No one can ever make you feel more embarrassed than an earlier vision of yourself. I’m sure Madonna wants to claw her eyes out when she sees Brittany Spears. Personally, I cringe when I see the following people: Ravers, punkers arguing if some obscure band has "sold out", acidheads, philosophy majors, and worst of all, Libertarians.
An impressionable young mind and a simple political theory were a dangerous combination for young Cyg.net. It was the "nanny state" that was preventing me from accomplishing great things instead of truancy, weed, and general laziness. Fortunately, my High school civics class forced me to study other political philosophies. I abandoned Libertarianism at the tender age of 17 and was able to avoid the horrible fate of the Randian.
One night my buddy Hoyt and I came to the conclusion that Libertarianism is really more of a personality type than a coherent political ideology. Today I would like to expand on this idea and present to you the life of a typical Ron Paulophile:
In utero: The Libertarian fetus refuses to feed off of the placenta leaving the brain's empathy lobe severely underdeveloped.
Infancy: No respectable Randian will suckle at any teat. He quickly begins nursing on coffee, Neal Bortz, and outrage.
Childhood: The Libertarian won't share his toys. 'Nuff said.
Adolescence: The Libertarian reads Ayn Rand for the first time. This causes him to immediately grow a greasy ponytail, start smoking, and wear ill fitting trench coats. Consequently, he fails to get laid.
College: The Libertarian is finally able to grow facial hair, which he will sport the rest of his life. He annoys everyone at the coffeehouse with caffeine-fueled debates with equally misguided 19 year-old "Communists". He fails to see the irony in asking his parents for more money.
Adulthood: The Libertarian quickly grows a beer gut, gets a dumb Loony Tunes tattoo to reflect his individuality, and buys an unnecessary security system to protect his filthy hovel. He starts a small business and blames its failure on government regulation and high taxes instead of his repulsive personality and gross incompetence. He marries a mild mannered woman who thinks she can tolerate his incessant ranting about "welfare queens" (she is wrong).
Middle Age: This phase of the Libertarian's life is defined by paranoia. He begins buying into every conspiracy theory on the Internet and perceives it as one Bilderbergilicious tapestry weaved by Jews (who are after his gold). His third mail order bride leaves him for someone, anyone who doesn't have an opinion about the flat tax. Overcome with xenophobia, he starts stockpiling weapons for the coming Apocalypse.
The Twilight Years: The Libertarian is sitting in his la-z-boy shaking his fist at the liberal Mainstream Media on basic cable. His breathing is assisted by a Medicare-subsidized oxygen tank for his emphysema. His only income is his monthly social security check because he lost his nest egg in the free market he thought he understood. He dies a hollow shell of a man, still bitter that a portion of his income contributed to your children's education.
Don't get me wrong, Libertarianism has some decent ideas. I believe that easing immigration restrictions, the separation of church and state, and being able to fuck whoever you want (however you want) are good things. I believe government waste, stupid wars (aka every war since WWII), and the prohibition of drugs are bad things. But be careful...If you are still a true believer into your 20s, forever will it dominate your destiny.
Sanford, NC: It's where I spend 45 hours of my waking life every week. A mere 45 minute commute from my home in Carrboro, Sanford is the location of my easy, thankless job. Google image search of "Sanford, NC" returns this gem: That photo perfectly sums up this glorified trailer park of a town.
5 reasons to hate Sanford, NC:
1) Rednecks: Sanford is brimming with rednecks, and only rednecks. The black people are rednecks. The Mexicans people are rednecks. I haven't seen any other ethnicities, but if the Dali Lama relocated to Sanford I'm certain that he would join one of the local Pentecostal churches.
2) Bookstores: One of my favorite lunchtime activities in at other jobs was lounging at the local Barnes and Noble, sippin' on some green tea, and reading their wonderful selection of books in 45 minute increments. There are 3 bookstores in Sanford, two Christian bookstores and one Adult bookstore. Wanna guess which one I've visited?
3) Food: Sanford cuisine is staggeringly simple.... the drive thru next to my office serves fried baloney sandwiches. Americana and Soul food certainly have their place, but there are only so many baked spaghetti dinners I can stomach. That leaves fast food. Neither option is helping with my ample girth. 8 months ago a naive Dominican immigrant opened up a restaurant serving his native fare. Such spicy and flavorful chow was lost on the redneck palate and poor Juan's tables remained empty. I lunched there as often as possible, hoping that my bi-weekly meals of curried goat and morro would keep his doors open. Of course they didn't and currently the most exotic food in town is pizza.
4) Health Care: I'm guessing the Lee County Medical board won't admit you unless you check the "I'm a self-important asshole" box on your application. My Sanford healthcare providers make Dr. House look like Patch Adams. While I understand that living in this godforsaken town is enough to make anyone irritable, other doctors don't feel the need to prescribe gruff condescension for my strep throat. Penicillin will do.
5) Retards: I'm not sure why, but Sanford seems to be the mental retardation capital of NC. While I have no problem with the mentally enfeebled themselves (they're much nicer than normal people), I take issue with the thunderous groans emitting from the herd of retards sitting 2 tables over. I'm sorry for your wretched lot in life, but you're making my fried baloney sandwich even less appetizing. There's a van that sits in our office parking lot that has a Someone I love has Down Syndrome bumper sticker on it. I passed by it the other day and the bumper sticker had been removed. What did this retarded person do to make my co-worker stop loving him? Did he drink all the juice boxes?
I used to believe blogs were the ultimate expression of self indulgent egoism… then I came to realize what my friends already knew: I'm incredibly self absorbed that this would be a perfect vehicle to showcase it.
It also provides an exellent alternative to a journal. I love writing, but pen and paper pose significant challenges to me. There is a general consensus that I have the worst handwriting in the history of Western civilization (and probably Eastern civilization too.... Kanji are surely harder than cursive, something I never mastered). My clumsy block print is often mistaken for a 3rd grader. Grocery store clerks frequently ask “Is that yo’ real signature?” Sadly, it is.