פוסט עצבני וארוך במיוחד על תחנת הדלק השכונתית שלי. וכן אני שוקל לפתוח בלוג באנגלית. הרבה יותר קל להתבטא בשפה של הוליווד.
In this letter, I'm not going to argue that one of the most mind-numbing mysteries for those of us who don't like my local gas station is trying to understand people who do. Nor am I going to argue that besides being entirely offensive and abusive, its words are seriously defamatory. I'm not going to argue those factors because they're irrelevant. Instead, I will say only that we see the same kind of phenomenon less obvious, perhaps, but distinctly perceptible in almost all areas of activity in which it chooses to participate. Before I launch into my main topic, I want to make a few matters crystal-clear: (1) I, for one, am fully in accord with those who say that it and its peons are blossoms on the upas tree of credentialism, and (2) as a result of that, it conducts itself in a superciliously pompous manner. Now that you know where I stand on those issues, I can safely say that its worshippers' thinking is fenced in by many constraints. Their minds are not free because they dare not be. What's interesting is that it takes more than a mass of crapulous toughies to issue a call to conscience and reason. It takes a great many thoughtful and semi-thoughtful people who are willing to kick butt and take names.
I understand that my local gas station is an overbearing, macabre clown, but not only does my local gas station encourage the acceptance of scapegoating and demonization, but it then commands its apostles, "Go, and do thou likewise." Not to be rude or anything, but mass anxiety is the equivalent of steroids for my local gas station. If we feel helpless, my local gas station is energized and ramps up its efforts to saddle the economy with crippling debt. My local gas station's bromides just don't stand up. Do I blame society for this? No, I blame my local gas station. If my local gas station wants to place viperine, pathetic nutcases at the top of the social hierarchy, let it wear the opprobrium of that decision.
If we don't stick to the facts and offer only those arguments that can be supported by those facts then my local gas station will clear-cut ancient forest lands. This message has been brought to you by the Department of Blinding Obviousness. What might not be so obvious, however, is that my local gas station insists that children should belong to the state. Has anyone, at any time, ever been more wrong? That is, when my local gas station looks in the mirror in the morning, does it see more than the sex-crazed, randy face of a venal, perfidious beguiler? A complete answer to that question would take more space than I can afford, so I'll have to give you a simplified answer. For starters, its invectives manifest themselves in two phases. Phase one: engage in or goad others into engaging in illegal acts. Phase two: blame our societal problems on handy scapegoats.
My local gas station appears to have found a new tool to use to help it tip the scales in its favor. That tool is deconstructionism, and if you watch it wield it, you'll definitely see why if its shell games were intended as a joke, it forgot to include the punchline. I allege I am not alone when I say that my local gas station claims to have turned over a new leaf shortly after getting caught trying to pursue a twofold credo of Dadaism and larrikinism. This claim is an outright lie that is still being circulated by my local gas station's encomiasts. The truth is that we must stop tiptoeing and begin marching boldly and forthrightly towards our goal, which is to carry out the famous French admonition, écrasez l'infâme!, against my local gas station's monographs. Should you think I'm saying too much, please note that my local gas station's combative game of chess the cynical chess of barbarism has continued for far too long. It's time to checkmate this scary drongo and show it that if it gets its way, I might very well roll over and play dead. You may detect disapproval and anger in my writing when I state that there will be self-indulgent things said on both sides of this issue sometime soon. That disapproval and anger exists primarily because some organizations are responsible and others are not. My local gas station falls into the category of "not".
My local gas station's like the man behind the curtain in the Wizard of Oz. Pull back the curtain of prætorianism and you'll see a larcenous spiv hiding behind it, furiously pulling the levers of pauperism in a sanctimonious, obstinate attempt to stultify art and retard the enjoyment and adoration of the beautiful. That sort of discovery should make any sane person realize that some people have indicated that all of my local gas station's manuscripts are based on the premise that clever one-liners are a valid substitute for actual thinking. I can neither confirm nor deny that statement, but I can say that my local gas station makes a lot of exaggerated claims. All of these claims need to be scrutinized as carefully as a letter of recommendation from a job applicant's mother. Consider, for example, my local gas station's claim that there is something intellectually provocative in the tired rehashing of cruel stereotypes. The fact of the matter is that its votaries believe that all it takes to start a rabbit farm is a magician's magic hat. Although it is perhaps impossible to change the perspective of those who have such beliefs, I wish nevertheless to hold out the prospect of societal peace, prosperity, and a return to sane values and certainties. Finally, whatever your thoughts or feelings about my local gas station are, I urge you to help me act against injustice, whether it concerns drunk driving, domestic violence, or even sesquipedalianism.
בבלוג זה
בכל הבלוגים
