Wednesday, December 31, 2014


by Mr. Mean-Spirited

Remorse is the most preposterous emotion ever invented by humanitarians. What good is remorse?

Why the hell would it make any difference if a killer feels bad about his murders? Is regret ever going bring anyone back to life? Repentance doesn’t make a murder victim any less dead. If remorse were truly genuine, the killer would be standing by an open grave and trying to reanimate the corpse with a car battery.

You find me a thief who claims remorse, and I show you a robber who spent all the money. Would remorse ever give the victim back one stolen cent?

You show me a felon who feels remorse, and I’ll present you with a fucking liar. The only thing for which an offender would feel regret is getting caught and leaving stuff undone. Wouldn’t it be more honest for a reprobate just to acknowledge his antisocial intentions without having to pretend any regret?

Remorse is one of those things that a do-gooder always needs to hear when someone has transgressed against the existing order. A good Samaritan needs to hear an expression of remorse when someone has stopped conforming to the established system. 

Repentance has always seemed more evil than any possible caper committed by a self-professed evildoer – more wicked because the victim knows it is untrue, yet the community still demands that it be uttered. There is something wrong, systemically wrong, with a society that expects its lawbreakers to be properly remorseful. 

The only thing remorse demonstrates is the gullibility of the person who actually believes the apology. Remorse is an imaginary emotion – and like all feelings cherished by liberals, such supposed contrition presents a fantasy version of reality. If jurors are looking for a glimmer of remorse, it doesn’t really say much about their ability to judge the facts of the case.

I’d rather a competent criminal than a contrite crook.

Tuesday, December 23, 2014


by Mr. Mean-Spirited

Where the fuck did you ever get the idea that you are supposed to enjoy life? Anything that is not going to allow you to make it out alive certainly won’t be very enjoyable along the way. Any existence that has every creature dying from disease or injury will obviously not have any genuine happiness for the duration.  Anything that has you dead when it is all-seen-and-done surely won’t be much fun in the process.

If you reflect upon it, the mass media certainly does seem to make an inordinate effort telling everyone that the objective of life is to be happy – but like most things in this world, the truth isn’t always what the establishment wants you to believe.  Reality is often the complete opposite of what everyone is telling you.

Think of it in this way: life is a bit like an airplane flight – it doesn’t matter if you fly first-class or coach; it doesn’t matter if you join the mile-high club en route; it doesn’t matter how many perks you get while the airliner is in the sky if you still know that you are going to crash and burn upon landing.  It doesn’t matter what you might have done on your vacation – look, if you die in an accident at the end, it wasn’t a good trip.  If you know with dead certainty that you are not going to make it out alive, then only an idiot would enjoy himself along the ride.

Imagine it like this: if you end-up expiring after eating the final course at a five-star restaurant, it doesn’t matter if you just consumed the most gourmet dinner in the world.  If you die of food poisoning after shoving the ingredients into your mouth, it doesn’t matter how wonderful the fixings.  It doesn’t matter how many truffles you were able to stuff down your throat – you’re still going to have a bad taste in your mouth. If you ending up lying face down in the pasta, you didn’t have a very good meal.  But it gets worse, if you know for certain you are going to die at the last course, only someone mentally ill is going to enjoy the supper.

Look at it like this: it doesn’t matter what you did in bed; if your latest fornication leaves you infected with AIDS, it wasn’t a good fuck.  It doesn’t matter how many sexual fantasies you might have fulfilled; if you end up with an incurable disease from your latest copulation, things didn’t go well in the real-world insertion.  If you know the sex is going to be deadly, then only a fool is going to be enjoying the sensations.

Let me put it to you like this: it doesn’t matter how many good times you imagine you might have had in a marriage; if your spouse kills you while you are asleep, it wasn’t a very healthy relationship.  Only someone with mental issues would tell you to focus on the good times.  Only a very sick mind would tell you enjoy each day as it comes.

Logically, if you know that existence will only end up killing you, then only an imbecile would consider the interval to be happy.  If you know that things are going to end badly, then there is something wrong with you if you are enjoying the life sentence.  

To think that happiness is the objective of life is a deluded way of living. If you know that you are going to die no matter what, then happiness in life is a form of mental illness. The part about moldering in the grave is going to put a damper on everything that comes before. If you know that it is all going to end in a coffin no matter what, then it doesn’t make sense to enjoy any of the outdoor exercise you had while digging your own grave.

Thursday, December 11, 2014


by Mr. Mean-Spirited
I don’t know what it means when the mass media issues commands that we must “all come together” – but I instinctively recognize that I don’t want any of it. I am not sure exactly what liberals want when they insist that we must “join together” – but I instinctively realize that I don’t want it happening to me. I still don’t understand what government wants when it orders me to “be part of the community” – but I instinctively react against their communal indoctrination. Busybodies will do many unpleasant things to a human being in this life, but nothing is more unfortunate than ending up “united.” Community organizes are working on you for the same reason that the ranch hands go after the stock. Millions of years of evolution have taught me not to be part of any herd. Socialist collectives are merely an attempt to get human beings to revert to all-fours. The do-gooders try to round-up citizens the same way ranchers corral the beasts right before the slaughter. Coming together is always just a short distance from the abattoir.  

All I want from society is to be left alone. Next time that some social worker pounds on my door – I will kick him in the balls before he gets his compassion around me. Just try and lasso me with your empathy and you’ll feel my instep on your testacles. All that I ask of the bureaucrats is to keep their good intentions away from my body. A liberal helps a citizen the way a rancher assists his livestock with a cattle prod.

Friday, December 5, 2014


by Mr. Mean-Spirited

I don’t give a shit about you.

If I should see you on the corner with your hand stretched out, I wouldn’t give you a frigging dime. No stranger ever gave me a cent, so I’ll be damned if I ever give anyone anything. No one ever helped me, so I sure as hell won’t be helping you.

If I should see you starving on the street, I wouldn’t give you squat. I don’t care how hungry you get; your stomach is your own concern. I couldn’t care less if you happened to collapse right there in front of me. Die in agony, and see if I care.

If I should see you drowning in the lake, I wouldn’t extend a hand. I’m not about to get my clothes dirty just because your head might be about to go under water. Just because your life is ending doesn’t mean that I should get my hands wet. If you stop breathing, that’s your goddamn problem.

If I should see you trapped in a car wreck, I might slow down for a closer look at all the mangled limbs, but I’m not going to stop your bleeding. Your afflictions or your own affair. Do your writhing on your own time; your agony doesn’t involve me.  

Your suffering is none of my business. Human freedom isn’t all about good things – liberty requires that a tormented person be left to his own devices. If you want to be free, you can’t afford to give a shit if some stranger might happens to drop dead.

I care about you exactly as much as you care about me – and that is not one fucking bit. I care nothing about you just the same way that you care nothing about me. That is true equality – mutual hatred.