Okay, so, to clarify, I have ideas, and I openly share those ideas. Here, mostly, but sometimes on YouTube comments, and occasionally on Facebook.
It’s not going to work if I try to figure out what people want to hear and hope they don’t get offended by it. It’s all or nothing. I pay WordPress for no ads, so just be happy I am sharing my wisdom and bitterness with you openly, royalty free.
If I figure out what people want to hear or read, and then tell that to them, I will become a watered down version of Dick Cavett or Bob Hope. Disingenuous and insincere.
Reading one of my posts and then texting me to ask me if I’m O.K.: It’s cute and everything but, no, I am not Oll Korrect. Proxy wars, inflation, monkey pox, and the desperate times in which we live. I’m not all right, and you shouldn’t be, either. Don’t waste your time being passive aggressive, just be aggressive. Zombies never say, “brains?” with an upwards inflection at the end.
There was a time, I remember, when the rebellious high school girls wore pants to class instead of skirts, counter to the rules, to protest the war in Vietnam. Now, here they are on Facebook defending the rights of a man to brutally beat a woman about the head and shoulders because biology has no scientific definition of a woman. Except for genetics and bone structure.
Women, hear me rawr. Loser epsilon cucks have stolen your hard fought legal and social rights; stop defending them on socialist media. It’s embarrassing, for everyone.
So, in response to a Facebook post, I ask, “Hey, why do you care? Is that sad male loser your mascot? Or, did the CBC tell you to post this propaganda?” I’m suddenly the bad guy to a bunch of ignorant liberal Canadian red necks. (They make the southern US hillbillies seem erudite.)
Yes, I am the bad guy; I don’t care, because it’s my purpose, and I take it seriously. When I was in high school in the 1980s, my teachers taught me to fear no evil from totalitarian overlords. They also taught us to cower under our desk in the possible event of a thermonuclear detonation. The message has changed since then, apparently.
You don’t need to report me to a suicide hotline because of your concern for my intellectual well being. Or to the government’s insurgency weasel number, hosted by the Freedom Network, because of my self-think. My people will do that for me when I cease to be me.
FYI, I can say what I want. It’s how freedom of speech works. Also, there’s a bunch of shit wrong with my brain. Not enough drugs, too much alcohol, and a misspent youth. Emotional scars are deep and nearly invisible.
—DG
Inside Doug's Head 