by Mr. Mean-Spirited
If you are going to call yourself a humanitarian, eventually other humans are going to take advantage of you. That’s the way life works, little fellow. All your generosity does not make you a compassionate person – it just makes you a sucker.
There is no entity more evil than a do-gooder – immoral precisely because that sort of person is such a dupe. There is no creature more vile than an altruist – disgusting precisely because your kind of sissy will allow yourself to be chumped. The liberal has about as much pathetic nastiness as a premature ejaculator covered with his own semen – all that giving just ends-up soiling yourself.
Caring about someone who doesn’t care about you is a sort of moral sliminess. A generous man is like a slug slathering itself in its filth – making itself sticky with magnanimity in order to conceal a fundamental vileness. Just as a liar will double-down on his lies to avoid admitting his dishonesty, a do-gooder will double-down on his meddling to avoid admitting his true emptiness.
Helping someone who will never help you is a just a way of humiliating yourself. Improving the life of another person will only make you a lesser human being. Openhandedness is just as way of willingly becoming a victim. Munificence is a moral failing.
A single act of benevolence can break you. A single act of kindness is something you will never live down. A single act of compassion is something that will cripple you forever. A single act of empathy will embarrass you to your dying day.
Like that premature ejaculator – the greater your bounty, the more that everyone else will be laughing at you. Sometimes it is better just to keep it in your pants.
by Mr. Mean-Spirited
After any terrorist attack, you always suffer more if you don’t strike back. If you ever get sucker-punched, then you are only going to get pummeled if you don’t pound back.
Whenever the Muslims execute a single Christian, Westerners need to eradicate a dozen Jihadists. You fight fire with fire. You fight violence with even greater violence.
Nothing dumber than a moment of silence after a terrorist slaughter; the only eulogy that you want to hear will be the sound of your foes being executed. In the old days, the victims would have sought revenge; in these diverse times, the pansies are carrying around teddy bears. A hundred years ago, real men would have demanded the criminal’s blood; now the liberals only want to show how sensitive they are. Tolerance is only going to result in further terrorism. Acceptance is only going to produce another assault.
If you hold a candlelight vigil after the latest massacre, you are only going to look frail. And feebleness is only going to encourage them to finish your off. It would be better to see one additional private citizen with an assault rifle, than an entire community carrying floral arrangements. You need to leave your balloons at home, and start taking your bazookas out into the streets. If you don’t show any backbone on the boulevard, then it is just a matter of time before your intestines get smeared on the sidewalk.
If you have any respect for yourself, it’s time for a backlash.
by Mr. Mean-Spirited
I used to try. When I was younger, I tried to act like everyone else.
I would observe carefully, and I would lean forward when the other person leaned forward. I would observe cautiously, and I would smile when the other person smiled. I conscientiously laughed for 2 whole seconds when the other person told a joke – yes, it was a contrived, concocted chuckle, but the point is that I was trying.
If the target spoke with an accent, I would copy the same regional dialect. If I detected a minimal intelligence in the subject, I would make an attempt at small talk. I would memorize what the other person told me, and I would claim the same thing happened to me when the stranger confided in me – obviously, nothing like that actually occurred to me, but I was making an effort here. But all the while, I was fully conscious of myself a putting on a different persona – mimicking a personality-type the same way you might wear a Halloween costume. Eventually I came to understand that other people actually thought they were the character whose outward appearance they were wearing.
There was a point in my life when I forced myself to be friendly. After a couple hours, the other person always managed to see through my best efforts. It is like the other person could sense that something is different with me. They could somehow perceive that I do not belong to their group. Like all dumb animals, they could instinctively feel I am not one of them. They knew I was not on their side.
It didn’t take long for me to recognize that most of humanity has no genuine self-awareness. Other people see themselves as part of a pack. If one of the herd were to ever fully realize his own uniqueness, then he would immediately be cast out of the flock. The ordinary person is simply not fully capable of perceiving himself as a unique entity. A liberal wants to transcend his ego – while a free man just wants to know himself completely, to realize himself completely.
Individualism is really just a form of self-consciousness. Other people lack a divine spark that gives them this self-knowledge.
I think that other people are alien creatures. I fear that altruists might actually be a different species. Communitarians might possibly have some human DNA – but other people are obviously not children of God. While a conformist might be anatomically Homo sapiens, he does not possess a fully developed sense of self-awareness. A humanitarian does not have a soul.
by Mr. Mean-Spirited
Academic anthropologists use the word pothunter as an insulting term for an ordinary person who discovers an archaeological artifact – you know, a member of the uncredentialed public who actually has the impudence to unearth a prehistoric object. No subculture receives more archaeological hatred than pothunters. The experts do have a reason to fear this self-service excavation. Pothunting is not just a personal, private collection of relics—but all this unapproved acquisition actually undermines the very foundations of the American establishment. Although this self-service excavation is proudly despised by the academic overlords, think of pothunting as guerilla archaeology.
Pothunters aren’t hypocrites about what they are doing—while university employees are not completely honest about their true objectives. Credentialed archaeologists will argue that pothunting destroys the context in which a pre-Columbian artifact might be discovered, and so it does—but what anthropologists might claim in the classroom is not exactly what they do in the field. Even if the academic excavator does bother to notice the context, no other person will ever be permitted to see the evidence. At least ordinary citizens get to see what the pothunter discovers.
Once a tenured authority has laid claim to an enticing figurine, the object goes straight to the basement of a museum—never to be viewed again. In spite of the fact that these assistant professors can bum a pitcher of lite beer from you with teary-eyed promises to “restudy” such treasures, they never even bother to unwrap the plastic around last year’s discoveries. There are cabinets of artifacts in the basement of a museum that haven’t even been looked-at for fifty years—those pots would be better appreciated if they were sitting on someone’s bookshelf, rather than being stored in some institutional warehouse. While uncertified taxpayers aren’t even allowed a peep at the loot in the museum backroom, the pothunter’s figurine collection will be vigorously admired by friends and nobodies.
Pothunters do not ask for your tax money. Tenured archaeologists don’t even set foot in the field without getting a government grant to pay for their little trip. These academic parasites can’t even scrape the dirt off the bottom of their grant-purchased shoes without looking up the proper procedure in the government-written manual; these publication-conscious professors won’t even put the ignition key in the official, corporate-sponsored SUV without approval from a university committee.
Pothunters pay their own way. Pothunters aren’t looking for a handout. Say what you like about pothunters, at least they aren’t asking for government money. The only looting here is what is happening to a taxpayer’s hard-earned income when it gets into the university system. The only theft of resources is the academic grant system itself.
Pothunters often do better prehistory than these scholastic pretenders. Anthropologists are there to provide academic justification for the existing social order. All university professors provide the wink-wink, nudge-nudge support for multicultural elite that funs this government. Archaeologists decide exactly what they are going to find before they even start the excavation.
After all, these poor professors wouldn’t get tenure without displaying adequate political correctness, like the way a plumber is required to display an adequate amount of butt crack. American archaeologists are there to legitimize the existent reservation system—because Indian land means Indian casinos, and the Indian gambling industry means plenty of cash to spread around to politicians. Anthropologists are they to promote cultural relativism – because increased migrant flow means government immigrant funding.
A tenured anthropologist’s job requires that the artifacts match the official view of prehistory. Pedagogues will be the first to cover-up and cast-aside any Chinese porcelain discovered amongst Anasazi grave-goods. Academics will conceal and camouflage any evidence of early Caucasian migration to North America—as the strange saga of Kennewick Man will demonstrate. Some associate professor’s entire career is going to depend on making anomalous, inconvenient Solutrean artifacts disappear from the archaeological record of the Americas. Whenever you hear of a farmer discovering a Viking rune stone, the archaeologist is the first to pronounce the artifact impossible because it contradicts his textbook. Whenever you read of Roman artifacts being discovered in North America, the anthropologist is the first to go around and hush it up. You can be confident about one thing in life: a tenured faculty member will always whisk-broom anything politically incorrect from his dissertation.
In illicit contrast, the pothunter is certain to boast about any anomalous finds to his redneck buddies. Anything that challenges academic orthodoxy will be widely publicized by a pothunter —the amateur has prestige on the line at the local dive bar.
Don’t get me wrong, current American Indians have cultures that are worthy of our respect and admiration, but those present-day cultures seldom have any historic or genetic connection with the pre-Columbian civilizations that left their artifacts upon the landscape. Amateur archaeology demonstrates that many previous societies have flourished and perished in the same geography. And because of the multicultural elitists, traditional Anglo-Americans will soon be yet another population group that has forever vanished upon this continent.
Just as you would not trust a news reporter who takes government money, you should not trust an archaeologist who receives official funding. Institutional excavation legitimizes the authoritarian control of knowledge; getting a government permit for an excavation will merely support the existing power structure. Pothunting liberates archaeology from its bureaucratic overlords. Unsanctioned excavation returns a glimmer of the marvelous to the trenches; unauthorized shoveling is a muddy insurrection.
Pothunters understand more about a vanished civilization than the experts. Because of the intimate experience with the geographic area, pothunters have an intuitive appreciation of the vanished culture. This illicit sweat allows such a deep, immediate awareness of a vanished society that the academic in-crowd tries to exorcise with the word “amateur.” Horror of horrors, terror of terrors, some relic hunters have even used a few of those pre-Columbian arrowheads to actually bring down a wild turkey. Pothunters actually experience the off-the-grind lifestyle of the civilization that they are excavating.
Faculty members diligently avoid getting any antique grime on the fashionable outdoor wear; a university employee will only spend the night in a motel suite with high-speed wifi, and the professor will only dine at the restaurant in town with the best wine list (all on grant money, of course). If any physical labor is required, they will delegate spadework to their unfortunate students; there is a sucker needing a degree born every minute.
Pothunters are damn-near inspirational. No matter how many buzzwords can be squeezed into a committee-written article, the peer-reviewed periodical isn’t going to get the general public interested in antiquity. Analysis of ceramic shards—no matter how impeccable the statistics, no matter how expensive the electron microscope—can never inspire. In unlawful contrast, the Redware glimpsed on a neighbor’s bookcase will motivate future exploration. It wasn’t the footnotes about African ethnography that inspired Braque and Picasso—as much as ritual objects of an exceedingly curious provenience that fertilized the blossoming and blooming of modern art.
If Indiana Jones were doing a little extracurricular archaeology, the only thing that he might like to find is something nice for the mantle.
by Mr. Mean-Spirited
The future is a nightmare from which we struggle to awaken. Future generations only hold us back from reaching our full potential right now. Your own offspring are just a means of oppressing you in the here and now. There are no greater tyrants than your own posterity.
The notion that we should make the world better for our children only makes things worse for us today. The fancy that we should preserve the environment for generations yet to come just keeps us from fully enjoying life right now. Trying to improve education for the next generation will only increase tax rates on productive adults – but I’d rather keep more of my disposable income and let kids fend for themselves.
No matter how much taxes increase, things will not be better tomorrow. No matter how much you might want life to be better, things will only be more horrible next year. The future will always be a worse place.
After all, when, in all of human history, have things ever improved? The idea that society will become better for the next generation is the greatest delusion that human beings tell themselves.
The future can take care of itself. Let’s cut down all the trees. Let’s pump out all the oil. Let’s eat-up all the food. Let’s drink-up all the liquor. Your children will figure out a solution when they become adults; if they don’t, well … maybe they weren’t destined to survive anyway. Maybe it is best to adopt a scorched earth policy toward our descendants. Might as well disown the worthless bastards.
The future is only going to become even more of what it is now: a place of sheer dismay. Nothing can be done to stop the disintegration. The wisest thing we can do is to enjoy a barbecue and a brew as we watch the civilization collapse.
by Mr. Mean-Spirited
Hate-fucking is usually defined as sex with a person you have come to loathe – but until you cum, you cannot discern just how truly loathsome is that sexual partner. Hate-fucks are not just sex with a female you despise, but an act of discovery: you cannot fully realize just how much you despise the feminine until you fuck her.
Nothing is as intense and instructive as a hate-fuck. You might have loved a girl at one point in your life, and as usual in these things, she dumped you – but you can’t stop thinking about her.
Even though there is something about her presence that now disgusts you, you can’t stop looking at her. Even though the feel of her body is now repugnant to you, there is still a desire to hold her in your arms again. Even though you now might bite her lips more than kiss her, you still want another taste of her skin.
You take your affection out on her. You grab her by the hair – and whether you clout or caress her, you arousal is just contempt for her very existence. It is called “banging her” for a reason.
You are disappointed with yourself for gaining an erection by the feel of her revolting flesh. The more you thrust into her body, the more she repulses you. You endure an orgasm out of sheer abhorrence. That final ejaculation is the only way to get her out of your system.
A whore you feel nothing for. A girlfriend you might even like. But a lover is a different sort of entity: a soulmate must be dealt with – you defile her, and then you depart.
by Mr. Mean-Spirited
All that I care about is myself – not because I am of any particular importance whatsoever, but because all that I know, all that I can know, all that I can ever know, all that I will ever know for certain is myself. I am an individualist because I don’t have any other choice. I am an individualist because that is all I can fully understand.
All that I can be sure about is what is happening in my own mind. I don’t know what anyone else is thinking – and, frankly, I don’t care. Now, it might be argued that a person could tell me his thoughts and desires, but how can I ever believe that he would be telling me the truth? Any fellow could say that he wishes me the best – but, in reality, the bastard might just want to stab me in the back.
While you might not be able to know what a particular person might be thinking, you can make a record of any activity directed toward you. And close examination of their actions will reveal an obvious pattern. The way that you have been treated will reveal an outline of the genuine nature of other human beings. You will see the true malevolence of other people if you keep an accounting of all the times you were mistreated. There is a reason why you are encouraged to keep a diary: so that you will not forget all the ways you have been wronged. You see the ledger and do not listen to what you are told.
Politicians are the perfect example that what a human being says cannot ever be accepted. Only a fool would ever trust a bureaucrat. You believe an elected official at your own peril. Just as it is obvious that any politician will only deceive you – it is imperative that you extend that same principle throughout the social order, and it is essential that you realize all citizens will be just as deceptive as their elected officials. If legislators are all liars, so are the people that voted for them in the first place.
I have no choice but to look out for myself – and let everyone else be damned. I am not going to take someone else’s word for anything. Individualism is not so much a decision, but a kind of last resort for the personality.
Since it is impossible to ever truly know the hopes and dreams of other people, you should not ever bother trying. But even the attempt to know the mind of another person will only prevent you from doing what is truly important: understanding yourself. Other human beings are merely sources of disinformation – and whatever anyone might say about you will only distort your own awareness. Don’t waste time on strangers; you cannot take the risk of believing their lies. Society is an institution designed to prevent self-realization.
