20 January, 2017

The Regurgitated—Guns-n-Balls-n-Inaugurations, oh my!

[The Regurgitated is...exactly that.]

-= “I’m a white male who owns firearms. At least for the next four years I get to keep my guns and my balls.”=-

That was Richard Pease, a 53 year-old executive from New Hampshire, quoted in this article from the Guardian about the inauguration. Mr. Pease is also a shining example of the fact that if you repeat favorite lies to yourself over and over again, you're in no danger of recognizing reality or common sense. 

Mr. Pease, on behalf of bleeding-heart liberals everywhere. allow me to apologize for all those times we outlawed and then confiscated your firearms. Remember that? Especially that one time when it has never fucking happened? Sigh, alas, O' me. 

According to the logic of those two statements, he lost his balls when he was oppressed by society for being a white male, now widely recognized as great sufferers of discrimination imposed by all those women and brown people. But Mr. Pease read right through all those elitist calls for "equality" and "opportunity." His white scrotum has been sidelined for too long! We now have a president who boasts of sexual assault on camera! Who calls out Mexicans for what they really are! Who finally recognizes all Muslims are terrorists!

I mean, think about it. We now finally have a president who doesn't sit around and wait for reality and data and science and experience to tell him what the truth is. Our president jumps boldly into the Twitterverse and decides on what truth is by himself. That's so damn American it probably completely voids the selection of the most un-populist cabinet say, ever, and they probably just mean the cabinet by Trump's bed where he keeps Hillary Clinton's uterus encased in Kryptonite and guarded by a battalion Trucknuts modeled from life, all self-portraits. I've heard the real set were used as security on the loans that financed his casino bankruptcy. 

Seriously. Fucking genius.  

The entire quote and context is as follows:
Shirts proclaiming “Proud member of the basket of deplorables” were peppered through the crowd, as were those demanding “Hillary for prison 2016”. Others had an even more malevolent ring, with one man sporting a T-shirt that said: “The witch is dead”. 
“This is the mood of the world,” said Richard Pease, 53, a printing sales executive from New Hampshire. “You just watch: first Brexit, then Trump, next Marine Le Pen for France. People want their lives back.” 
Asked to elaborate, Pease said: “I’m a white male who owns firearms. At least for the next four years I get to keep my guns and my balls.”
What I don't get about these people is the need to invent all of these entirely fake crises, always portentous doom, that automatically reset with the same force of fear and conviction as soon as they fail to occur. 

They're gonna take our guns! 

Here comes that abortion factory!

[Insert appropriate Middle Eastern country here] is building nukes!

Well, that's not entirely true. I guess I do get it. After years of perceiving everything that helps anyone else as inherently harmful to oneself, I can see how Mr. Pease has fallen into a victim mentality. We did suggest, after all, that Mr. Pease (and other white males) submit basic data to prove he is not a multiple felon before he purchases more instruments of death at the local Gun Mart, even when perusing the selection from the trunk of a maroon Crown Vic at 2am in a darkened Wal-Mart parking lot. St8nkeye is a completely legit firearms dealer met on Craigslist 45 minutes ago. I digress.

So there is Mr. Pease at the inauguration, ball sac cradled in grateful hands,  jubilant at the downfall of those wealthy elites, corporate cronies, bankers and moneylenders, teachers and scientists and women and immigrants, social workers and CIA agents and blacks and Muslims and Mexicans and Venezuelan beauty queens and journalists, all the Meryl Streeps of the world, fantasizing about Marine le Pen, and yet...and yet still, in four more years the dream could be ripped away, his testicles and his guns under threat once more.

Ahem, I'm sorry, Mr. Pease, but if you are standing there on the bodies of the vanquished, your peerless leader ranting about THE END TO CARNAGE and ONLY AMERICA FIRST, his mother so moved a single tear trickles down her sweet, wizened Orangutang's visage, and still you quiver at the prospect of future persecution, then you, Mr. Pease, have another problem entirely.

I regret to inform you that your balls were not stolen by liberals or feminazis or even little Chinese gremlins who poke holes in the atmosphere to make it seem like it was just the hottest year on record. Oh, no. 

Your balls were taken, Mr. Pease, the day you gave up reasoned argument and declared your enemies anyone who disagrees with you, who thinks of others as well as themselves, who dares to want access to the luxuries of opportunity you have never had to earn. The very moment you began to persecute yourself for imagined wrongs and constant, endless, always-imminent threats was the very moment you turned yourself into a victim-of-the-world, and you gobbled up those balls yourself.

Wait, did you think those were plums in that pudding? 

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