We are only our worst moments. Most of us do not measure up when examined against the sins of today, of failing to have the liturgy memorized, of being out of uniform or of letting our virtue signal dim. Ever flirt with someone? Are you a cis-male wasp boomer? You are obvi evil incarnate, not worthy of a grave under the jail, you shameful, depraved sinner. Shame! Crucifixion would be too good for you.
As I make this edit, voters in Alabama voted for Doug Jones to replace Jeff Sessions. The Republican, Roy Moore, is accused of being a pig. All the usual tropes about white, boomer pigs shouted across traditional and social media. Shame! Moore is a pig and that is that.
Sin is weaponized. The current mortal sin is sexual misconduct. Everything from a hand casually brushing across the ass of a woman to full-on rape is treated the same. Anyone with the slightest mote of impropriety is labeled a predator. Give it time, though. The press will get bored with sexual misconduct and pick something else of gravitas to justify hating the target of the day. The sinner and sin will change. The need to keep you watching will not change. Leaders are rotten low hanging fruit.
The only possible leader is one who had an immaculate birth, was castrated before puberty and never even breathed anything remotely evil. Jesus of Nazareth was a bastard convicted criminal, so he’s out. Buddha was born a prince so he can’t understand because of his privilege. King David committed adultery. Though, Mohamed’s story qualifies him. He was an orphan. The surviving stories about his early life are free of any hint of sin. The Koran has a lot to offer the legalist left.
Far From Sans-Sin
Let’s run through my adjectives one more time. wife-beater, divorced father of one, white, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant, conservative Christian, pro-life, homophobic, misogynist, boomer, would register Republican if I could, Trump supporter that’s a dozen, a good start. I come from quality stock, from a generations-old heritage of solid socialist and communist kin. Shame! Then I became apostate.
Hate me yet? No? I must be doing something wrong. I’d rather be what I am–shunned. Please don’t add me to the nice list. Woe to me should I ever become a public figure. Those twelve adjectives become mortars fired at my reputation.
Now Entering the Colesium
In this current gladiatorial battle for control of the empire, we keep asking our leaders to be sainted god-kings. There must not be a single mote of sin staining their face. Anything that can be used against them is fired at them with all possible force. It is beyond taboo to suggest that our logs enter the stadium. The orthodox axiom is that our leaders must be beyond reproach.
Roy Moore is a pedophile abuser of women. Al Franken was photographed with his hands over the tits of a sleeping news reporter. Harvey Weinstein has dozens of accusers. He is depicted as a massive dickhead unsafe around anyone. John Conyers, a candidate for sainthood, resigned on the day I wrote this. Shame! He is accused of demanding sexual favors and fondling several women.
33 men accused of sexual misconduct says a story recently published in the LA Times. Obviously, men haven’t changed in spite of 169 years of feminist activism. Boys will be boys. Men are beyond redemption. Don’t trust a promise of repentance from a man, especially white, wasp, boomer men. Shame! Those men are despicable and always will be.
We Are Only Our Worst Moments
No one can repent. Words of repentance are meaningless. A tiger can’t change his stripes. Men will always be pigs and dogs. People are ugly and dangerous. White men are immutable racist, misogynist pigs. Nothing changes that. Shame! This is how it has been and always will be.
Some say we are only our worst moments. It is the law that matters. We must strive to please God through diligent adherence to the laws of Moses and Abraham. Even then humanity’s record with this is dismal. We are a thick-necked, stubborn and disobedient people. Our logs and motes become weapons used against us by those who hate us.
Moderation is a sin. One must zealously guard the brand. High achievers master the art of the virtue signal. They can safely stand above us because they keep their signal as a Philistine among Philistines. St. Paul is a piker.
Is That All There Is?
Clay Feet on Mount Olympus
I said this elsewhere, I trust a repentant sinner more than an untested saint. We keep searching for unblemished, untested saints only to discover that they too have sinned. Give me a Donald Trump or Ray Moore who has his one-year medallion. The god-king endorsed by Nancy Pelosi as one who is without blemish? I don’t trust him/her.
So, last night Inger came up for air. She’d been out with a guy who had the full costume. Mao jacket, Red-Army field cap, surplus cargo pants, Doc Martins, Galois cigarettes, fu-man-chu, you get the idea. What’s funny AF is he’s an Asian ginger. British Mom & Vietnamese Dad. South London accent. He’s macking on her, preening with his memorization of the Little Red Book and bits of Stalin. Again with the “sex is a need so sex is a right and I need sex with you so you should honor my right. Besides, someone said you were a feminist. You are not supposed to say no.” This is Inger. He’s lucky she didn’t make him bleed out.
Tumeric was full of righteous indignation at the horrors of Moore/Trump’s alleged nature as a pig, “Ray Moore should be impeached. Can we revolution now?” He was completely blind to his own slobbering hound behavior. His passion was his index finger radar locked on “those guys in the deep state who are secretly the worst ever, starting with Moore/Trump.” For him, draining the swamp meant re-education for anyone whose brand wasn’t brilliantly red. His brand was solid so of course, Inger should lift her skirt for him. Pro-tip: never come at Inger that way. Things will go bad for you.
What Pisses Me Off
The quivering, accusatory finger pointed at political enemies shuts down conversation about anything else. #metoo I understand but it is a bit frustrating. #metoo has become a mass hysteria where every man who behaved in the slightest way mayhaps sexually improper is thrown into the same lot as an accuses serial rapist like Harvey Weinstein.
This accomplishes two things. First, it makes the serious accusations of credible victims seem absurd. We can’t deal with actual harm because the pussy-hat clowns are too busy pointing a quivering finger at every swinging dick that walks by them and smiles. Second, it shuts down any conversation about our leaders that isn’t on the topic of piggish behavior. Everything has to be about sex. Protip: if everything must be about sex then the take-home is that nothing can be about sex.
Third, these pussy-hat clowns who are so enamored of their quivering fingers pointing at pigs ask for the absurd. Men must be eunuchs and virginal hermits. Fertile swinging dicks are a threat. In their hysterical accusations they also further a 19th-century notion of women as frail, delicate creatures needing protection from the cruelty of our fallen world. Men are pigs, always have been since Lilith ran out of Eden into the desert. They always will be and that is that. The cure for that is internment camps where men are taught Maoist doctrine and home economics.
Something I’ve noticed. The shrill, quivering, accusatory finger pointed at Roy Moore and others, only has strength while it can draw attention. Once the emo punch fades and we are all post-coitus sweaty the accusations don’t seem so serious. The news cycle moves on to other more emo-things. There are other erotic mountains to climb, other panty wetting stories to tell.
Because the political conversation has to be about pigs we can’t talk about anything else. Would Roy’s vision of an America made great again be any good? We won’t know because too many are nutting off on the latest teary-eyed ingenue accusing an old-white-pig of forcing her to give it up.
Let me be led by an absurdity. I surrender to a religious dissident whose words spoken to power got him killed. He reigns over me and through him, I am redeemed. Those who would point a shivering finger at me while reciting my litany of sins can just shut up. Would I vote for Roy Moore? Yes. I’ll take my chances on a guy who was a pig at one time but has become a follower of a crucified Nazarene carpenter. I don’t trust someone who paints himself as more pious. I’ll bet a bottle of shine that Doug Jones isn’t all that.