There’s a very special kind of torture I usually keep in mind for a very select few individuals on this planet. If I were ever given a carte blanche to dispense social justice, that is.
Some people just deserve some comeuppance, y’know?
Now, I’m not interested in narcissistic, profiteering fascists whose acts of oppression against their own people are continuously re-branded as patriotism protection measures. And you better believe that pompous pile of troll hair running things south of the 49th is one such ne’er do well.
But this post isn’t about that misogynistic waste of amniotic fluid, no sir (or m’am.) There is no shortage of jokes made on his account this past year alone, so I feel no need to add to the rising mound of shit upon which he resides. If you want some political fodder for the next office party, fire up your favourite browser; the sheer number of website hits will rival that of the entire online porn industry.
And, say, what do you think happened to all the porn stars of olde? I mean, you don’t hear of porn stars anymore. Going into adult film making was a legitimate career choice during the prime of the 70’s, 80’s, and early 90’s. Shoot, most vocational colleges had programs, I believe. Likely something along the lines of Indecent Proposals 101 or Advanced Bow-chicka-wow-wow.
And young actors looking to get some field experience could hone their adult film acting skills with an easy after-school job, like a pizza delivery dude or studly handy-man.
The internet must have completely destroyed the industry, no?
I mean, they (still talking about porn stars here) must have all gathered together to see the very first online nookie video, downloaded at 14kbps over the course of 11 hours (as long as NOBODY PICKED UP THE PHONE!) And you just know, with the looming possibility of people sharing endless naughty videos online for free, someone in the group must have muttered a deep truth right then and there concerning their questionable futures as adult film stars. Something eloquent, no doubt, somewhere along the lines of “Well, we’re fucked.” Ha! Get it?
So, like, what happened to these poor souls? No way are they still making films, right? With people making their own amateur videos and posting it for free while earning ad revenue, I would imagine there is no need for infamous adult stars anymore. People (couples as well as “just friends” duos) used to eagerly await the release of their favourite star’s latest endeavour, like Saving Ryan’s Privates and Harry Does Sally, in full colour VHS, and watch the hour and a half feature film with a steamy bowl of popcorn by their sides, probably with no small amount of light petting. But now, surely, the guys and gals of the traditional porn industry must have all hung up their whips, cock rings and fuzzy handcuffs long ago. I imagine them all deciding one day that it was time, that the world no longer needed them, and so they all walked off together, hand in hand, dissolving into the wind as they strolled towards a perfect Hollywood sunset.
Kinda sad, in a way.
A perfect example of how technology has made people’s jobs obsolete. Shoot, they weren’t hurting anybody. And it was just a part of life, one which every little boy and girl learned about at a healthy age, when they first stepped into a video rental store. Remember that mysterious little room with the black curtain? Oh, yes, we all remember that curtain. Girls, being the more mature species of humans, were probably less than remotely interested in what was behind that curtain. But for young boys, the magnetic pull was tantamount to that of the local hardware store BB gun. Not necessarily because we craved to see female nudity long before puberty ever asserted itself, but because we were curious, that’s all. We just wanted to sneak a peek in that little forbidden room of treasures, to see what all the fuss was about. Unfortunately, I never got a chance. Before I hit 18, I’d met my future wife, and it was more fun to hang out with her than the idea of sitting alone in a dark basement with a well-worn hi-fi copy of Village of the Rammed (and I’ll have you know, we kept the petting to a minimum when we were dating, thank you. My mum in law might be reading, after all.)
But the whole idea of renting a nudie flick is a bit gross, no? When you think of all the strange hands (sinful, inquisitive, probably never washed hands) which those hard-copy videos had passed through…ick. Now, however, with the delicious convenience of wi-fi and a vast array of other connected electronics, it’s far more hygienic for voyeurs to keep their hands confined to their own personal (and probably sticky) devices.
Where the Hell are we?
So, yeah, some people deserve a bit of torture, in my opinion.
What, did I lose you back there? I’m talking about serving up some justice here, people, try to keep up. And get your mind out of the gutter.
No, I don’t care about real world dictators and “democratic” leaders wagging their dicks (there you go again, you naughty person you) at each other as they point to their big missiles set to deploy at the push of a button. Karma will set them straight one way or another.
But there are some monsters out there. Creatures of senseless evil which need to be tortured mercilessly for their comments and actions. People who, though they cannot possibly be held accountable for inflicted misery at the same level as instigators of genocide or even reckless natural destruction, are still regarded as undeserving fiends to society due to their complete lack of, well, imagination.
I’m talking about people who win the lottery, I’m talking mega bucks, then don’t do a dang thing different.
“Congratulations, sir, you are the proud winner of thirty million dollars from Friday’s Lottomax draw! What are you going to do with your winnings?”
Undeserving shnook: “Oh, I dunno, s’pose Edith an’ I’ll buy some bonds or something. GIC’s sound interesting, too…We’ll keep workin’, though. I get a full pension in sixteen years, ah-yup. And our car’s still good. A ’79 Gremlin…Maybe we’ll get a new toaster, though. Keeps burnin’ the bread. Maybe watch for a good sale at Sears…”
F – you.
You win THIRTY MILLION and you can’t get more imaginative than a discounted Black n Decker?!?! Go play in traffic, you uninspired sponge.
My mind won’t stop reeling at the infinite wonderful things I would do with millions in my account. Travel the world, for starters, not to mention look into tickets for commercial voyages to the moon. Build my dream home. Donate funds to small non-profit organizations trying to change the world for the better. Become an angel investor (always wanted an angel, hope he’s got big wings.) Quit work and write a novel or two. Go skydiving, learn to sail, float in zero-G parabolic flights, raft the entire Grand Canyon and test drive a tank.
And, oh, sooooo much more.
I once read an article about a couple in eastern Canada who won the lottery five times! Yeah, okay, the payouts varied, the smallest coming in at a “measly” twenty thousand, the biggest around five million. Still.
Isn’t that unbelievable? Some people have all the luck.
And if they were appreciative, humble and deserving people, it wouldn’t bother me one bit.
But, of course, they weren’t.
Get this. In regards to their last big win (something around the three-quarters of a million mark) these ingrates actually tried suing the lottery commission for delay of payment. Can you believe that? How greedy can you get?
Probably the lottery officials were busy running extensive background checks on these pirates trying to find out if they’d knowingly gone over the legal limit in terms of how many horseshoes, clovers and blue moons could be surgically implanted into one’s own rectum.
Greedy mooks like that don’t deserve to win. Bring the tar and feathers, I say!
Thankfully, every once in a rare while, you hear a different story, one where a young, loving couple who were down to their last couple of bucks, instead of buying a soon-to-be-expiring package of grade “B” hotdogs (Now with 30% more snouts!) from their local cornerstore to give their family sustenance for a single, miserable meal, decides instead to blow the last of their meager net worth on a single lottery ticket, ultimately winning the big jackpot.
Hearing that, your hope in humanity and the world beyond restored, you can’t help but bring your hands together in a slow, affirming clap, thinking Way to go, Universe. You done good.
Yeah, sure, I wanted to win that big payout, I’m not gonna lie about that. But if I had to lose, I’m glad it was to someone who really needed it, and will hopefully do some good with it.
I’m doing okay, anyway. We’re doing fine, in fact. Our bills are being paid, we live comfortably (if not fancy-free), and we’re blessed with a wonderful family to call our own. I guess it’s easy to understand why the universe passes us over when it’s handing out some big wins.
And maybe that’s why some people, even though they’re complete ass-hats, seem to have buckets and buckets of money being tossed their way. Maybe their lives actually suck so bad that the universe is basically throwing money at the problem, hoping to fix it. Sucky.
I guess I don’t really need to win the lottery. Things are going pretty well and I can’t complain, really. But still…a couple million in the bank wouldn’t be bad, either, I could make it work…
Damn cosmos, always passing me over with the cash payouts.
Maybe, maybe I should try to look more pathetic and needy. I could start by cobbling pants together from old rags rather than splurging on George’s at Wal-Mart. Heck, instead of name-brand cereal for breakfast, I could enjoy my milk over a heaping bowl of Alpo.
Yeah, maybe if I looked sad enough, the powers that be might just let me win the lottery sometime. Think it could work? Sort of? Maybe?
Maybe I should just remember to buy a ticket, for starters.
Sweet zombie Jesus, am I ever glad that’s over.
I just wasn’t feeling it this year. I tried. I really did try, but the Spirit of Christmas just didn’t grab a hold of my candy cane like it used to this time around.
Was it due to the ever-increasing cynicism that seems to grow within me every time I open up Facebook these days?
Yeah, probably. But that’s not all of it, I think.
This year’s approach and ultimate delivery of the holiday season just seemed a bit, well, much to me. With the emergence of a couple unexpected twists this December, I kinda just wanted Christmas to make a quick appearance, have its fill of guilt-driven commercialism and nougat-filled holiday promises then leave me alone to forge my way into another new year, however I saw fit.
I just wasn’t myself this year.
I think I mostly just went through the motions this time, trying to focus my lackluster energy where I felt it most needed to be, just to get through it all. That being said, I apologize to my loved ones, friends and family, for not being there a hundred percent this Christmas. Shoot, most years I usually run at about a decent 85 or 90% (large-scale socializing is actually a tough thing for me), but this year I don’t think I gave much more effort than I did on my senior year math final, and believe me, that was dismal. It just wasn’t in me to really celebrate the Christmas season this year.
I did enjoy visiting with friends and family again, absolutely. But I think the timing was just off for me, that’s all. But, of course, that’s when everyone is together, isn’t it? If I could have, I would have loved to be able to put Christmas on hold for a wee bit, just so I could sort myself out a little and give proper attention and energy to those in my life who deserve it. I didn’t really want to do it, celebrate Christmas that is. Not then, anyway. Not at that time.
But I did it anyway, ‘cause it’s not just about me anymore. Not that it ever was, of course, but it almost felt like that sometimes when I was much younger. If it were just about me, I think I could have very easily holed myself up in my basement this year for a good long while, filling my time with movies and occasional bits of writing as I patiently waited for the last of the outside Christmas lights to come down in the neighborhood, only to resume my measly existence as a basic member of society at about the same time most people have already given up on their New Year’s resolutions.
But, thankfully, it’s not just me I have to think about. I have family; parents, siblings (one possibly legitimate, others by marriage), aunts and uncles, cousins and grandparents, friends that have long since attained “family” status, and of course, my loving and supportive wife. Most importantly, however, are my kids.
If Christmas time belongs to anybody, it’s for the kids in the world. And I wasn’t going to let my feelings get in the way of Christmas for them. At least, I hope I didn’t. Not too much, anyway.
We wrote letters to Santa (yes, apparently reindeer do prefer a healthy vegetable smoothie blend to milk and cookies – they can’t all be fat like Santa.) We baked and decorated with icing. We put up the tree, the lights, and the decorations throughout the house. We went on small road trips to do stuff like visiting 12 foot tall gingerbread houses and pulling the wee ones on a sled as we ice skated over a frozen mountain lake. We watched a Christmas parade, enjoyed traditional holiday movies, and listened to our favourite Christmas stories. We visited with family constantly during our time back home for the holidays, bouncing from venue to venue and people to people for breakfasts, brunch, lunch and dinners. We let the kids get scooped up by doting relatives (at a reduced family rate of $4.99/minute) and showered with gifts, enjoying the giggles and laughs they shared with all those so eager to see them again. We opened presents, we let them sneak chocolates and goodies, and thought forlornly about how quickly they had grown.
I don’t think I was as good as I could have been for them this Christmas. I might have been just good enough, really, but not much more. Thankfully, my kids have a ton of other people who love them a great deal and want the best for them that they didn’t even notice.
I hope so, anyway. Kids can be pretty forgiving.
It was just bad timing this year, that’s all. I just couldn’t get into it. But I wanted to, for the kids…
But I guess there’s always next year, right?
Shoot… next year, the little munchkins will even better understand what’s really going on during the holidays! Let’s face it; the wee girl? She was just over a year old in December. She wasn’t making memories this time around anyways, right? She just wanted to eat wrapping paper for three weeks, so no big loss there. And the little guy? Well, he’s pretty astute, but he was still just a little too overwhelmed with the concept that some fat guy goes around all night giving away free presents to really care about too much else.
And hey! Next year, all three of us can team up together and try to convince the wife that outdoor Christmas lights have been remarketed as “Winter Lights” (yet are conveniently still compatible with our old lights) and should henceforth be proudly displayed as soon as the first case of Daylight Savings Time Clinical Depression is reported in the Canadian healthcare system, rather than abiding by the traditional “Not until AFTER my birthday!” clause she keeps reminding me off. Sheesh. We’ll vastly outnumber her next year, so ya never know.
And there’s that fabricated hoof-on-a-stick I assembled in the fall but never got around to using this year to make it look like Santa’s reindeer had trampled around the back yard in search of reindeer food (oatmeal n’ glitter.) Like I said, having fully embraced the commercial side of Christmas, the eldest of the offspring only wanted assurances that his written request for a Paw Patrol Sea Patroller Action Vehicle (PPSPAV for not-much-shorter) wouldn’t be for naught, and that’s it. He couldn’t care less about feeding the help in minus thirty degree weather. Next year, dammit.
It’s just been that kind of end-of-year for me this time around. Thankfully, I can try to put it all in perspective and remind myself that it’s not necessarily how you manage to spend the holidays with friends and family, but that I can consider myself lucky enough to have them to celebrate with in the first place.
I hope you guys and gals out there all had a wonderful Christmas season.
And now, since it is nearly mid-January by the time I finally get this off my chest, I think we can all agree in telling that silly ol’ holiday to just take a hike and not come back until I’ve run out of my son’s Halloween candy in late fall. At least.
Thanks for listening. I feel better now.