26 posts tagged “misanthropy”
My co-worker came across this one today: Involuntary Emotional Expression Disorder, a distinct neurologic disorder characterized by involuntary laughing, crying, and other emotional outbursts often in inappropriate situations. It is also known as pseudobulbar affect and emotional lability.
"I know people who must have this," my co-worker said to me. "I've dated people who have this."
So, this got me to thinking in my doctorly way ("I'm not a doctor, but I play one on the Internet") to raise awareness of other little-known debilitating syndromes.
Pediatric Hypernarcissism (a.k.a. "Spoiled Brat Syndrome"): Developmental disorder exacerbated by repeatedly inflating child's already huge ego ad nauseaum with sentiments that they are "special," and responding to natural childish outbursts with fear and appeasement strategies.
Involuntary Bitch Slap Disorder, or "Pimp Hand": You're talking to a co-worker about how the Oscars have become more socially conscious or the shame of Britney's meltdown and all of a sudden "SUUU-MACK!!" You become the victim of someone with IBSD. Please give generously to the Doc Paradox Legal Defense Fund.
Bloggerhea: A pathological condition presenting as an accentuated compulsion to blog every thought, opinion, dream, observation that crosses one's consciousness no matter how insignificant, and without any regard as to whether anyone may find it the least bit interesting. Also presents as a compulsion to post puppy and child photos.
Insecurity Overcompensation Disorder (a.k.a. "Asshole's Disease"): The inability of the sufferer to distinguish personal opinion, taste, likes/dislikes from empirically proven facts. A sufferer of IOD will often engage in long, heated arguments that border upon ad hominem attacks on why certain musical bands and/or sports teams are the best or worst. Sufferer exhibits hyperjudgmentality (i.e., use of the judgmental "That sucks. You're retarded." rather than a statement of preference "I do not like it. I guess we have different tastes.") Cartoonish overinflation of superiority and smugness are also symptomatic of IOD.
Knowwhatimeania: A speech impediment where the sufferer punctuates conversation with a series of "ums," "likes," "you knows," "yos," and/or "kna-means." Can be treated with speech therapy or concerted public embarrassment. Step one to confronting the condition is to reassure sufferer that every time they say "You know what I mean?" you in fact do not know what they mean, and would probably be able to concentrate on what they are saying better if they stopped saying "You know what I mean?" every 10 fucking seconds.
Or is this just the not-so-new message we're sending the rest of the world: Don't fuck with the U.S. (especially before we've had our coffee.) Even our money is angry!
I don't care who you put on this Susan B. Anthony, Sacajawea, Angry George...the dollar coin ain't going to work.
I've read the many posts devoted to this grand spectacle that graces the D.C. Metro area every President's Day Weekend honoring the most hallowed of all national past times: heavy drinking and atrocious singing. As a former champion of Karaoke to the Death (KttD II) and keeper of the Lord Ramsey Cup (back when it was modestly called "The Turkey Plate") I've decided to chime in and impart my wisdom garnered from the four competitions in which I have participated if for no other reason to lower the bar for those wishing to compete and make for a truly abominable cavalcade of ear-bleeding chanteusery.
As we all know, the prime directives of KttD are "You must try," and "You must suck," with the caveat that "Thou shalt not tank," meaning you cannot intentionally sing below your natural singing abilities or else such villanry will be sniffed out by the judges-at-large.
We have also seen in the copius amount of literature on the competition that the one way any non-tone deaf individual with a vocal range wider than a half-octave can hope to win is by choosing their song carefully. Some experts have said that song selection is half the battle while some newer research has estimated that song selection can account for up to 65 percent of a singer's success, or in the language of KttD, abysmal failure.
Selecting the right song that will maintain a singer's integrity -- in that the singer tries their best to sing well but fails causing feelings of mass nausea, migraine, and seppuku ideation in the audience -- is an arduous task. It is a Herculean effort akin to selecting Springtime For Hitler in the movie The Producers, and can sometimes have the same unintended results. I myself have agonized over my Short List, revising it almost daily, for an All Fail strategy. But how do I choose a song, Doc?, you may ask. We shall take a brief survey of the masters.
HotRod (winner of KttD I, and KttD VI - current reigning champ and man to beat): Mr. Rod's first victory was in a limited field of competition, only against competition co-founder Dabysan, so for purposes of instruction, we shall only examine his showing in KttD VI, which brought him his only victory in Modern Times. Mr. Rod won the competition with a truly horrible ear-piercing rendition of Duran Duran's "Wild Boys." Not only was this song grossly out of his vocal range, but it was popular enough for everyone to remember and shudder verily. Plus the homoerotic overtones of the song played into Mr. Rod's favor seeing that the singing of the song itself made this manly-man horribly uncomfortable on stage. But these are the sacrifices one makes for their art, and it proved a winning combination. Mr. Rod's earlier selection in the evening was Kelly Clarkson's "Since U Been Gone," showing that his strategy for the evening was to choose songs that were grossly out of character.
Myself (KttD II): Sing all the parts of an incredibly difficult song written for multiple singers that you love to the best of your ability with gusto. A third-party account can be found here.
Bill Ramsey (KttD III): Mr. Ramsey, a 6' 2" bear of a man with a boyish face from southern Virginia who seems more at home drinking likker with the good old boys, chose Tina Turner's "Private Dancer." Not only was the song tragically out of character and made the audience want to wash their ears in a Lady Macbeth fashion, but the Axl Rose-like interpretation (basically the way Bill sings) scarred us all forever, bad enough that the KttD trophy was named after him. Again, grossly out of character is a popular strategy that can be used to great effect.
Soo Doh Nim (KttD IV): Mr. Soo picked a very weak pablum-like song that most of us would have liked to have forgotten, Paul Simon's "You Can Call Me Al." Soo's atonal rendition coupled with his jerky stage presence made this the worst performance of the evening, showing that a performer must not only be bad, but get the crowd on their side.
Dabysan (KttD V): Mr. Daby sang a Chicago song, "If You Leave Me Now." In some countries this will have you shot execution-style on sight. Here we have the exquisite combination of a much-hated diabetes-inducing song that was tragically out of the singer's vocal range. Unfortunately, I was not there for the event, something for which I give many thanks.
See you all at Kttd VII. Excelsior! Many thanks to Vanna's continued coverage and hard work. And remember: choose your songs wisely!
The following is a heartfelt sincere attempt to atone for my sins against the QotD, its friends, family, corporate sponsors, and all affected parties. I don't know what came over me and made me say all those bad, bad things. Sometimes the world is a scary place, and sometimes the only way to deal with it is to be scary back. So, without further ado:
Puppies!
Is there anything better or more wonderful in the world than Puppies? I don't think so. I can think of a alot of things but none of them even remotely compares to Puppies. Oftentimes I scratch my head wondering whether puppies are the uggiest or the wuggiest things in God's creation. They just seem both, don't you think, regardless of the logical paradox of dual superlatives. Wow, where did that come from? Those words made me forget what I was saying. Where was I now? Oh yeah, Puppies!
Whenever I see a puppy I just want to give him/her a gweat big huggy and say "Oooo is da cudest widdle fing? Oooo is da cudest widdle fing? Yes you are! Yes you are!" Ah, yes, there's something philosophically satisfying in that. I never tire of it. I can even look at pictures of puppies all day long and never get tired of it. No sir. Who could possibly get tired of puppies? No one I care to know or associate with, I can tell you. You'd have to be a terrorist or Dick Cheney not to like puppies.
I even love saying the word. I rejoice in it. Who doesn't? Say it now, right there at your computer. Puppies! Puppies! Puppies! Except don't say it in front of the mirror, or a puppy will appear behind you. Peek-a-boo! It's true! I read that somewhere on the Internet, and you'd be a fool not to take something seriously if it's on the Internet. And if a puppy doesn't appear, that means you secretly hate puppies and are a bad bad awful person who needs a cap popped in their hiney.
So there you have it. There's nothing more wonderful and magical and cute and adorable and lovable in the world than Puppies!
Except when they shit on the floor. Then I just want to break the little fucker's neck.
Ha, ha! Just kidding! :)
Puppies!
If you were told you could relive a moment in your life, which would you choose?
Submitted by Slight Diffusion.
Fuck you, QotD! Fuck you right in the ear! Who the fuck do you think you are anyway? Do you think that life is just one Save Game fantasy that the GubMint's trying to sell to our future Car Bomb Fodder through a "Live Strong" campaign? Fuck youuuuuuuuuu.
What moment do I want to relive? Yeah, ask that question to anyone who has any experience with drug addiction. And then go fuck yourself again. Because that is exactly what addiction is. Trying to replicate, or relive that moment of life, that fucked sense of sentimentality that drags us all down, is like asking someone if you had to eat your own shit, what meal a few hours before would you choose?
In other words, this question is stupid. Stupid beyond words. It's jerkoff material for Hollywood so they can make their Happy Days or Back To The Future for the 21st Century remakes.
So, go fuck off and die QotD, I'm done wasting my present yearning to live or relive the past, and fuck all you other jerkwads who want to relive the past too.
I'm done. cnInn
Hotel Chain Offers Massages for Dogs
And for an extra $100 your little doggie will get a "happy ending."
This is the kind of shit that makes me throw up in my mouth a little. Don't get me wrong, I like animals. It's the moneyed, twisted fucks who will treat their inbred little monsters better than some people are able to provide for their children that makes me question how many years we have until Western (or Human) Civilization deservedly collapses. Why do they (they, meaning those of the impoverished, hungry, brownish Third-World persuasion) hate us so much? Why do you think? This is the way of life we are fighting for, folks! Proponents of dog massage are probably the same shits who wouldn't give a hungry homeless guy a dollar because not only is he a smelly degenerate deserving only euthanization but it's all his fault he's out on the streets.
Are these people that vacuous and hollow and lonely and fucked up that they can only derive pleasure from their adorable little spoiled snoogy-woogies? And I don't buy the argument of pets are more sincere, loving, and loyal than humans and therefore are more deserving of love, etc. What kind of insane bullshit is that? Of course, pets are more loyal, they're utterly dependent upon their owners. They have Stockholm Syndrome. Only a complete control freak would call that love. Ugh.
FDA OKs Food From Cloned Animals
(or if you're not registered at washingtonpost.com)
Hohoho! I'll have a Recombinant DNA bacon cheeseburger with an order of
genetically modified fries and a chemotherapy milkshake to go! But you
won't know because nobody has to tell you that you're eating cloned
meat.
Isn't it bad enough that we're getting mad cow disease from "natural" cattle because it's cheaper to feed them the brains of their ancestors, outbreaks of nasty antibiotic-resistant diseases resulting from industrial animal penning practices, E. Coli in our spinach and our Taco Bell despite the rainbow of chemicals and pesticides slathered on our crops? Now we got to be cloning our meat? Oh yeah, that sounds safe. Yeah, we need to spice things up here on the planet. That whole genetic diversity thing selected naturally over the course of evolution of life on this planet isn't important because we all know that a White-Haired Smite-Happy God created everything in 6 days about 5,500 years ago, and that dinosaurs are only a test of Faith!
Then again, if you knew how food was overprepared and overprocessed now, it'd put you off dinner for good. Remember Eric Schlosser? The meat of 100 cows go into your Quarter Pounder, baby.
I've been away for a while. I needed the break. I started getting "addicted" to VOX, and even though some marketers and actual people use that term "addictive" to connote a "good" thing, I know that's a load of bullshit. Whether it's cigarettes, heroin, or Jesus, addiction is a bullshit way to live.
It's been over 96 hours since I've had a cigarette. According to experts, my body should be free of nicotine and 90 percent of the nicotine metabolites have already passed out of my system. They also say that my symptoms of chemical withdrawal should be peaking in intensity, that my bronchial tubes have started to relax making it easier to breathe, and that my lung capacity has started to increase. What the experts don't say is how to get murder off my mind.
Actually, it hasn't been that bad. This is literally the fourth time I've stopped this year. Mark Twain was famous for saying: "Giving up smoking is the easiest thing in the world. I know because I've done it thousands of times." He was famous for other things too but this ain't a fucking English class.
My picking it back up again and again is just an undying testament to my own stupidity, thinking I can get away with "just one" cigarette, when there is no such thing. Some people can do the "I'll have a cigarette in a bar every month or so" thing. I'm not one of those people. In fact, fuck those people. Maybe they haven't been smoking a pack a day since they were 15 years old. I think another reason I always went back (other than feeling healthy which made me feel stupid and invulnerable) was that I've always hated preachy ex-smokers, and never wanted to be associated with ex-smokers as a result. Ex-smokers who go around telling smokers what to do are just as bad as Born-Again Christian fucks who if they love Jesus so goddamn much should follow His example and go die painfully on the Cross somewhere for my sins, like sometime in the next...oh...20 minutes.
I didn't wait for New Years for a New Years Resolution, because New Years Resolutions are for idiots. If you are going to resolve to do something, you don't wait for a new calendar year if you're even half-serious. Plus, I want to get through New Years Eve without a cigarette, since that seems to be one of my favorite times to break (oh, it's just one, it's New Years Eve), and then about a month later I'm buying packs of Marlboros because it's my birthday no less.
Seeing that I've been smoking on and off for more than 20 years, I've quit several times. Some times have lasted as little as 3 days, the longest lasted for about 2 years. The first time I quit I was 19. I got through two tough weeks and then I dated this girl who smoked. When I kissed her my tongue lit up like a Xmas tree. I was literally swabbing the inside of her mouth for the residue of delicious nicotine. Never saw her again but picked smoking back up in about a week.
Another time I quit, I supressed my cravings for a week by showing up to work every day with a half dozen McDonald's cheeseburgers, which I gnawed on for the day. Another time I ate about a half pound of pistachios per day. Another time I quit and spent the summer going through 3 fifths of Jack Daniels per week, but Hey, at least I wasn't smoking!
OK, so I have an oral fixation. Maybe every time I have a craving for a cigarette, I should lick pussy instead. At least I'm trying to be creative here.
Another time I quit because someone asked me to, and when that someone didn't really matter to me anymore (as I didn't really matter to them anymore), I started back up.
My sense of smell is returning. Not exactly a pleasant thing when you live in New York and ride the subway. I can also sniff out someone who's just had a cigarette from 10 feet away. Now I can actually take a deep breath without hearing a whistle in my bronchial tubes, or pitching a coughing fit.
I stopped this time because I developed something I never really had even when I was a pack a day smoker: a smoker's cough. Basically, my body saying, "Doc, I'm not taking this shit no more. I mean it this time." I stopped on Sunday, and so did the chronic cough magically the next day. Now the cough is back because the cilia in my lungs (basically the little fleshy hairs that sweep up the place) are no longer being shellacked with tar ever few hours, so now the little fuckers are wiggling around my lungs and sending up little presents every once in a while. Yum.
I think I'll do OK this time. I've been through the worst of the bullshit in past quitting attempts. I know I can live without cigarettes. I'm far from being out of the woods, but I'm quitting for the right reasons, not out of fear of some future disease that'll kill me, but because the shit was making my life miserable now. That and I have a supportive girlfriend who loves me and would rather me not being winded during our marathon fuckfests. That should be reason enough to quit right there.
So VOXers, I'm going back on Xmas vacation to the Land Without Internet Access for the holiday. Happy Whateverthefuckitisyoucelebrate, and stay safe.
Doc
"Sexy Time" (and potentially regrettable) Edition (Time To Put Those Kiddies To Bed, Parent-Folk)**
The following is inspired by a recent private message from one of my does-not-wish-to-be-identified readers but it's been a long friggin' day and I have nothing but the impulse to indulge my Id:
- What's your favorite fucking room?
- What's your favorite fucking piece of furniture to support...um, said activity?
- What's your favorite fucking position?
- Where is fucking least uncomfortable? In the back of a Volkswagen?
- What's your favorite fucking toy? (Children's toys will not be accepted as a legitimate answer.)
- What's your favorite fucking movie? If you had to make a fucking movie, who would you make it with? Who would you hire as the cinematographer?
- What's your favorite fucking animal noise? Is it cute? What fucking names do you call each other? Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?
- What's your favorite fucking non-genital body part? And what do you like to nuzzle it with? Pervert.
- If you suddenly realized that the fucking drapes were open would you fucking care? And if so, do you fucking continue after you've fucking closed the drapes?
- If the one you're with "loses interest" what do you fucking do? What do they fucking do? Details, people, details, this is science after all!
- Do you have a favorite fucking outfit? And if so, do you get it regularly dry-cleaned? Did you buy it online, you naughty person?
- What do you think about while fucking, or is that just a stupid fucking question?
- Are you getting tired of the generous, provacative use of the word "fucking?" And if so, what makes you so high and mighty, Officer Language Police?
- Do you worry about your fucking appearance? I know I do.
- If a fucking train leaves Chicago bound for New York at 50 miles per hour at 3 p.m., and another fucking train leaves New York for Chicago at 60 miles per hour at 3:15 p.m., on which train will there have been more fucking by time they meet in Columbus, Ohio?
- Do you have a fucking clue? I believe Socrates first posed this question.
*The content provider of this particular blog contends that if it were collecting information via the QotD, the content provider would use that information in a completely legal way as a marketing tool, specific to this exercise, as a way of producing pornography that would better serve the hearts, minds and dirty, filthy imaginations of those supporting a $10 billion plus market.
**The following is not for the sake of prurient interest, or a convenient session of Tourette's therapy, but is delivered as an insightful inquiry into the QotD phenomena and the standards and practices applied to it and also as a grammatical exploration into the significance and visceral effect of the adjectival gerund. No animals were harmed in the production of this blog post.
The Holidays make me Hateful. I know that's not something nice to say, and I really do think there's a part of me that hasn't taken to the anger management that just wants to piss on everyone else's parade. What is my major malfunction, Private Pyle? Well, you'll have to wait for the Book. But seeing that I follow the business world, the Holidays (Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwaanza, Christmukkah, fucking Saturnalia for all I care) always brings out a conflict that always hits me to the core of my being.
It starts with Black Friday (and for those of you thinking, hey Doc, why are you dredging up your old posts, haven't you got anything new to say? I say, STFU, I'm trying just not to repeat myself, consider it a footnote to a work in progress). Bring on those Three Ghosts I say! I want to party with 'em. The holiday season is all about the Economy, it's the rabbit bulging through the snake that drives the Dow and the Nasdaq. Dickens knew this and wrote his beloved A Christmas Carol way before marketing and hardcore new school capitalism kicked in.
Hypocrisy is a way of life. Shit, I practice it enough, hence my monniker. But seeing I was raised in the Christian faith (or some rough military school approximation of it) I often fantasize about a true The Grinch That Stole Christmas scenario around this time of the year. Is it really that wrong of me to fantasize about a global economic collapse where the general populace is forced to contemplate the Legendary True Meaning of Christmas? Basically, take all the things you were planning on buying this year for your own family, and then don't do it. Give it away to charity. Don't even think about the deduction. Give it to someone who wasn't expecting it, who had never dreamed of getting a new 80 GB iPod this Christmas even though they don't have the friggin' computer to download the content or a warm place to sleep. Isn't that what Jesus would have done? And I'm not even going to quote scripture here.
I often wonder how much the people who are so entrenched in our Culture Wars, the ones who are so vocal about "The War Against Christmas," celebrate their Dec. 25. Do they celebrate the Spirit of the God they love so much or do they take a Mulligan and buy all that shit anyway to appease their family because, after all, they gotta live with them?
But who would do it? Even on a dare? Who would look into the eyes of their children and say "We're taking Christmas off this year because that's what Jesus would want us to do?" How many of you are thinking of the resulting therapy bills? Even the Rich Man in the Gospels when told the only way he could get into Heaven was to give away all his stuff to the Poor pulled a "fuck that shit" on the Lord we allegedly celebrate.
Hey, I remember being a kid around Christmas. I was one materialistic little fuck. I wanted the toys I asked for dammit and those warm socks and underwear were little jokes in between the Ready Ranger and the Earthquake Tower and the G.I. Joe with the Kung Fu Grip. I often wonder sometimes if I would have turned out a better person if my family had taken a year off. Right, go tell that to a kid while they're screaming "I hate you, Mommy and Daddy!"
Then again, I always consider my favorite Christmas viewing to be Terry Gilliam's Brazil. It just gets truer every year.
