THE CAT IS THE TOTAL GENIUS NOBODY UNDERSTANDS
So what? I'm a cat. I've never really paid much attention to myself--at least not until yesterday. Now I'm suddenly quite conscious of who and what I am, cognizant nearly to a fault regarding my appearance and, of course, sentient. That's correct. I'm sentient. I am as self-reflective as any human being.
This morning, I looked into the mirror. Long gone were those sophomoric days of spotting a "cat" in the mirror, thinking that the "cat" was some sort of rival for my territory and then attacking the "cat" only to discover I was being confronted paw-to-paw, tooth-for-tooth, body slam to body slam by a "cat" as slick as glass. Stupid me. All those times I thought my reflection was something other than a reflection.
Watching television, I couldn't help but wonder how many humans never get as far as I have in the comprehension that the reflection they see in the mirror isn't some other person. But I've encountered a number of humans who see someone in the mirror who has little to do with who they really are. Anorexics are a good example because they always see a fat person in the mirror, even if they're actually 81 pounds, more bones than skin. This problem of seeing someone other than who you really are whenever you look in the mirror goes a lot deeper than merely misapprehension of physical attributes. Some women see a glamor queen like Jackie Collins when in reality they're closer in appearance and mental mien to the white trash they sometimes ridicule. Men usually see someone who's got a lot in common with Clint Eastwood or Walker, Texas Ranger, when they're really just another pointless boob who happened to catch their ideal image in the mirror. Actually, the reflection's we see aren't even us, they're glass cohabiting with light, but we're getting way too philosophical here. The point I'm trying to make is that commercial television plays off this natural human tendency. We see heroes; we think we are heroes. We see vixens and seductresses; we think we are vixens and seductresses. No wonder people who are poor, or both poor and non-white have trouble with "white man's culture": TV always portrays them as homeless or drug users or petty criminals or illegal immigrants or people who can barely speak English. That's disgusting. But what do I know? I'm only a cat.
What's really funny, however, is that my name's Narcissus. When I looked up the name in Encarta, I discovered that I am named after a Greek myth told eons ago to children in danger of becoming enamored with themselves. Narcissus discovers his reflection in the mirror and falls in love with it. Eventually, he gets up the nerve to kiss the beautiful male in front of him, falls into the pond and drowns. Such are the dangers of being Narcissistic. We tend to fall in love with our reflections because we are not sophisticated enough to ignore ourselves. Looking at the lists of thousands of bloggers who suffer from narcissistic tendencies, I must admit I'm having trouble falling in love with myself simply because I already know I'm more sophisticated than those folks. And, hell: I'm a freaking cat.
I was reading some dork's blog the other day, and the dork was ranting about the political situation in America. His real name was Darrell Smith or Missoula Falls, Montana. But his blogger name? Sexwithcaptainamerica. He'd posted one of those "glamour shots" photos of himself in which he was stretching his abs in dramatic lighting. I'm willing to bet a week's worth of cat chow that old Darrell Smith of Missoula Falls, Montana thought his ridiculous photo of himself was an accurate representation of his "inner self." When I looked at him again, glaring as he was from some small-town photographic studio, I almost coughed up a hairball. Here's a short excerpt from his latest blog entry:
"Cum w/me 2 the REAL Amurca! The one that's morrally cerupt! Present George W. Butch cain't hold th line longer! If'n he wuz 2 die, you'd not be the happpy 1!"
So, like a curious cat, I decided to examine the true life of Mr. Darrell Smith of Missoula Falls, Montana. You'd think cats aren't smart enough to surf the web, but then you've also been amazed when you read those charming news stories about the cat that called 911 and saved its owner's life. You've probably had personal experience of cats knocking on the front door of a friend's home, or have heard of cats even opening doors. This should lead you to suspect that cats, being the most superb hunters in the animal kingdom, are quite observant. And you'd be right in that suspicion. I'd watched my human attendant (we don't call those folks "owners") many times. I've almost memorized how to get onto the Internet. If a freaking cat can do this, why is it so many humans think their computer skills make them superior to other humans? Man! What a strange race you are!
Turns out Mr. Darrell Smith of Missoula Falls, Montana actually lives in this place called the Char-Bo-Nay Trailer Park. Char-Bo-Nay actually has a web site. What you'll see is a photograph of a fairly average trailer park, but it's oddly labeled as "Luxury Living In Big Sky Country!" If you look closely at the photograph, you'll see that whoever photographed the park didn't bother to pick up the litter you'll see speckling the gutters and yards like flecks of dirty snow. Right behind the owner of the park, Mrs. Melva Thompson, you'll even be able to spot a huge paper cup. It's overturned in what I took to be Mrs. Thompson's, the owner's, yard. Man! It must be quite a luxury to just up and throw trash in somebodies yard! It must be quite luxurious to walk to the front door of your trailer and scan a panorama of litter-strewn streets and yards.
Here's another quote from Darrell: "Them white trash mutherfuckers ain't got no considorations for them other peoples noplace! Them idgits shoulda been put in death camps down in Mexico!"
Being a cat, I've got to let you know I'm finicky. Finicky means being picky or selective or discriminating. When Morris the Cat acted finicky on TV in the 1970s, Morris wouldn't eat certain types of food because they supposedly weren't up to his standards. Morris' voice was intended to be a dead giveaway: That afficianado tone-of-voice was literally sticky with culture and affectation. It was funny to listen to Morris talk because Morris was only a cat. Anyway, I've got to admit that I really am finicky. I'm quite quick to make distinctions between one thing and another, and moreover, I'm also quick to draw value judgements based on the distinctions I make. So...when I began to count the number of spelling errors on the website for the Char-Bo-Nay Trailer Park (they totaled 23), I suspected that whoever put it together had certain qualities: First of all, it was possible they just couldn't spell. Secondly, it's probable they either don't know how to use their computer's spell-check programming. Third, it's also probable they're too lazy to use the dictionary. It's also possible they don't know they're misspelling certain words. It could be the website "designer" (a high-falutin designation intended to give a typist a sense of undeserved dignity in a world in which dignity is hard to come by) doesn't own a dictionary. But all those possibilities assume the best. Could be the web designer isn't well educated enough to know how to spell words correctly. Could be the web designer has a low intelligence quotient. It could be the web designer, a person who "designs" web sites, doesn't know how to type. Or, and this is giving the web designer a lot of slack, it's also possible that the web designer misspelled 23 words as a way of providing web surfers a sense of the local color only Char-Bo-Nay Trailer Park can provide.
Remember the movie, "Pee Wee's Big Adventure"? At one point, when Pee Wee Herman is showing off on his bicycle, he has a wreck. Standing up and dusting himself off, Pee Wee glares at the camera and hisses, "I meant to do that."
That's the usual response when people who have misspelled a word, and feel some kind of shame over having it pointed out to them, use to invoke some kind of generally-accepted poetic license when what they're really trying to do is protect themselves from criticism they're afraid will make them feel even more stupid than they already think they are.
Anyway, the Char-Bo-Nay Trailer Park indicates this: NO TRASHIN' NO PUBLIC SEX OR DRINKIN' OR DRUGGIN' OR FIGHTIN' ON THE FRONT YARDS!
I guess that this means that I, Narcissus, a mere cat, won't be able to use the front yard of Char-
Bo-Nay Trailer Park as a restroom, nor will I be able to have that rough, snorting sex I like to have when I'm not in the cat house. I won't be able to lap a single drop of malt liquor from one of the 40-ounces I imagine are going to be strewn practically everywhere, and catnip's out of the question. And if I'm merely trying to defend my turf from an interloping rival, I won't be able to squeal and scratch, even if it's only my instinct to do so. Sounds like Char-Bo-Nay's a great place for a cat.
Not to be too disappointed, however. Since I saw all that litter scattered all over the Char-Bo-Nay promotional photograph, I decided I could take the presence of trash all over Mrs. Thompson's front yard as a gesture indicating she really doesn't mean it about the trashing, public sex, drinking, drug abuse or violence at Char-Bo-Nay. We'll just turn our heads the other way, Mrs. Thompson's trashy gesture tells me. And that's great! This is where Darrell, vociferous defender of American moral values, actually lives!
A slightly more intensive investigation into Darrell Smith's credit and legal portfolio's was revealing. Darrell Smith, according to his public credit rating, can't even get a WalMart credit card because he's repeatedly committed to making payments on the following: His car, his wife's car, his television set, his personal computer and even the trailer house in which he lives. Because he's got a poor credit rating, I can only assume he hasn't had the money he needs to live the life he wants to lead. That's not uncommon in America, and it also indicates that Darrell, among millions like him, is under great marketing pressure. He's continually being shown that "successful" people have certain things, and because he wants to be seen as "successful," he buys on credit, only to default for any number of possible reasons. Is this a behavioral sign that points to clues surrounding the character of Darrell Smith of Missoula Falls, Montana?
Maybe poor Darrell isn't as Captain America-esque as he wants people to think he is in his blog name. Isn't Captain America supposed to be strong? Able to resist adversity? Isn't he supposed to be able to do the right thing no matter how hard it is? I'll bet that if Captain America owed WalMart five hundred bucks on a wide screen TV, he'd tell himself he'd made an agreement to act in good faith and that he'd be doing himself a grave injustice if he didn't fulfill the promise he'd made. Heck, man! Captain America's only a comic character.
But Darrell's real profile--quite different, you may imagine, from his blogger profile--gets worse. In fact, it's almost shocking. Darrell, the defender of the morality of America, has been pulled over and even jailed five times--five times!--on drunken driving charges. What does this say about his character? Sure. Though I'm a cat, I'm still smart enough to know that alcohol abuse isn't a character problem as much as it's a disease, but still: Don't you think Darrell would have admitted he had a problem with drinking and driving the first time he spent the night in jail? If Darrell had as much character as he wants people to think he has, he'd have been quick to amend his behavior. Apparently, Darrell hasn't "hit bottom" yet.
Darrell's alcohol abuse may point to other problems related to his character: Because he's being besieged by marketing ploys that demand that unless he becomes tall, well-dressed, rich, sophisticated and a lady killer who happens to listen to techno music he doesn't even know exists outside of a Lexus commercial, Darrell's trying to check out of a serious disparity between two alleged realities: his quotidian life and the one he sees on TV. Man! You get sucked into that one and you're in trouble.
Need evidence from the cat world? I can't remember how old I was, but we were all watching Animal Planet one night. Like any cat, I'd just eaten dinner and was feeling comfortable. Sitting in front of the TV as a cat's gesture indicating that my human attendant's attention and concentrational focus belongs to me, was part of my "turf," and that my human attendant's tendency to focus instead on the TV was a violation, I found myself sucked into televised "reality." Call it a frailty, call it my instincts, but when I heard birds singing in a televised jungle setting, something in me literally "went ape." I, too, began to focus, quite intently, on the TV screen. My hackles began to raise. Whiskers twitched. I felt I was about to pounce. It was irresistable. My hunter's instincts had been triggered by the TV.
Then, beyond my comprehension, the TV image shifted from birds singing in the jungle to a lion sitting on an African plain. In a sudden camera close-up, the lion loudly roared. Yeow! I freaked! Next thing I know, I was in the next room, quivering under the bed.
Well, I bet the same thing happens to Darrell. He sees images on the TV that catalyze his hunter-gatherer instincts and he feels compelled either to try to buy his way into televised paradise or he recoils into insecurity and fear and begins drinking. Maybe the drinking gives him a sense of paradise, the fast-food kind.
According to information I culled from the web, Darrell's been unemployed for nearly two and a half years. He lives in Missoula Falls, Montana. I'd bet that's not exactly a hotbed of employment opportunities. He's probably felt a lot of anxiety. He probably thinks the world's out to get him. Is it a conspiracy? Who knows? Some people might laugh at Darrell because he's been unemployed for so long. Darrell probably knows that, too. He's more than likely quite sensitive to the possibility of ridicule, mainly because he's ridiculed plenty of people for being unemployed, or being crippled or being drunk or being divorced. Now that the tables seem to be turned, Darrell feels threatened by the possibility he'd be ridiculed for being on the dole. Besides, he thinks that unemployment is a character problem. He feels bad about himself. He worries that there's something wrong with him, and he's trying in a number of ways to accommodate all his fears. That's probably why Darrell's self-image is so out of whack. He's suffering from ego inflation: He's so pumped up over himself because that's the only way he can maintain. In fact, he's so pumped up over himself that he thinks he's got the answers to America's problems.
Darrell Smith of Missoula Falls, Montana, probably goes ballistic over all the social and political problems he doesn't have to do much about: Abortion's easy because all you have to do is stand around in front of an abortion clinic and express with your presence dissatisfaction; gay marriage is simple mainly because you don't know anybody who's gay, hence you're distant from the realities of that situation and can stand around and complain while doing absolutely nothing about anything and then make yourself feel morally superior because of "your stand" on gay marriage; the government is always a convenient target because the government, not Darrell Smith of Missoula Falls, Montana, is the root of all evil.
Darrell has never voted in his life. He's like the kid who's standing outside the circle of all the "popular kids" at recess and calling them "poo poo heads." Good job, Darrell. You're just fucking great.
Anyway, I'm only a cat. I've got my own problems. I shouldn't be sitting here preening my own self image by criticizing the human race. Sometimes I smell bad. Sometimes my breath could fell a horse.
This morning, I looked into the mirror. Long gone were those sophomoric days of spotting a "cat" in the mirror, thinking that the "cat" was some sort of rival for my territory and then attacking the "cat" only to discover I was being confronted paw-to-paw, tooth-for-tooth, body slam to body slam by a "cat" as slick as glass. Stupid me. All those times I thought my reflection was something other than a reflection.
Watching television, I couldn't help but wonder how many humans never get as far as I have in the comprehension that the reflection they see in the mirror isn't some other person. But I've encountered a number of humans who see someone in the mirror who has little to do with who they really are. Anorexics are a good example because they always see a fat person in the mirror, even if they're actually 81 pounds, more bones than skin. This problem of seeing someone other than who you really are whenever you look in the mirror goes a lot deeper than merely misapprehension of physical attributes. Some women see a glamor queen like Jackie Collins when in reality they're closer in appearance and mental mien to the white trash they sometimes ridicule. Men usually see someone who's got a lot in common with Clint Eastwood or Walker, Texas Ranger, when they're really just another pointless boob who happened to catch their ideal image in the mirror. Actually, the reflection's we see aren't even us, they're glass cohabiting with light, but we're getting way too philosophical here. The point I'm trying to make is that commercial television plays off this natural human tendency. We see heroes; we think we are heroes. We see vixens and seductresses; we think we are vixens and seductresses. No wonder people who are poor, or both poor and non-white have trouble with "white man's culture": TV always portrays them as homeless or drug users or petty criminals or illegal immigrants or people who can barely speak English. That's disgusting. But what do I know? I'm only a cat.
What's really funny, however, is that my name's Narcissus. When I looked up the name in Encarta, I discovered that I am named after a Greek myth told eons ago to children in danger of becoming enamored with themselves. Narcissus discovers his reflection in the mirror and falls in love with it. Eventually, he gets up the nerve to kiss the beautiful male in front of him, falls into the pond and drowns. Such are the dangers of being Narcissistic. We tend to fall in love with our reflections because we are not sophisticated enough to ignore ourselves. Looking at the lists of thousands of bloggers who suffer from narcissistic tendencies, I must admit I'm having trouble falling in love with myself simply because I already know I'm more sophisticated than those folks. And, hell: I'm a freaking cat.
I was reading some dork's blog the other day, and the dork was ranting about the political situation in America. His real name was Darrell Smith or Missoula Falls, Montana. But his blogger name? Sexwithcaptainamerica. He'd posted one of those "glamour shots" photos of himself in which he was stretching his abs in dramatic lighting. I'm willing to bet a week's worth of cat chow that old Darrell Smith of Missoula Falls, Montana thought his ridiculous photo of himself was an accurate representation of his "inner self." When I looked at him again, glaring as he was from some small-town photographic studio, I almost coughed up a hairball. Here's a short excerpt from his latest blog entry:
"Cum w/me 2 the REAL Amurca! The one that's morrally cerupt! Present George W. Butch cain't hold th line longer! If'n he wuz 2 die, you'd not be the happpy 1!"
So, like a curious cat, I decided to examine the true life of Mr. Darrell Smith of Missoula Falls, Montana. You'd think cats aren't smart enough to surf the web, but then you've also been amazed when you read those charming news stories about the cat that called 911 and saved its owner's life. You've probably had personal experience of cats knocking on the front door of a friend's home, or have heard of cats even opening doors. This should lead you to suspect that cats, being the most superb hunters in the animal kingdom, are quite observant. And you'd be right in that suspicion. I'd watched my human attendant (we don't call those folks "owners") many times. I've almost memorized how to get onto the Internet. If a freaking cat can do this, why is it so many humans think their computer skills make them superior to other humans? Man! What a strange race you are!
Turns out Mr. Darrell Smith of Missoula Falls, Montana actually lives in this place called the Char-Bo-Nay Trailer Park. Char-Bo-Nay actually has a web site. What you'll see is a photograph of a fairly average trailer park, but it's oddly labeled as "Luxury Living In Big Sky Country!" If you look closely at the photograph, you'll see that whoever photographed the park didn't bother to pick up the litter you'll see speckling the gutters and yards like flecks of dirty snow. Right behind the owner of the park, Mrs. Melva Thompson, you'll even be able to spot a huge paper cup. It's overturned in what I took to be Mrs. Thompson's, the owner's, yard. Man! It must be quite a luxury to just up and throw trash in somebodies yard! It must be quite luxurious to walk to the front door of your trailer and scan a panorama of litter-strewn streets and yards.
Here's another quote from Darrell: "Them white trash mutherfuckers ain't got no considorations for them other peoples noplace! Them idgits shoulda been put in death camps down in Mexico!"
Being a cat, I've got to let you know I'm finicky. Finicky means being picky or selective or discriminating. When Morris the Cat acted finicky on TV in the 1970s, Morris wouldn't eat certain types of food because they supposedly weren't up to his standards. Morris' voice was intended to be a dead giveaway: That afficianado tone-of-voice was literally sticky with culture and affectation. It was funny to listen to Morris talk because Morris was only a cat. Anyway, I've got to admit that I really am finicky. I'm quite quick to make distinctions between one thing and another, and moreover, I'm also quick to draw value judgements based on the distinctions I make. So...when I began to count the number of spelling errors on the website for the Char-Bo-Nay Trailer Park (they totaled 23), I suspected that whoever put it together had certain qualities: First of all, it was possible they just couldn't spell. Secondly, it's probable they either don't know how to use their computer's spell-check programming. Third, it's also probable they're too lazy to use the dictionary. It's also possible they don't know they're misspelling certain words. It could be the website "designer" (a high-falutin designation intended to give a typist a sense of undeserved dignity in a world in which dignity is hard to come by) doesn't own a dictionary. But all those possibilities assume the best. Could be the web designer isn't well educated enough to know how to spell words correctly. Could be the web designer has a low intelligence quotient. It could be the web designer, a person who "designs" web sites, doesn't know how to type. Or, and this is giving the web designer a lot of slack, it's also possible that the web designer misspelled 23 words as a way of providing web surfers a sense of the local color only Char-Bo-Nay Trailer Park can provide.
Remember the movie, "Pee Wee's Big Adventure"? At one point, when Pee Wee Herman is showing off on his bicycle, he has a wreck. Standing up and dusting himself off, Pee Wee glares at the camera and hisses, "I meant to do that."
That's the usual response when people who have misspelled a word, and feel some kind of shame over having it pointed out to them, use to invoke some kind of generally-accepted poetic license when what they're really trying to do is protect themselves from criticism they're afraid will make them feel even more stupid than they already think they are.
Anyway, the Char-Bo-Nay Trailer Park indicates this: NO TRASHIN' NO PUBLIC SEX OR DRINKIN' OR DRUGGIN' OR FIGHTIN' ON THE FRONT YARDS!
I guess that this means that I, Narcissus, a mere cat, won't be able to use the front yard of Char-
Bo-Nay Trailer Park as a restroom, nor will I be able to have that rough, snorting sex I like to have when I'm not in the cat house. I won't be able to lap a single drop of malt liquor from one of the 40-ounces I imagine are going to be strewn practically everywhere, and catnip's out of the question. And if I'm merely trying to defend my turf from an interloping rival, I won't be able to squeal and scratch, even if it's only my instinct to do so. Sounds like Char-Bo-Nay's a great place for a cat.
Not to be too disappointed, however. Since I saw all that litter scattered all over the Char-Bo-Nay promotional photograph, I decided I could take the presence of trash all over Mrs. Thompson's front yard as a gesture indicating she really doesn't mean it about the trashing, public sex, drinking, drug abuse or violence at Char-Bo-Nay. We'll just turn our heads the other way, Mrs. Thompson's trashy gesture tells me. And that's great! This is where Darrell, vociferous defender of American moral values, actually lives!
A slightly more intensive investigation into Darrell Smith's credit and legal portfolio's was revealing. Darrell Smith, according to his public credit rating, can't even get a WalMart credit card because he's repeatedly committed to making payments on the following: His car, his wife's car, his television set, his personal computer and even the trailer house in which he lives. Because he's got a poor credit rating, I can only assume he hasn't had the money he needs to live the life he wants to lead. That's not uncommon in America, and it also indicates that Darrell, among millions like him, is under great marketing pressure. He's continually being shown that "successful" people have certain things, and because he wants to be seen as "successful," he buys on credit, only to default for any number of possible reasons. Is this a behavioral sign that points to clues surrounding the character of Darrell Smith of Missoula Falls, Montana?
Maybe poor Darrell isn't as Captain America-esque as he wants people to think he is in his blog name. Isn't Captain America supposed to be strong? Able to resist adversity? Isn't he supposed to be able to do the right thing no matter how hard it is? I'll bet that if Captain America owed WalMart five hundred bucks on a wide screen TV, he'd tell himself he'd made an agreement to act in good faith and that he'd be doing himself a grave injustice if he didn't fulfill the promise he'd made. Heck, man! Captain America's only a comic character.
But Darrell's real profile--quite different, you may imagine, from his blogger profile--gets worse. In fact, it's almost shocking. Darrell, the defender of the morality of America, has been pulled over and even jailed five times--five times!--on drunken driving charges. What does this say about his character? Sure. Though I'm a cat, I'm still smart enough to know that alcohol abuse isn't a character problem as much as it's a disease, but still: Don't you think Darrell would have admitted he had a problem with drinking and driving the first time he spent the night in jail? If Darrell had as much character as he wants people to think he has, he'd have been quick to amend his behavior. Apparently, Darrell hasn't "hit bottom" yet.
Darrell's alcohol abuse may point to other problems related to his character: Because he's being besieged by marketing ploys that demand that unless he becomes tall, well-dressed, rich, sophisticated and a lady killer who happens to listen to techno music he doesn't even know exists outside of a Lexus commercial, Darrell's trying to check out of a serious disparity between two alleged realities: his quotidian life and the one he sees on TV. Man! You get sucked into that one and you're in trouble.
Need evidence from the cat world? I can't remember how old I was, but we were all watching Animal Planet one night. Like any cat, I'd just eaten dinner and was feeling comfortable. Sitting in front of the TV as a cat's gesture indicating that my human attendant's attention and concentrational focus belongs to me, was part of my "turf," and that my human attendant's tendency to focus instead on the TV was a violation, I found myself sucked into televised "reality." Call it a frailty, call it my instincts, but when I heard birds singing in a televised jungle setting, something in me literally "went ape." I, too, began to focus, quite intently, on the TV screen. My hackles began to raise. Whiskers twitched. I felt I was about to pounce. It was irresistable. My hunter's instincts had been triggered by the TV.
Then, beyond my comprehension, the TV image shifted from birds singing in the jungle to a lion sitting on an African plain. In a sudden camera close-up, the lion loudly roared. Yeow! I freaked! Next thing I know, I was in the next room, quivering under the bed.
Well, I bet the same thing happens to Darrell. He sees images on the TV that catalyze his hunter-gatherer instincts and he feels compelled either to try to buy his way into televised paradise or he recoils into insecurity and fear and begins drinking. Maybe the drinking gives him a sense of paradise, the fast-food kind.
According to information I culled from the web, Darrell's been unemployed for nearly two and a half years. He lives in Missoula Falls, Montana. I'd bet that's not exactly a hotbed of employment opportunities. He's probably felt a lot of anxiety. He probably thinks the world's out to get him. Is it a conspiracy? Who knows? Some people might laugh at Darrell because he's been unemployed for so long. Darrell probably knows that, too. He's more than likely quite sensitive to the possibility of ridicule, mainly because he's ridiculed plenty of people for being unemployed, or being crippled or being drunk or being divorced. Now that the tables seem to be turned, Darrell feels threatened by the possibility he'd be ridiculed for being on the dole. Besides, he thinks that unemployment is a character problem. He feels bad about himself. He worries that there's something wrong with him, and he's trying in a number of ways to accommodate all his fears. That's probably why Darrell's self-image is so out of whack. He's suffering from ego inflation: He's so pumped up over himself because that's the only way he can maintain. In fact, he's so pumped up over himself that he thinks he's got the answers to America's problems.
Darrell Smith of Missoula Falls, Montana, probably goes ballistic over all the social and political problems he doesn't have to do much about: Abortion's easy because all you have to do is stand around in front of an abortion clinic and express with your presence dissatisfaction; gay marriage is simple mainly because you don't know anybody who's gay, hence you're distant from the realities of that situation and can stand around and complain while doing absolutely nothing about anything and then make yourself feel morally superior because of "your stand" on gay marriage; the government is always a convenient target because the government, not Darrell Smith of Missoula Falls, Montana, is the root of all evil.
Darrell has never voted in his life. He's like the kid who's standing outside the circle of all the "popular kids" at recess and calling them "poo poo heads." Good job, Darrell. You're just fucking great.
Anyway, I'm only a cat. I've got my own problems. I shouldn't be sitting here preening my own self image by criticizing the human race. Sometimes I smell bad. Sometimes my breath could fell a horse.
posted by Faceshaker at 1:05 PM
2 comments
