Crazy, right? Victory is Evil? Whelp . . . if you want to keep your place in the New Woke Order you better agree that victory is evil. Your Social Credit Score in the NWO requires three things: a grievance, a malady and a kink. So to maintain a high enough SCS you have to work on your GMK.
You don’t want a low GMK. Or do you? I want my GMK as low as possible. I invested decades in getting my G-score down to zero. Having or holding grievances is a problem, IMHO. Maladies? Nothing special. I’m an old man so I have typical maladies: diabetes, high cholesterol, and a family history of heart disease. None of those are good enough for a high M-score. Whatever. Kink? Nonyabizness. I’m a fairly normal, cis-gendered hetero-white boomer. Because of medication and age wet dreams are a thing of the past. So my K-score isn’t great.
PUDFARB has me on their enemies list. I’m good with that. Here is the thing. I’ve carried this bitter-root judgment around for over sixty years–to win is wrong. Victory is evil. So I set about making my place among the deplorable and near-do-well.
I Come From Victory
That’s not where I come from. My Dad busted his ass to rise above his low circumstances in Albany, CA to retire as a Senior Managing Electrical Engineer at GE in their Morristown plant. He achieved the mid-century American Dream. His hope is that I would follow him into a nice life with a white-collar union job, a wife and kids, and finish debt free with a good net worth that included a paid-for house. Sorry about that. It ain’t over, though.
I left home in 1979 to seek fame as a Broadway star. Doh. So anyhoo . . . here I am an old man who divided his working years between cab driving and whack-a-puter. Still broke AF. And still winning when most days it looks like I ought to have a fork stuck in me because I’m done.
This is the quiet part that needs to be said out loud–I’ve been winning the whole time. If victory is evil then I am the evilest. Too many get on this downward slide to end up in a coffin paid for by the county and buried as a John Doe. That’s not how my story went. I’m still here.
Victory is Evil, Not
I’ve said this in prior posts. I’ve got nothing left. The clock ran down on carrying out my Dad’s vision or any of the usual throughlines of socially acceptable life. And my grandma’s idea that I would be an NWO Pharisee? Heck no. I can’t grovel enough. I was born a WASP. Those four letters mark me for doom. my heritage is an indelible scarlet letter no matter how much incense I light in front of a temple to 毛澤東. I am dead to the NWO.
The great thing about the bottom is that all directions point up. Another great thing is that you have nothing left to lose. So why not take the shot? I decided I’d take that shot in 2016 when I registered Baugh Holding Company as an LLC. I was still playing whack-a-puter for Altria. So BHC lay dormant.
Then Altria dumped me so I went back to driving for dollars as an Uber driver. Until an Uber pax said I asked for sex. So . . . Lyft until April of this year (2023) when they decided my 2016 conviction of battery meant I couldn’t drive for them. Well damn. Nobody wins planting their flag on professional writing.
Nobody for the Win
I’ll have “nobody” for a gazillion, Alex. Why not? When all the acceptable answers for funding my keep are no longer practicable the answers that are left are the absurd ones. Professional writing is an absurd answer. Were I at a different place in my journey from birth to the River Styx I might agree. But I’m here where Cheshire Cats are normal.
It’s cool. If I spend the next twenty years or so adding to the 330+ posts in this space and die one of the unrecognized . . . ok. There are worse ways to fritter away what’s left of this journey. Who knows, maybe I am one of the rare ones who makes something that goes viral and become one more winner. The only way to find out is to be nobody and take my shot.
This too. Who would you rather see win? The dour NWOs who throw tantrums at any occurrence of success? Or Woke True Folk who burn voodoo dolls of Tangerine Tyrant after repeatedly stabbing them with knitting needles? Instead maybe the larger majority of cubicle rats and dirty job workers who are the steam and steel that makes this thing go? Maybe we should win? You say victory is evil. What’s the other choice?
Repentant Sinners Become Kings
Funny how the radicals in their rush for a new and better way land on Imperialism as the antidote to Constitutional Republicanism. The WTF and their New Woke Order shout at us that an Artificial Intelligence King would achieve the Pre-Fall Pastoral Utopia where evil is obviated, suffering obliterated, lack of anything abolished and we will be happy, damnit. Can I opt out?
I’m sorry, but a human kindergarten ruled by an Artificial Intelligence trained in New Woke Order orthodoxy doesn’t sound like paradise. It sounds like a dystopian nightmare. We already have Dear Leaders who awfulize the weather. Seasonally we are either doomed to burn up in apocalyptic hellfires caused by global warming or destined to become a species of icicles because of global cooling. The weather can’t just be that. It has to be CLIMATE CHANGE!!! that is going to kill us all if we don’t repent.
I’m kind of ok with my large carbon footprint. Kerry and Gore’s nightmares don’t motivate me. Señor Muérdeme’s demented dash toward Socialist Dystopia doesn’t give me hope. I was a low GMK/SCS reprobate long before the Woke True Folk discovered social media. Truth be told, the future isn’t bright for the Woke True Folk and their New Woke Order. So . . . I’ll just stay a deplorable, thank you.
My Winning Lottery Ticket
It’s how it goes. Evil is exultant. The conquering hero lies headless before the throne of the antagonist. Those assembled to watch begin to drift toward the exits. The misery and oppression shall continue. Trump is accused and that’s it, folks.
But then . . . what’s this? That’s not the head of the hero dripping blood at the foot of the antagonist’s throne? And who is that beheading the Praetorian Guards just outside the throne room? The assembled turn and a rush of hope ripples through them. OMG!! It’s not over! We might win!
We will win. I will be victorious. I am victorious. Why? Think about it–each time things get bad and I worry that they will get much worse I do more than come through it ok, I level up a bit. Those forecasting my doom are a bit premature.
Victory is Evil But Necessary
It’s almost as if the way to motivate me to get it together is to let me get miserable. When things are going well I get soft. So lately I’ve kept my money in the bank. It keeps me hungry and miserable. Also motivated.
I ain’t got nothing. All the answers given to me came to near nothing. I rent a 700 sq foot, two-bedroom cottage. My car is a gift from a friend. The only way I’ll go back to whack-a-puter is if somebody offers me stupid money. Driving for dollars doesn’t pay. So the answers that are left are the absurd ones.
WordPress blog? That had its day twenty years ago. These days most people use WordPress as a visual tool for building websites. Yet this blog is a decade old and has more than 300 posts. A monetized blog? That’s funny right there. Who does that? Well . . . Substack, right? Sure. But it’s still content creation and getting paid is still the challenge.
Fifteen years ago I was at another end–out of gas, out of phone minutes, out of cash, calling a homeless shelter home. I knew Darlene from when I was part of Boaz and Ruth. Then Darlene called and asked for a ride to the store. How? I drove to her house, picked her up, and she changed my life.
Anxiety lies to us. As do our bitter root judgments. These are lies that St. Lucifer loves to keep simmering in our hearts. I’ve let Mr. Lucifer tell me my place is in the Valley of the Shadow of Death never quite dead nor quite alive. I’m not worthy of health. I could just tell Lucifer to shut up. Yet I let him pick at me and bleed a little more of the Holy Spirit from me.
I was fond of saying a decade ago that I’m a winner when it comes to doing things wrong. There is no light or growth there. Similar to anxiety, self-doubt and/or self-loathing lies to us. The antagonist is drunk and belligerent. He has the head of a hero he believes is the one sent to vanquish him. And then . . .
Out of the Shadows
A wretch of a man covered in a moss-eaten camel’s hair tunic begins his march across the throne room to where the antagonist is seated. The king draws an arrow from his quiver, “Get out of my chair!”
“No. It’s my throne now.”
“Suit yourself,” and the king releases the arrow.
It flies true and sinks into the chest of the antagonist, “You think that will stop me! FOOL!” A second arrow finds its mark on the thigh of the antagonist, “You can hit me with a thousand arrows!” and a throbbing stain begins to grow on the kilt of him. As the blood begins to pool on the floor an ashen cast drifts across the evil one’s face, “You lost once you will . . . ” What was a moment ago a fearsome threat to the kingdom is now rancid meat. The Odyssey is complete.
Along that path and on the journey home I have this promise: it’s time I wrote a post listing the praise-worthy things I’ve done. Anxiety and self-loathing wallow in dirges moaning about perceived failures. Failures? I’ve had a few. Victories? Anxiety will shout at us that there are NONE! It lies. It’s time to list the wins. Self-loathing will be pissed and I’m good with that.