Trump-ed, Gunshots Eternal and American Let-Downs

Counter-intelligence is in its resurgence-phase as we head into the new year–2018–and the New Wave Extreme mini-boom seeks to reach its zenith, but it will succumb to a short death as the result of an unattainable yet valiant attempt. In these last remaining days of the year of the “Terrible ’17”, I find myself disturbed by the debauched goings-on in the remnants of the burning social circle that surrounds the perimeters of this country we call the “United States”.

There’s nothing “united” about it; and it would behoove one to re-consider any definition that has been bestowed upon its very name from beforehand. The long-lost country bumpkin whose only skill-set involved a full-dedication to mastering long-pig munching has been resurrected by a racially-driven khristos-figure and unexpectedly harbors the attributes of a “likable character”. What’s “likable” about this character is absolutely unpardonable, but for some, this character cannot be reduced to minimal dialogue between himself and media types, and therefore, always finds himself in loads of atmosphere. The same as helium. If you were to amp up the pressure, he becomes more of an airhead than David Koresh ever could’ve been–only a tad bit more talkative [and from this kicking point he’ll take a topic and start to drag-on]. Three more years to go and I’m willing to wager that the person in reference will transition from a P-grabbing Five Star General to a dumb cunt that can only aspire to match the signature, absent-minded witticisms of his “wife” whom herself is nothing more than a single stutter step removed from the script of A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night. The difference being is that this reality is akin to a lesser entertaining movie in spite of the alternate reel. In the manner of speaking, I can’t wait to watch and review any and all documentaries concerning your “C.I.C.” because they’ll all be nothing more than character-studies about a septuagenarian male-human who is the epitomized embodiment of total and complete nihilism–attributes that would make the face of a Japanese serial killer flushed with envy. Not surprising that the denizens of Americanized hillbilly-horror have collectively gathered across the country [albeit a bit detached from the constrains of reality that governs most of us who possess a modicum of intelligence] to support their “chosen monster”. But now, that Godzilla has evolved to the point of honing the desire to shoot the nuclear rays over [North] Korea, the result is that his unwanted presence presents us with either four years of a satire of bureaucratic inefficiency (the “alpha”), or a period of despair in which we all wish for four years of locusts, plagues and the accompanying blains that advertise The Curse™.

The recent election is akin to a gun sale that went wrong. Want another metaphor? A lady from New York City ventures off to Berlin, meets a guy and ends up trapped in his apartment. In other words, you all were enthralled by the empty promises and now you’re making excuses while suffering from the devastating insecurity, loneliness and alienation underneath all of that encompassing laughter from one-dimensional pissants and people addicted to social media. So, while you all “fight the urge”, your leader is backed by buddy cops and coming-of-age arthouse feminists [where are the blonde-haired ice queens in filthy leatherjackets?]–and my indifference is on a level that registers with Kermode as it drags behind it an atmospheric dread. Description of this particular character’s “tenure” would be above the rim of soporific giallo, but that would take the least bit of competence that I wouldn’t even dare attempt to muster up since the end-result is fitting for a king; this dude is sub-par pauperish when it comes to “being enthusiastic“. The mental vision depicts me (Desmond) ambitiously walking down a white corridor with intentions of changing the environment’s aforementioned hue to blood red after a quick, vicious engagement with disillusioned Trump-ilk. It’s as if you are left with no other choice but to channel your inner charismatic psychopath in order to deal with those encumbered with an indifferent approach. The opposition prefers Methadone and OxyContin; I’d be willing to introduce a cocaine habit to my bloodstream if the fear of “losing it all” weren’t so all-encompassing–tagging along with hallucinations of being chased by mushroom zombies.  

In the U.S., it’s expected that your typical, provincial, run-of-the-mill, cringingly dumb white male to dilly-dally about double-fisting fully-automatic machine guns and just run the gauntlet with their rancorous in-born spirit of living vicariously through a Clint Eastwood flick. However, bafflingly enough, I’m not sensitive to “autism” (snicker) as an illness as it’s promoted and pushed by media giants as a near-superpower. Take that same “illness” and watch it remain in its initial state as the host ages and behold as the “illness” becomes explicit instead of suggested. When compunction seemingly kicks-in its support of the “lone wolf” archetype, the one controlled by sanity sees it as offensively mediocre and immediately goes through the proper precautions adjusted by the principles of self-preservation. FBI agents, in this present-day, have bought into the “reality” as being nothing more than Harry Potter working undercover as Nazi skinheads in order to prevent some 9/11-type terrorist catastrophe. This crippled, learned behavioral adaption is an outcry for those who long to subscribe to the collective, American borg-like mentality that is typical of the weak and ineffective; those who are consistently mistaking atmospheric tension with boredom. 

By now, the reader should understandably be on the edge of their seat with a heart racing from an adrenaline rush that is accompanying a rage-thirst to act out like a Paul Kersey-styled vigilante, however, it would be best to muster up the cerebrum to carry out the rancorous task at hand. The slow-witted neo unpleasantries mixed with twist heavy psychological barriers to the American populations’ emotions when it comes to “relating to the people abroad”, your “C.I.C.” continuously displays unabridged disdain towards those whose relationships with money aren’t akin to his. Yet, this doesn’t feel like “life”–it more or so comes off as some sort of play, mostly because of the aforementioned restriction (limited access to physical money). You got Trump looking like a WASP ubermensch who was bred in a lab by ex-pat NAZI scientists who stands next to American flags waving in slow-motion. No need for Air Force One when this dude can just jump on the back of a bald eagle and go wherever he needs to be. It can’t be just simplistic for him, and one would like to conceive the school of thought that maybe–just maybe–Commander Orange would harbor some small measure of self-awareness, or at least try to be a little more subtle with the jingoism.  However, admittedly, it is quite risible to see hordes of gullible downhick/Dukes of Hazard-hybrid communities allow themselves to be whipsawed directly into the path of a furious political gut punch. 

In 2018, who will be able to lecture “the masterclass” in douchebaggery? I can guarantee that the first kill will be at the hands of one higher than a kite off of crystal meth; zombified from the “effect of the drug” which will disallow any rightful accusation that the aggravation wasn’t the result of some sort of inborn-genetic inheritance (white attribution). Here, in the U.S., you have menageries of fat heifers recording racist, vitriolic speechifying and leaving them on Black college professors’ voicemails; that’s culture–North American-styled culture (not excluding Canada). 

American [read: U.S.] life isn’t the strong-willed spirit that’s promoted in your mundane beer commercials; in fact, it’s weary and melancholic, typical of the awesomely cold clinical look of an ex-alcoholic. An unlicensed private investigator has seen better days than your average teenager who weens their day away all day on Snapchat. There is no sunshine here; the atmosphere has darkened the American intelligentsia and it is beyond base competence and the self-reproach is off the charts. Hopes of obtaining employment fall into dismission on the daily and lay in the grave of an innovative let-down to the point where you just cannot retain self-identify. What plagues the thought process of the country’s population is so uncontrollable it’s akin to chemically-induced warehouse fire–only the warehouse remains as empty as it was since the beginning of the Barry O era. Nothing has changed since a billionaire’s self-mistake took the place of 44; your would-be engineers are caught between the chronologically-ordered pages of Marvel sci-fi cannon; the “leaders” are under-challenged; and the “rulers of law” are busy yawning after spending countless hours creating parameters where the aforementioned “leaders” will be prevented from taking out the corporations that are controlling the world’s citizens. It’s a deceptively thinned veneer of civilization; a real-life surface story being told by those who aren’t able to handle their drug habits all that well. And when the death hammer gets to swangin’, all of a sudden the prayers for “a second chance” get lifted to a distant world that’s littered with halos and stars, to hopefully land in the lap of some space sheriff (ya’lls’ “God”) so that a warrant will be granted for the arrest of a well-known [and hated] intergalactic criminal (ya’ boy, the “Devil”). If that’s the case, then perhaps freedom can only be sought after in your very own private hell because that’s all you have here [in the States]–your very own private hell. All you need now are kangaroo courts (riddled with flaws and utter ineptness), sadism and executions.

Exploitation [by way of politics] is fairly formulaic yet the acting is beyond awful because your actors are cut from a cloth that’s a hyper-stylized form of idiocy–and that being an “actor” (snicker) was intentional from the get-go. Attach it to the device of woeful decision-making and employ the utility of a plus sign for the equation that it will boast a professional daytime horror show [only with more terrible acting], you now have a film reel that is overwhelming conflicting. For those of you living outside of the U.S., this is the American experience heading into 2018. Society has grown from proudly owning up to moral compunction–to being the intersection of super bitch junction–to being the home for the carefree stuck with ketamine addictions and an inability to function.

Exploitation of the general masses is an act that requires permission from the general masses–an unconscionable permission at that, but nevertheless, it has to be granted by the masses. In layman’s terms, we call this social engineering. Those who harbor some inkling of intelligence are ready to hate on it with righteous indignation; those who need to the message televised to them just fall hook, line and sinker. The former strategize the means to fend off the Hitlerian tentacles; the latter would rather sulk in a most inhumane pleasure such as sitting in a bowl of ice cream and masturbate until unconsciousness overwhelms them. One would be best off to live life constantly looking over their shoulders like a South Korean identity thief, but that’s just my suggestion. American-branded hatred is akin to an incarcerated felon getting beaten nearly to death during a prison riot, becomes comatose for a period of two months and finally wakes up in a Jewish hospital and begins sexually assaulting busted-looking nurses around him. Brilliant and nasty, but very human.

In ten years, if he’s still alive, Trump will look like Bela Lugosi living with AIDS. Melania will resemble Gina Gershon deepthroating a piece of fried chicken while watching Pootie Tang. It won’t be long before she ends up another bored White House-wife who decides to go Belle De Jour and offer sloppy blowjobs to Secret Service members. Turning tricks in the Oval Office right before engaging with S&M bondage fetishists while enticement emanates from audible background sensationalist narration. 

America’s current, post-“God” society is a society that had expired ten months ago, and where those who live in it are alien to the simple world that existed from a time before. No logic nor a wanton grasp for a reality orchestrated by mathematics. Now it’s just routines compelled by a uncontrollable emotive. Now America is a playground for an erupting District of Columbia; a corruptive Hollywood-backyard that’s the base substance comprised of child endangerment, bittersweet regret [on behalf of the victims], multiple character assassinations, sexual misconduct, various assortments of spiritual aggravation and let’s not forget forced rape as the main ingredient in Harvey Weinstein’s stew. 

An American problem that’s seemingly stuck in perpetuity is the fact that the color code cannot be cracked. What really seems to blow those who still harbor some form of sanity about themselves is how intelligently the themes of guilt and responsibility are mishandled. The psychological insights and existential questions should be skillfully executed, but they’re not–and since they’re not–confusion comes to fill the void. Being a part of the idiocracy in today’s America means that you couldn’t hit water if you fell out of a boat. 

 

 


 

Desmond

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