Bambi’s mother told him that if he couldn’t say something nice, he should say nothing, at all.  That was sixty or seventy years ago.  The thought is outdated now.  The American ruling class, and their publicity department (the American media), would say, “If you can’t think something nice, turn yourself in (to a reputable professional, of course) for counseling.  This is stupid in too many different ways for me to unfume enough to deal with it without revealing myself as every possible kind of black-hearted sub-human.  But I’ll point out one major way it is stupid, anyway: that once we can only tell others that they are wonderful (for fear of ostracism or legal punishment), there are bound to be people with unusually big hearts who will start telling others they are super-wonderful, and before you know it, the quickest-witted hyper-offendables will take action against those who have called them wonderful–i.e., inferior to the super-wonderful.

These kinds of thoughts I should just reserve for my private diary, but I gotta put something here daily!  I also feel obligated to other members of posterity here already to show them they aren’t alone.  Yes, weird that I would think of myself acting as a member of future generations by expressing views of of generations dead when I was born.

I should shut up but I have so little instinct for self-preservation, I can’t.  So I have to tell you I consider euphemophilia a synonym for what I just found out is “misandry,” hatred of men.  Interesting that you never hear of anyone accused of that. “Misandry” is crummy sounding so I’m going to use “mistestostergy” instead.  And now I really must yank myself outta here . . . except, alas, to make one more archaically self-deluded remark: I do not consider myself even close to being a misogynist.  But, remember, I don’t consider myself close to being homophobic, either, although I don’t think homosexuals should call their variety of marriage “marriage.”  And I refuse to call them “gays.”

I really gotta yank myself outta here.  Will it help if I say I don’t respect our president’s intelligence, but don’t respect it less than I respect the previous president’s?

No one’s ever said I had a death-wish, but maybe I have.  (Some have suggested I seem to seek failure, which may be true although, frankly, I don’t believe it is.)  Okay–I go!

Note: I did go.  I’m back now only to say I just named “sexism” as on of the categories this entry belongs in.  I’m curious if that will draw visitors.  Why I would want it to would be a question for my shrink if I weren’t too benighted to believe in shrinks.

.

Bambi’s mother told him that if he couldn’t say something nice, he should say nothing, at all.  That was sixty or seventy years ago.  The thought is outdated now.  The American ruling class, and their publicity department (the American media), would say, “If you can’t think something nice, turn yourself in (to a reputable professional, of course) for counseling.  This is stupid in too many different ways for me to unfume enough to deal with it without revealing myself as every possible kind of black-hearted sub-human.  But I’ll point out one major way it is stupid, anyway: that once we can only tell others that they are wonderful (for fear of ostracism or legal punishment), there are bound to be people with unusually big hearts who will start telling others they are super-wonderful, and before you know it, the quickest-witted hyper-offendables will take action against those who have called them wonderful–i.e., inferior to the super-wonderful.

These kinds of thoughts I should just reserve for my private diary, but I gotta put something here daily!  I also feel obligated to other members of posterity here already to show them they aren’t alone.  Yes, weird that I would think of myself acting as a member of future generations by expressing views of of generations dead when I was born.

I should shut up but I have so little instinct for self-preservation, I can’t.  So I have to tell you I consider euphemophilia a synonym for what I just found out is “misandry,” hatred of men.  Interesting that you never hear of anyone accused of that. “Misandry” is crummy sounding so I’m going to use “mistestostergy” instead.  And now I really must yank myself outta here . . . except, alas, to make one more archaically self-deluded remark: I do not consider myself even close to being a misogynist.  But, remember, I don’t consider myself close to being homophobic, either, although I don’t think homosexuals should call their variety of marriage “marriage.”  And I refuse to call them “gays.”

I really gotta yank myself outta here.  Will it help if I say I don’t respect our president’s intelligence, but don’t respect it less than I respect the previous president’s?

No one’s ever said I had a death-wish, but maybe I have.  (Some have suggested I seem to seek failure, which may be true although, frankly, I don’t believe it is.)  Okay–I go!

Note: I did go.  I’m back now only to say I just named “sexism” as on of the categories this entry belongs in.  I’m curious if that will draw visitors.  Why I would want it to would be a question for my shrink if I weren’t too benighted to believe in shrinks.

.

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