Oh, I know. There are those who ring their hands, furrow their brows and say things like, "Sarcasm is a form of hostility." To which I reply, "I'm glad you're keeping up with me Sparky."
They say it like it's a bad thing.
Trying to infer there is something wrong with feeling hostile strikes me as an attempt to control the behavior of others from a pedestal of self-superiority, which is something I detest and reject in every way. I can't help it. It gives me stomach cramps. Sometimes getting a little hostile, being a little more confrontational is exactly the right thing to do.
What gets into some people's heads? I often wonder. At times I'm reduced to stunned silence, and get a creepy feeling that's like having a huge hole in my brain as I search for reasons as to what motivates people to do and think the things they do and think.
The most recent occurrence of this was when I stumbled across an announcement of some kind about a group that I just can't understand. Maybe you can help me with this. The group is called Mothers Against Peeing Sitting Down.
I am not making this up.
No I'm not.
If I keep running across things like this I'm going to have to start carrying anti-seizure medication because it makes my eyes roll back into my head involuntarily, and I'm afraid if it happens one too many times, they may get stuck that way.
Seriously now. What is this group of mothers thinking? I get by the title that they have a serious problem with peeing while sitting down, and I deduce this has to be confined to the male gender. I further deduce it is about the males that are their own children. Children who pee. Apparently while sitting down, and this, it seems, is beyond their ability to stay quiet about.
What precisely about one's own children peeing makes it a topic of public concern? Is there anyone out there who has control of your children's urination habits? Is someone following you home, demanding to see your sons march into your bathroom and pee so they can make sure they're sitting down, all against your helpless will?
Who exactly is it that you fantasize has the remotest right to force your sons to sit while peeing? Who are you handing this strangely personal non issue to so that they may control it at their whim, and relegate you to pure irrelevance?
Because in my heart of hearts I cannot imagine that there is a soul in this world who could tell me how to pee. I just can't fathom it. Oh sure, maybe if they held a gun to my head they could force me to do any possible number of strange things in my own bathroom but you see, there's the kicker. Who the hell would care to do anything like that? It's a non issue. It's completely bizarre.
But here is a group of mothers, not a solo mother, but a unified group of mothers who feel so strongly about the life changing, earth shattering, horrendous heartbreak of boys peeing while sitting down that they couldn't just have a hearty chat over coffee - no, they feel compelled to take it public. They think the whole world needs to know about this terrible, awful, horrible thing.
Oh My God.
There are limitless things going on in our country today that are unrepresented wrongs, things that matter a hell of a lot. War, injustice, racism, homelessness, corruption, abuse, child prostitution and kidnapping, bribery, I can't list them all here. But trust me when I say that real people with real lives are getting really hurt by real things that are real problems. But all these people feel drawn to put out into the world is their message of hysterical warning against sitting down peeing.
Do they assume that after the age of Pampers Pull Ups that this problem will persist into adulthood? What exactly happens when big hairy men sit down to pee? Do their penises fall off? Do they grow breasts and wear tutus? What exactly is it, ladies, that you believe is worth interrupting the general public's semi-conscious stupor for, in delivering this heart felt cry of warning to the mothers of America?
Because you see, this is not a problem. This isn't even a subject. What it is, is a very sad public confession that as a group of mothers, you are so weak, helpless and ineffective as adults that you cannot even determine who will control your child's bathroom habits. Anyone beyond you has no say in this matter. How is it that you've given it to them and now believe they control your son's winkies?
I am not asking these questions because I care to hear the answers. I don't. I couldn't care any less than I do. Whatever perceived horror is at the other end of peeing sitting down is going to remain in your imaginative possession. I'm not going to bother looking into it because I already know that no matter what your fear is, it's a stooopid panty wad moronic ignoramus pile of horse doody. And there's enough of that floating around out here already, thanks anyway.
Mothers Against Peeing Sitting Down, get a life. Then take control of it. Because as you should have ascertained by now, if you don't control it someone else will. You've no one to blame but yourselves.
Now I'd like to take this opportunity to use this little rant space as a platform to expand on something. You see, I've become painfully aware of an entire class of people in our country, people much like the aforementioned mothers against peeing sitting down, who really get on my last nerve.
These people are so comfortable, so cozy, so well off, so free of any connection to the struggles of surviving in this cold hearted greedy money worshipping world of corruption and status and murderous bastards, that they haven't got a clue what it would feel like to not have every whim met immediately and consistently, and with the best of everything. They can't begin to guess what worrying about how to make the rent feels like. Every meal they eat is a square one, all of their socks match, and so does their furniture. Struggle, doing without, and hardship to them means something unrelated to survival. It amounts to minor inconvenience, the mental shock of which drives them to five star resorts to recuperate for six weeks.
There really are a class of people so pampered and spoiled, so far removed from inhaling the grit of a city street, that they can't even develop a notion in their minds of what it's like to be living a life of injustice, poverty, and hopelessness. These are the people who say things as stupid as our president's comment that went something like, "See, not all poor people are murderers!"
No one could have been more astonished at this revelation than the tens of millions of American poor who heard him say those words. What's frightening is picturing Barbara Bush and parlors full of others like her, trembling in their Italian made shoes, half hiding behind a door, shaking their heads and saying, "No George, no! It can't be true! How did you come to hear this thing?" They were all taken by surprise at this amazing revelation. Perhaps they now dote upon this man, this pioneer of wisdom, admiring his bravery at walking amongst the little people, those dirty poor violent murdering types. They see him as a cross between Einstein and Indiana Jones.
I just have such a hard time being patient with this group, and they are everywhere. There are plenty of people who live entire lives not only fully detached from reality, but completely unaware that it's missing. What on earth do these people do all day?
Half of me wants to weep, the other wants to rage, and if there were a third half it might be the one that knew what to do about it. But there is no third half, and there are no obvious paths here that would enable me to wake these people up in the way, for instance, that clanging together two garbage can lids outside their bedroom windows at 2 o'clock in the morning might do. These people offend me. They really do. And it's not surprising that the sorts of things that take these people to their psychiatrists offices are the sorts of things a world of humanity would give their eye teeth to have as a problem.
These people's troubles have nothing to do with reality. They're self inflicted fantasy problems, which I guess is all that's left to have when you have everything else. But it does offend me and I don't like being around people like these. It's like rubbing sand paper on my forehead, something that ticks me right off.
In case it needs to be said, don't ever bother me with requests to donate to Mother's Against Peeing Sitting Down. Don't bother sending me an invitation to the opera, or the ballet. Don't expect me to sit still for your story of rage and angst about how your tailor's office failed to have your fitted tux ready on time forcing you to have to wait twenty minutes and nearly miss your flight to your vacation home in Europe. Just, don't even speak to me.
There is nothing within these people that I can relate to, and that's really saying something because I can connect to most anyone. They only have to be real, and I'm right there. But these folks have nothing I can grab a hold of. You could cover them with velcro and I'd still slip off them like they were oily glass. I don't think there's anyone in there. It's all hollow inside. Who are these people? What is the point of their lives? What do they do when their loved ones die? Do they hold their hands or do they hire someone to do it for them? I just can't say, I don't get it.
I don't feel pity for them, not at all. What I do feel is sickened. Something is wrong with their minds and hearts, it's surreal and offensive and faraway. Oh wait, I get it, they're republicans. Never mind. I answered my own question. Thanks for letting me vent, it was very helpful.
They say the definition of consciousness is being self aware, but I disagree. The true definition of consciousness is being aware of others.
Until next time. Think Or Be Eaten.