Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Flash, Bang Bang - Satire on Politicians

Flash, Bang Bang

“Gimme all ya ‘oney! Said gimme all ya ‘oney!” July 4th, 2010.
Flash. Bang, bang.
Take it all—I swear, it’s all I have!”
Reload.
Nah, it isn’t! ‘e’ll get dah same if yuh don’t cough up! I’ll drop ‘er,’ll do it man, ‘ll do it!”
Click.
“It’s all I have, man, this entire year I’ve had nothin,’ nothin’, man!”
“’Ou dun’ got nutin’, man? ‘Ou ain’t got nutin? I ‘orked here eight years, I know ‘ou got money! ‘Ntill ya shut me out!”
“These r ‘ard times, man, we both know that”—
“No. You wouldn’t know the first thing about ‘ard times.’ ‘Ntill now.”
Flash. Bang, bang.

July 5th, 2010.
Just like the president of the United States, every mayor sits down with his administration and discusses pressing issues and threats to the jurisdiction they represent every morning.

“Well, Mr. Donald, we have a list of very serious issues to discuss,” said his aid Carlos.

“Oh?” Mr. Donald, the mayor of Brooklyn, looked expectantly at his aid over the top of his glasses.

“Firstly, the people are angry with your campaign performance.”

“Again? Write them a check. Dedicate $20,000 to the educational system.”

His aid nodded, scribbling away furiously as he took down notes.

“As for the homeless”—his aid began—

“Buy 5,000 sleeping bags to keep them warm.” Mr. Donald looked thoughtful, and scratched his chin.

“Poverty rates are up to 20%, sir. Close to 1 in 5 people in the city are homeless.”

Mr. Donald nodded, acknowledging his aid. “These are tough economic times. And tough economic times call for drastic action. Make that 6,000.”

His aid flipped a page, and continued to write. “Our team has been working around the clock to find solutions to deaths due to gang violence—”

“Put down “lower gun regulation.” The people need to have the resources to stand their ground.”

“Did you come up with that idea, sir?”

Donald looked at him, face blank and posture composed. “Of course.”

Scribble. Carlos’ pen went from left to right, skipped a line, danced across another line—

“Back to education for a second; they said we are not promoting “quality education” for kids today”—

“Not promoting it? We bought them T-shirts last week.”

His aid nodded in agreement. “Yes, but we may need to explore additional strategies”—

“Additional strategies? Those T-shirts had “Stay in School” written across it. There was a picture of a man driving an Aston Martin, for God’s sake.”

“Right, but they complained of a lack of funding”—

“We’re already sending the $20,000. Get the private school parents to start paying their fair share; everyone in public or private deserves an equal opportunity
to succeed.”

“Sir, I recommend we rather fundraise at local community centers to gather funding for the public schools”—

“No. Private school kids should be guilty of their crime.”

Hesitation: then Carlos scribbled away. “I’m assuming, then, media distortion, benevolent demand, the u”—

“Yes. Oh, and—about the homeless—make sure to get heat-retaining sleeping bags. Sleeping next to hundreds of people is less than ideal; with the right sleeping bags, I’m sure they’ll be fine outside.”

Carlos paused, looking over his notes. “Homelessness, media slant, sleeping bags…I think we got it all.” Carlos closed his notebook and put away his pen. “Breakfast will be at ten,” and left the room.

Donald reached for a remote to turn on the news. He paused to smile at a piece of paper, relishing its presence.

On Donald’s desk was a multitude of confusing papers with quick initial scribbles of ideas. He pushed a few aside and looked at one which said, according to the title, “TO BE INSTATED:”

To kill the Mind, one must make thy enemy place greater interest in common intelligence than individual.

To kill virtue, you must criminalize it.

To hide theft, you must close the backroom doors.

To disguise poverty and systemic collapse of order, you must have a scapegoat, one that is motivated by profit.

Ayn Rand was wrong: it is not good that money is the product of intelligence and of man’s ability to think; both are the grossest act of sin.

Self-reliance must be killed and all must surrender for the common good; to assume otherwise is not only birth of the individual but consequently the death of government. Emerson is a fallacy.

Mr. Locke may have guided us to life, liberty, property, but he has a right to only one.

Schools with their inherent collectivism will, and must, produce “consumers for life.”

Man does not have power or right over his own Mind. Only I do.

Smiling proudly at himself, Donald turned on the news and watched his inauguration speech, watching the body language, posture, and emphasis, simply blown away. That’s how you win 51.8% approval rating, he thought with a grin on his face.

He stretched and sat back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head as he watched the speech, the 51.8% smiling, the children jumping up and down, the women screaming wildly. The camera panned across hundreds of tiny little heads and cycled upwards. It viewed blue, red, and white fireworks as they danced across the sky, streaming through puffy clouds as they crackled and popped—

Flash, bang bang.


Tuesday, July 10, 2012

The World: Abstracted (Right)

Altruism walked in the door, smelling of hypocrisy.

Self-Reliance sat down and wrote himself, seeing crowds of Crowding

coffee-goers walk out to their white, black, or misc. colored cars, put in the keys,

and drive the box to their office, another box, and he knew they’d finally go home, to

their cute box.


Altruism was not one but all of them.


A cute mechanism used to control Mind, it drew men “closer” and indeed

they were close for they were in bondage, with no mind but one, a unified thought

processer. Giving to other men quickly became a norm, and since everyone needed to

be equally considerate of others, focus shifted to those others and away from their

Mind.


As a result, Mediocrity cultivated.


When Man does not invest in himself, he breeds viral Mediocrity,

which numbs his tongue and deafens his ears, damages his eyes and their ability to

see. It is, overall, a most deprecating illness.


His tongue is numb for he does not speak up. His ears are deaf for he listens only

to others, not himself. His eyes and their ability are damaged for they cannot see

the future, goals, or ambitions. He is numb and still: he is stagnant.

Sunday, May 20, 2012

Mycorrhizae


The Crowd has crafted my success, molded my rhetoric, designed my ideas, and has led my life by inverse action. Primarily, it has allowed me to explore differently. It has granted me life, liberty, and happiness. It has granted me freedom. What the Crowd does is typically the opposite of what I do. Either that, or I join with the Crowd and satirically make fun of it. I am similar to Dominique Francon in the Fountainhead in certain respects. These truths I hold to be self-evident. Man was born free, but everywhere he is in chains. I thank the Crowd for showing me what those chains were. For indeed, seeing the world without chains is like hearing the Civil Rights Act of 1964 passed. It is exuberance, a new mentality. It is like seeing watching the new world order unfold post WWII, watching entire power schemes shift. It is not colossal, it is not an adjective. It is like historical events, for they happened in the past and they are significant, and will be remembered for their significance not named by adjectives. They will be cited—for example, how does one describe the value of diplomacy? The value of diplomacy is like the Camp-David Accords. No adjective can be assigned for the power is too great, the magnitude too large.
The Crowd has made me develop a great sense of humor, specifically satire. No one gets it but me, and that is why the sense of humor is so great, for there is no need for external confirmation, for conformity. It is just me laughing at a concept in ways that I want no one else to understand, for that is too risky…it risks security. Security of ideas, security of strength. When one tells a joke to oneself, he finds it funny, but telling it to another, you must adjust the joke, and telling a joke threatens the security of its inherent funniness. So, in a way, I have developed a crowd much larger than the Crowd, a crowd of ideas, mycorrhizae spinning off in wild directions with jokes only I understand, for that is the only way to be larger than the Crowd: it is through the largeness of creativity, of your own mycorrhizae.