ATTACK OF THE VOMIT-HEADS

Thinking of the persecution I have endured, the coy and sometimes sassy misunderstandings that have been foisted on the innocent in my name, I have often wondered what the big attraction is. Honestly: You'd think people could find something better to do with their time than find ways to torment me. After all, most with whom I find company more often than not constitute part of a group that seems to consider itself "progressive," "part of the vanguard," maybe even "superior." All that is possible, of course, yet it's always something small that ruins the entire pitcure. Isn't it? I mean, haven't we overlooked the glaring inconsistency between considering ourselves "progressive" or "leaders of the pack" and then turning around and torturing those around us who just can't attain the same perfection as we do? And, what should we be thinking about our deep dislike for all the so-called snobs we encounter in our lives? How do we explain our own snobbery? If we're so superior, we should have transcended such hollow traits long ago. Take a sip of this: Is it possible that the old saw, "it takes one to know one," isn't that far off the mark in this case of "Uberitis" visiting itself upon us?

Here's a quick takedown on the process that develops into the disease of "Uberitis": Everywhere I go, I am persecuted, alienated and misunderstood by others. Most of the time it seems to me these stances regarding me are deliberate and designed to make some kind of point. Therefore, wherever I go, I persecute, alienate and misunderstand complete strangers. I, too, am trying to make some kind of point.

What is that point? That we're all hog-tied and dense? That we're only trying to be like the vomit-head crowd? That we feel rejected by vomit-heads? And that, because we feel rejected by them, we've been rejecting them in a tit-for-tat tete-a-tete?

Some of us have been playing this game for so long we don't even remember that it was a game in the first place. Somewhere in third grade, some airhead in the elementary school cafeteria spit stew on our favorite shirt or pushed us down on the playground, and because of it, we've been out on a vengeance trip. The faces change, the targets shifting, but the trip remains the same, dudes. What's really happened is that we've been trained to become vomit-heads. We have been trained to sneer and snivel at others.

Man! Sometimes I feel so much ire for perfect strangers that I could just explode, blood and pieces of organs splattering everything in a city block's radius. One day, long ago, I was just fine, and the birds sang. Then everything changed. I began hitting balls with huge, storebought cudgels. The balls, naturally, represented effigies of all the heads on the people I hated the most. Crack! I'd slam the ball and the symbolic head of my arch-nemesis would fly "out of the ballpark."

Because of slights and rejections during impressionable moments in my life, I have become a raging, frothing-at-the-nostrils vomit-head. I look at buildings and VOMIT! I see a tiny, crippled old woman hobbling across the street downtown and VOMIT! I look at the window displays at Neiman's and I VOMIT SO HARD I'VE BROKEN WINDOWS AND BENT FLAGPOLES!

Yet I am in complete denial regarding my chronic case of "Uberitis". I really couldn't tell you that I honestly have a problem--the only difference I feel is a solid sense of superiority over others--because I don't remember if I ever felt differently. I'm not even certain anything registers in my brain as it is. When I'm by myself, all I think of are the vomit-heads in my life and what I would like to see done to the vomit-heads in my life. This is all unregistered, as unregistered as a squatter in a hotel room. I am tired all the time because I am using up a lot of energy to keep from letting such unregistered thoughts from registering in my brain.

But I do recognize when someone is purposely persecuting, alienating or misunderstanding me. That lights up like a halogen bulb in the center of my head. Usually, I'm already looking for it, literally watching the eyes of the people I know for signs they might be persecuting, alienating or misunderstanding me. If I look hard enough, I know I can find it.

I may not know exactly who the persecutor is, but I do have an image of him or her in my head. Picture this: A snivelling, snotty-nosed, slope-browed, sloop-shouldered, "shitty" fashion-slave turns a profile my way. What do I see? Simple: A snivelling, snotty-nosed, slope-browed, sloop-shouldered, "shitty" fashion-slave turning a profile my way. There's probably a little sweat on his or her brow, and the brow is pale, kind of chalky--pasty. What ever "it" is, "it's" got a sneer on "its" face. "It" looks like a peasant. It has a long, bean-shaped head. On it, a long, bean-shaped cone-hat perches like a pharoah. This, my friends, is known as "a vomit-head."

Vomit-heads think everything is puke-worthy.

Vomit-heads would gag the entire world with a spoon if they could get away with it.

Vomit-heads make waiters take meals back, but they spit in the plate first so the "help" in the back can't feed on a vomit-headed meal.

Vomit-heads criticize everything, and talk about God as if God was some sort of cartoon sitcom like Scooby Doo.

Vomit-heads have so little substance that they have to wear the latest fashions in order to compensate.

The latest fashions distract us from the vomit-head's typical lack of depth; in fact, the average vomit-head is all surface anyway--like a paper doll.

For some strange reason, the United States of America is going through some weird period in which the government and even the culture itself indulge in the compulsion to reward vomit-heads.

Because of the aforementioned fact about vomit-headedness in America, vomit heads are the most pampered and most pandered to class in America.

Though it wasn't that way in the beginning, when vomit-heads, being parasites, attached themselves lamprey-eel style to truly creative and individualistic members of the species, a gradual public relations and propaganda wave slowly engendered an association in the minds of its target audience, one that linked the vomit-heads to truly creative and individual clusters in American culture.

The above fact is usually far too complicated for a vomit-head to comprehend, but the powerful use of image at the usual vomit-head's disposal allows one to completly make that matter of dysfunctional communication utterly my fault.

So there they stand in my mind, each one of them looking like one of The Seven Dwarves--most likely "Grumpy" or "Urrrpy"--turning their noses up at me and finding ways to start trouble for me.

See? They want me to be like them.

But there are also other reasons behind this strange dynamic. In our culture, for example, there have always been the crucifiers and the crucified. This is a never-ending self-destructive spiral. People victimize each other. It's always "the fucker" screwing "the fuckee." Contract law is based on that axiom. But I'd rather not use my reason to explain LIFE IN THE VOMIT-HEADED WORLD. Instead, I look for explanations that help me to see myself as the most important person in the entire world. Here are some of those theories:

1) I AM THE CHRIST Yes, you've read me correctly. I am the final mountaintop, the crown of creation, the ultimate exponent of a massive and slow-moving genetic experiment engendered 2,000 years ago: Take a special line of kings and slowly graft it onto another, equally powerful, line of kings. This line of kings stuff isn't just a bunch of words, you guys. When the ancients spoke and wrote of KINGS OF MEN, they were talking about a superior race of men and women, people who had powers beyond the quotidian strengths of the average peasant. The Kings of Men were the ones meant to be rulers. This is the way the natural world operates. It's the way God, or Allah, or Jehovah, or Whomever wanted us to organize ourselves: Kings, Guardians, Lowlifes. However, the lowlife peasantry--like the devil--has never been satisfied with the status quo, and since the Death of Christ, those vomit-heads have been trying to kill off every single last member of all the races of Kings on the planet. I am one of the few left, but I have telepathic contact with my like-minded bretheren. Otherwise, I am constantly being tormented by vomit-heads that hound me like mutts, all of them thinking they can somehow gain power over my will and force me to become a lowlifed vomit-head puppet. Beyond that, I'd be a dead man, King of Men or not.

2) I AM BEING GROOMED TO BECOME A U.S. PRESIDENT Once again, you have read correctly: Because the government has become such a complicated beast, America can no longer rely on the simple method of electing just any old guy or girl. These people have to be carefully selected long before they become candidates. Some of them, like myself, were selected as children. My particular selection was part of an agreement between the people who killed Kennedy and the government: Since you killed a President, you have to help us groom a new one in Dallas. That process has been difficult and full of adversity. Which partially explains all the adversity I have experienced. However, there is naturally a reason that a certain segment of people want to interrupt this process: They think it's fraudulent and are trying to restore the original promises of democracy to the people.

The natural resistance to this presidential selection and grooming process has been incorporated into the process itself: Because those giving me so much shit are actually only making me stronger, my chances of reaching the goals set out for me by my handlers are all the better. Thanks surely must go to the vomit-heads: They're helping to insure a stronger America.

3) I AM BOTH THE CHRIST AND BEING GROOMED TO BECOME A FUTURE U.S. PRESIDENT No, you're not crazy. Soon after the end of World War II, American soldiers discovered long hidden birth records--some etched on ancient, golden plates--many of which went back to the birth of Christ. With help from the Morman Church, an organization legendary for its obsession with genealogy, the U.S. Government was basically able to learn the true secrets behind the Holy Grail. One of the lines of Jesus Christ--me!--happened to live in Dallas, Texas. Since that time, the U.S. Government has been trying to steer me towards a career in politics. Because I am the Christ, because all the Christs in the past have been gifted with special powers over reality, I will be empowered so much more as President. I will be a kind of Uber-President. And I will fulfill, according to some in the Pentagon, the prophesies.

Unfortunately, there is an obverse side to this matter of my being the Christ. The Catholic Church, I have learned, has long been pursuing the Holy Grail and has been trying to exterminate descendants of Jesus. The Catholic Church's secret police--the Mafia--have been tailing me for a long time. Sadly, the Arabs want to kill me too. They don't want any funny business over the Temple Mount. Then there are all those who don't believe in Christianity whatsoever. They want to make it difficult for me to enact or embody Christian principles like love.

So there you have it: A picture of the vomit-heads, and three conspiracy theories that easily explains to any truly rational human being their obsession with me.

Oh. And they're obsessed with people like you, too. Never know who's identifying with who these days.