Another rainy day. That means nothing new to report, so let me spend a few paragraphs bitchin’ and moanin’. We have some very nosey neighbors, the ones I purposely never associated with, but somehow they learned my name. I wonder who told them that? These neighbors have catnapped Pudding-Tat and have threatened to report me as “cruel” to the animal abuse people because occasionally Pudding will meow as I bicycle away. They poke their noses into everything and lately have questioned such things as why the kitchen hood light is burned out, something you can only see by standing on tiptoes outside. They have also declared the other cats as “ugly” and twice asked me for free car rides downtown. I’d like to know who is responsible for this trouble that began after Wallace and Theresa arrived.
You know what else is lame? Kid’s TV shows, such as “Molecular Mike”. I mean, the subject matter is identical to what I saw when I was five. It was boring then after the first time, yet they still drill the same tired doo-doo today. Listen, if kids are smarter now than ever, what’s with the worn out butterfly and slinky shows? Can’t you do better than that after all these years? Or is it your intention to keep the kids stupid?
Then there’s those shows about outdated and contrived questions no real kid asks any more, even the posed questions by bad child actors with those dumb and dumber haircuts. “Gosh, Mike, how do they make movies?” “What do they feed pigs?” “Why are clouds?” Although I admit to growing up with a lot of people who asked those sort of questions an awful lot, most of they quit asking by their early teens. I mean, if you don’t know the basics by then, go figure.
Another useless theme that can die is the fake aura of mysticalism that small minds have about chess, dragons and glass-blowing. You know what I’m talking about. There is nothing special about glass-blowing. Enough with the juggling acts and Venus fly traps already. That junk would not interest a retard, much less some kid with an Xbox.
Or get that Miley Cyrus, well on the way out of control. While we’ve had it with the bouncy girlie thing, mark my words, are you ready for the next Madonna? Not good looking enough to be a beauty queen, she’ll push her singing and big hair to the limit and past it. She’s nowhere near 22 but already going for the crimped-hair hooker-ringlet look. A pity, these women, when natural ain’t natural enough any more. Must be men’s fault. They claim they “have to do it” to attract men. One must question their definition of men.
That parallels a conversation I recently had with a feminist. Women are raised to cooperate; men are raised to compete. I agree to an extent, but this does not explain everything. I think it has to do with the objective and size of the group. Small groups of women cooperate, but as a mass, they never agree on anything, quickly reverting to groups again. Men compete in small groups, but handily form million-strong armies.
I would like to point out that females rarely oversee men except in small groups, and that warps women’s impressions. Myself, I distinguish between voluntary and involuntary cooperation. Cooperative by nature, I am continually forced to compete due to confrontations with other men who are truly brutish and unsophisticated. I'd rather cooperate, but they won't have it. Testosterone or something. They've got it in their muscles instead of where it belongs, if you get my meaning, gals.
As an example of forced competition, I’ve been forming [not merely joining] bands since I was 13, an advanced undertaking on a higher plane (for a teenager) that most people never understand. But I have always had to (was forced to) take measures against control freaks, jealous brothers, and tax collectors all snooping around for a free ride. Without strong defenses, nothing would have succeeded. These types operate by dragging you down to their level and are vainly convinced if they didn’t attack, you would attack them, when in fact you only want to be let alone. (Insert joke here about the Joint Chiefs of Staff.)
Certainly such men always declare it is the other guy who just will not cooperate, even if they have to drive across town to make it so. There, see? I feel better already. But not too much better, for here is a new term: geoslavery. This is where people’s whereabouts are constantly monitored by GPS and radio chips, as is now done with Japanese schoolchildren. It will be a boon to jealous husbands and boyfriends.
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