?

Truth to life– there are consequences to your actions, no matter what those asshole Baby Boomers tried to litigate out of reality. (Newsflash– they failed.)

First things first– supply and demand.  If suddenly everyone at Greasy’s was paid over $15 an hour, that would be justification for ridonculous inflation.  Meaning– that $15 bucks an hour is going to buy even less than the “minimum wage” you’re getting today.  Interesting sidebar– most of these jobs pay a buck over minimum wage, and you don’t even need to pee in a cup to get them.

You think that life’s too damn expensive now?  Just wait until there’s a sudden influx of money into the system.  Prices will skyrocket as the money will be devalued– and the corporate fat cats will justify raising them to “stay in business.”  We all know this is a blatant lie, but come on– if you truly don’t think this is going to happen, you’re even dumber than you look.  Case and point?  Just look at the asshole ways these employers have gotten around providing healthcare.  This situation is no different, and don’t delude yourself into thinking otherwise.

This disastrous desire would utterly screw each and every American by opening this flood gate, especially seniors who are on fixed incomes.  Not to mention, that increase would be across the board– rent, groceries, gas, healthcare, everything would go up faster than anyone has seen in this country… ever.

Crank faster, buddy, we need more money!

You probably think this is a solution to all our economic issues.

Was that clear enough to start with?  Let’s move on to another reason that fast food isn’t worth premium pay– do you honestly think that the people who did their time in the grease traps and worked their way into good jobs are going to get a commensurate raise to match yours?

Here’s another revelation– they won’t!  That’s right all my little sacks of soylent green, all that time you spent struggling, studying, working, and achieving will be negated.  In fact, if you have done your time in the grease traps (myself included), you might just find yourself making significantly less than the drive-thru operator that just fucked up your order.  Everything you’ve done with your life to better it has officially been for nothing.

Excuse me, I run a post office alone 6 days a week…  I’m responsible for everything that happens in that building, about $20,000 in inventory, and roughly 1,000 customers worth of delivery.  I have keys to a fucking federal building, and I don’t even make $13 an hour.  Do you mean to tell me that slapping processed ass on a bun is worth more than what I do?  Do you think I’ll get a raise too?

Go fuck yourself with a salt-crusted cactus.  Twice.

Guess what, you fucked up-- and I don't care.

Take that spatula, polish it up real nice, turn that summbitch sideways and cram it straight up your ass!

Here are a few small revelations for you if you support this bastardized assholery.  Fast food joints were meant to be supplementary income, starter jobs, or meant to remove the unemployment curse.  It’s called a stepping stone– and almost everyone I know has been there and done that, myself included.  If you can’t step above that stone, I feel bad for you.  I’m not being facetious here, because it’s a thankless job.

Let’s be honest here, it’s not about the job.   The primary problem is people who are working can’t pay to live.  That’s wrong.  The discussion shouldn’t be about unrealistically raising the wages of Thomasina Taco, Franky Frenchfry, and Bobby Burger– because let’s face it: you shouldn’t get $15.00 an hour to fuck up my drive-thru order.  The discussion should be about how to realistically lower the cost of living.

Then again, welcome to America– where rationally assessing and fixing a problem is apparently a thing of the past.

Unplug.

Happy freaking New Year, everyone!  It’s been awhile since I ranted and raved, but then again—it’s hard to find a well of creativity when you’re shell shocked at the end of every day.  However, now that the Christmas Chaos is all but over, I’ve had a chance to reflect on my lack of creativity and attention.  Moreover, having been exposed to all manners of human egocentrism (beyond what I see in the mirror every day), I decided to explode the concept.

Knuckle up, bitches, you’re about to get smacked with enough existential awesome to make you go full nihilist.

I'm about to intentionally mindfuck.

Seriously. Go get a drink. Reality’s about to warp.

The human desire for self-importance has always fascinated me, especially since I’m such a shameless narcissist. However, let’s put some spin on this.  What is a human being—in a biological sense?  We’re a collective of trillions of individual cells, each alive in their own sense. You’re not one, but many as one.  On top of that, you’re host to billions more organisms that aren’t even a part of the system—but live on/in you anyway.  You’re like a walking planet—so even if you’re a blubbering grab bag of genetic party favors—you’re still the world to a whole lot of shit you can’t even feel wriggling their lives away.

Not that you’d want to.

Face itching yet?  Just imagine what's living in your ass.

Every time I’m in the mood for genocide, I swab my face with rubbing alcohol. I only wish I could hear their screams.

Feeling good about yourself with that itty bitty crash course in microbiology?  Feeling more like a world unto yourself?  Well you shouldn’t.  Your national-debt-sized collective is one of several billion such collectives on the surface of the planet.  Technology and accomplishments aside, the whole of humanity seems kind of a big thing.

… until you realize that from a bio-mass standpoint, ants have us beat like a red headed stepchild.  Not to mention, they’re hungry and developing resistance to pesticides.

Better hope they don’t develop resistance to boots.

Notice how humans are lumped in with that little sliver for "mammals"

Even beaten by worms. Just remember that the next time you see the fantastic motorized landwhales at Wal-Mart.

Anyway, how’s that inflated sense of self-importance working for you?  If you were dreading that “but wait, there’s more” moment, hold on to your ass.  Not only are we the minority here, we’re a short lived one.  We all know life’s short, some shorter than others.  Since we’re going on a planetary scale, all of humanity has existed for a laughable fraction of the time the planet’s been here.  We’re talking ~200,000 years of shameless self-aggrandizement on the dingleberry end of 2.5+ billion years.  If you think you did anything worth a damn, that’s like pissing in the ocean and saying you made the motherfucker noticeably warmer.

Even makes your fails seem meaningless, doesn’t it?

Perspective done right.

How small do you feel right about now? Hint: not small enough.

I could pop this and go full galactic, to supercluster, then universe, then really go ridonculous with multiverse—but I feel like turning this bitch on its side before violating your think-jelly with it.  Yeah, we’ve juxtaposed big and small, long and short (yes, humanity is naught but a cosmic dick joke)—but that’s the “normal” order of things, right?

How can we define what’s normal?  We are apparently sentient collectives existing at the spinning, rocky bottom of a gas-filled gravity well that’s whizzing around an open fusion reactor that will eventually torch us in ways that will make Tsar Bomba look like a defective flashbulb.  Our definitions of permanence/importance, on a cosmic scale, are akin to a fruitfly’s concept of longevity.  Thank you, Douglas Adams, for the unique perspective.

Eat your heart out, Kanye.  No matter how big you think you’ve made it, you’re not even a fart in a hurricane.

Unplug.