Renegotiation and Emotional Masturbation

There are three ways to introduce an essay. This is not one of them. This is not an essay. Go touch yourself and cry about it. This will start with no explanation and end without my caring. John Locke had an interesting idea and he spelled his name wrong. Let’s focus on the former at least for a short while. Locke told you and me that we hold a “social contract” with the government (in his case not Cheney). He told us that we “turn over” specific rights to the government in order for certain benefits of having such a ridiculous institution.
Now I’m telling something back. I negotiated a number of years ago to standards that are no longer applicable. I would like (too soft?)- I am going to renegotiate my social contract.
I previously followed the basic tenants of the 1689 negotiation in England, but after my job transfer- and being thrown out of Ireland- there has come ripe time for change.
1) In exchange for my right to religion I am going to take a license to kill- pending me (Microsoft Word says that the previous word should be “me” in place of “I”- go crawl in a money-lined hole and die Mr. Gates- I didn’t need Harvard my ass...) pass the test, of course. I will attend whatever church ordered of me. For two hours a week I will drink goat blood with the Mormons or go baby-killing with the Jews; whatever deems them happy I will abide to. Read it out loud. It rhymes. That makes me a poet. However, I will not take this bullshit of not being able to cleanse the gene pool at my own volition while Blackwater can perform the same surgery in a foreign country.

2) I relinquish my right to the free press in return for the ability to fly. To those of you reading this who immediately thought, “THIS is freedom of press- Forrest is out of control this time-,” before you thought further (if you don’t get the “further” reference, see next step): a) I don’t care and b) you were adopted.
3) In return for never coveting my neighbor’s donkey I expect full privileges to his wife.
4) I have come to the conclusion that the commandments, however innate, are not “rights”- so much for the early-afternoon cocktail.
5) I hereby give up my right to counsel in return for justice- justice and law is (again.) two very different things- that may have been profound.
THIS IS THE IMPORTANT PART
I am becoming irate- in a business class we were told by a representative of school that I will not name (then decide to anyway) from Hickey “College”. Quotes are intentional. She was attending our class to lecture on job applications, cover letters, and future job markets. She was border-line. Everything.
Let me pretend to ignore these horrors: (on a list of possible QUESTIONS for an interview) List all the jobs you have previously held? (yes, that is a question mark), You have children? (Are you serious?), a rant against errors whilst having COUNT THEM 15 errors on four handouts. One was Government issued.
For our sake, she pled; (again?) please do not spell anything wrong on your documents. She lectured most of ten minutes on reasons why we need to spell correctly. As if on any document an error was actually any arbitrary spiting of all English principles, a veritable Fuck you to the MLA. Actually Ms., I go out of my way to misspell words and capitalize letters in the middle of most everything I write. You’ve got to be kidding. She wasn’t. At this point, the women, overweight to the point her neck burst from the standard collar like a German sausage rupturing its casing (bet she was from Affton) became annoyed with my calling her out. She was now my hypocritical punching bag. I proceeded to shake her like a toddler (too far?).
The moment I snapped was when she was questioning my literacy by attempting to throw her authority around and making me read statistics, I politely obliged as she was elephanted around the lectern. All puns and lack thereof intended.
I then read something so shocking it made me sober of my morning and impotent with rage simultaneously (interesting word origin- pesky adverbs). I read that in 2010, as I start to look for a place as a drone in the workforce drinking myself to sleep nightly in a bar stall that provides my only solace in hitting on married women before I turn to their husbands and picking fights with men by far my physical superior, there will be needed more than three million two hundred fifty thousand ... wait for it.... wait for it.... BUS DRIVERS: FUCKING BUS DRIVERS!
As if it weren’t bad enough that we are selling our economy for the price of a gutted dog and autistic child to the Chinese we are replacing such demanding jobs of industry as painting toys, and using screwdrivers, and the ability to read with the illustrious occupation of lazy tard who had to have the bus converted because he can’t even figure out a stick-shift. We have 300 million people currently living (legally HAHAHA) in our country. Make that, oh say, 325 Million people by 2012. One percent of our working population will be driving a bus. No capitals. I can’t shout while simultaneously I’m sobbing and planning the bombing. Guess what the other four percent of our workforce will be doing that make up the bottom of our significantly higher standard (due to getting rid of those shit jobs previously mentioned) economic ladder. Guess. No? Flipping burgers. The government calls it “quick” (my addition) food service employment. That is, one of twenty people will drive a bus or flip a burger.
That is all I have to say besides there is a three week waiting period for a pistol in Missouri, three days for a rifle, but you can do the job with Drain-O and Oxycodeine.

I laugh - a lot. It makes the tears burn less. And lubrication is better when it doesn’t burn coming out. That may or may not have been referencing my eyes. I have never laughed so hard but for the irony I came across the other day.
I saw on a blawg, as Bostonians may say (only they sound inebraited at nine am a rare time (when they (yes, these are imbedded parentheses) are sober)... ahh the Cockney’s of America. Or is that South Philly?), a certain boy from my school responding with an open letter to a teacher’s comments on his monologue he wrote for a class. First of all, what kind of pompous ass are you to think your teacher reads your blog?, if he does ignore this. He was responding to Leftridge’s phrase “emotional masturbation”. A phrase I quite like. I will steal it. This was in reference to the general feel of the paper, and that response would not faze me one bit of this boy. He may be 18~ I know: Legal? No. God forbids it you sodomizer, pervert, sinner!!!! I now know why those evangelicals get such a rush.
Back to berating. This child sent a letter complaining about the teachers comments after the teacher accused him of splooging his emotional overkill across the paper. Way to go (applause. I actually clap here. No I don’t.). Of all defenses that an intelligent young man could choose he says, and I quote, “I realize that you do enjoy comparing things to masturbating.” Poor choice of words; I will forgive the journalist (he is) for that because I’m nice. You can’t expect a journalist to create a logical argument of any worth or even a good joke. Quoted is what we instead get; it’s almost a “your-mom-masturbates-emotionally”.
Art is masturbation I am told truculently by this connoisseur of such beauties as unwashed hair, shitty jeans, and cheap weed (known to some as “practically dandelions”). He then tells me how art is for ourselves, expression, fame, and money. PLEASE tell me where I can masturbate for money and fame. I hear a ringing voice... you fuck one goat.... ok he’s got me on the fame. Sort of. Not really the kind of fame I think any of us want. Again, ok, I do want that kind of fame- imagine the possibilities. Take your time.
The money would be tight, though. Except that your metaphor fucks like a nun.
Without any reference I will state that if you wish money and fame for masturbation then people have to like your masturbation. It makes sense. Did you know that you need approx. an IQ of below average to make abstract connections?
Our friend Eric pushes ahead to discuss how there was nothing constructive said of his monologue. I can currently see the distinct possibility that there was nothing constructive to state. Constructive criticism requires good elements as well as bad. What ever might I base my conclusions on?
Eric continues to destroy his own argument both with word choice and metaphor. I won’t even go into detail. Go ahead, laugh, I am.

http://anotherdrunkconquistador.blogspot.com/2006/09/open-letter-to-mr-leftridge.html

I expected better from a cynical male of 18 who, like myself, has nothing to really be upset about. Keep it fresh, anything!... jigglepuff? (or “dude” works). Whatever.

But I like Eric, he’s a nice guy who I respect and I want his feedback. I want something that tells me what he thinks. I need to do to work on this. Tell me specifics of what works and what doesn't, and then reasons for both. I would appreciate that.

HAHAHA

Dissertation? Maybe.