The Horrible Burden of Being Right All the Time

Some people have no idea how goddamn fragile the universe is, you know? How temporary and tenuous and genuinely frightening it is. How all things are supposed to have a purpose and a reason and a proper place and time to exist. It’s an awful shame, and apparently a staggeringly difficult concept to understand in crunch time, but it’s true. No, seriously—anything worth doing is worth doing right. Life requires meticulous planning, and I’m sick and tired of being mocked for my steadfast adherence to things done by the book and inside the box and according to the forever-changing rules that I myself made up.

Honest, I swear. I mean, I’ve thought about this stuff a lot, okay? I fucking hate it when people up and decide to be the change they wish to see, because that wasn’t part of The Plan. My plan—because I’m a Serious Person, and I believe in inartful, easily-malleable shit like Facts and Reason and Logic and other soulless, sexless, reality-based stuff. Except when it it’s not convenient—but hey, we can’t have all that messy passion coloring everything we do, can we? We’re dealing with a delicate operation here, and no one’s allowed to touch the sides. That buzzer’s just so fucking loud. But yeah, the quest sits perpetually upon the edge of a knife, and no one will believe how serious it is if silly damn fools keep running around shoving petitions in peoples’ faces. Everything simply must be in its right place, or else we’ll all be sorry.

And, really—the last thing I want to do is drive a wedge between people I like and people I don’t, but man, these overzealous activists and hotshot circular firing squads are totally harshing my buzz. Seriously, you guys, let’s not bicker and argue about who killed who. The President spoke! He rocked! This is supposed to be a happy occasion! I wanted to Rah Rah and Fuck Yeah and kick the party of Dumb Brutes and Rich People while they’re down, and now…well, now these fucking petitions are everywhere, and I can’t do that! So totally not fair, man. Not cool at all. We can’t possible impose upon our erstwhile allies. That would be ever so rude. It would ruin everything.

And their insecurities are contagious, after all. Overzealous enthusiasm would frighten anyone, though, right? If we’re not careful, it’ll topple our little jenga-pile of painstakingly-crafted talking points and frames and alliances and deft, subtle maneuvers. So, sadly, some people need to be put in their place. Forcefully. It brings us no joy, but it must, yes must be done. Why? Because foisting our horrible burdens of rightness upon those dumb, melodramatic philistines is what we do best. They have no idea how we feel. Mocked and teased and snickered at and ignored for having the temerity to be unremittingly professional. Jesus! What’s the world coming to?

So yeah, this is how it’s gonna have to be, because we said so, and lots of important people agree with us. That’s right, son—don’t you forget it. Don’t you realize we’ve already considered and dismissed your childish concerns? Can’t you see us tearing our hair? Can’t you feel us wring our own necks in righteous rage? Can’t you sense the humor and absurdity being sucked right out of our normal little souls by those clumsy, grasping amateurs? Cause if you can’t, well…then you deserve every sociopathic sneer that will hit you. It’ll be withering. You’ll feel so dumb and worthless that you won’t want to do anything at all! Eat that bowl of condescension, dude. Eat it raw, or no pudding for you. How can you have any ponies if you don’t eat your shit?

Because your parents slaved over this shit, son. We’re so totally more the legit activists than those other posturing wankers. Oh sure, yesterday it was activism, but then it became embarrassingly popular, and so today we’ve decided that they’re doing it all wrong and deemed them a circular firing squad. We know what’s best for you, and you better appreciate it. Hell, we’re gonna MAKE you appreciate it, because no one’s appreciated us. No one’s even acknowledged the days and weeks and months and years we’ve spent mucking around the unknowing, unfeeling void. Other people gave up and fucked off, but did we ever falter? NO. We FOLLOWED THE RULES, and continued to, long long long after the Great Eye had looked beyond to focus on other, worthier things. It was our perogative, baby. Our right.

So don’t give me that bong-shattering bollocks about “nuh-uh” and “whatevs” and “nyah nyah WE TOLD YOU SO” and “everything sucks worse than it’s ever sucked before.” We are HIGH on GLORY and TRANSCENDENCE right now, and shiny objects are for losers. Losers, I say. Now pass me that mojo and let’s go bitch-slap some Naderites. Hell yes! Go! Fight! Stomp the buggers! Twist some progressive titties! Kick Sirota in the balls! The White House Chief of Staff didn’t order it, but we know he totally would have, and you know what that means.

And another thing—for the love of Humphrey, please don’t get paid to blog. That’s making us look bad. That will just curdle our envious little souls, and we’ll have to stomp your reputation into the slimy gutter. Hell hath no fucking fury like a scorned, under-appreciated Earnest Liberal with the temerity to work for free. Anyone who doesn’t is just a paid shill or “failed movie producer” trying to build their fake reputation. Oh sure, they say they care about the issue, but their methods are, like, absolutely uncool, and all the suckers who are falling for their act are just the dumb unwashed ignorant masses anyway. I mean, was Nirvana cool when they single-handedly killed hair metal?

No. Hell no. We own every county fair stage and Sunset dive bar, so fuck them. We’re taking them out. Yeah, time to give ’em a bath. Wash behind the ears. Git ’em soap flakes in the cracks. Lather-rinse-repeat. Humiliate the uppity little punks. Don’t make me come down there. I’m going to scrub my snide sense of professional arrogance into you until your skin runs red with the rashes of the cynical, until it wrinkles raw with the ruthless scabs of compromise. And you’ll learn to like it. Trust me, I speak from eminent experience. Hold still, little shill. This won’t hurt a bit, but you will learn to live with it.