The little Alpha man I saw today (very little)

Earlier today, I happened upon a couple as they burst out blindly from between parked cars and into the bright light of a parking lot, causing me top halt my happy progression. Normally, I would have uttered a private stream of bitter, hateful comments for such a thoughtless duo, but today…it was a different matter.

As soon as I saw the man (he was difficult to see from behind the car), my anger quickly turned to amusement and eventually, mutated into a derisive voyeurism, something of which I seem frightfully capable.

He was truly a half-pint. He was a stocky little, yiddle, man. It was as if Life, or the gods or whoever owns this madness, in fucking with him, joked that he could have the breadth of a normal man but only the vertical reach of a child. That is the deal, Jose. No use crying about it.

And Jose did not cry about it!

Even as his little legs waddled away as fast they could take him out of my impatient path, he kept his steady composure as he ambled up to his car door handle.

Jose is the real deal. He picked his chin up and ventured out into that harsh world and hooked up with a rather attractive woman in spite of the odds. Look at that little Alpha man. Walking like he owns the goddamned world and making the bitch carry the bag. Heartiste and his crazed legions would slap the fellow on the backside of his head if they could (thinking, of course, that they were aiming for his back).

It’s a trite thing to say, but being short does suck for a man. I can write reams of shit about that (and have, on these electronic Phoenixism pages), but each time I take stock of my life and wonder “damn, what could I have been if I’d grown at least another 6 inches,” I need to revisit this video and consider this dude might say the same thing, except he would need to substitute “2 feet” for “6 inches.”

Or maybe it was just his sister.

Posted in L3

Quit smearing shit on the bicycles (LOL)

Despite my impatience with the majority of the smug bicycleariat, I would never do something like this.

NYC’s premier bike sharing operation, Citi Bike, has apparently been on the receiving end of an unwarranted smear campaign. While New York City’s casual bike-riders rested sweetly in their beds on Friday, an unnamed perpetrator walked around a Midtown Citi Bike stand and wiped feces all over everything.

According to a report in the New York Daily News, the shit-smearer was caught on surveillance cameras across the street at 1:25 a.m. on Friday morning. The station, on 45th Street near 8th Avenue, was targeted by the poop-smearer, who was carrying a “full bag of feces.”

The poop was only discovered at 8 a.m. that morning, the report says, and wasn’t cleaned off the bikes until 5 p.m. that evening, meaning some unsuspecting bike-sharer could have (and probably did) sit in poop. So who is this fucker? Is it your cousin? Tips welcome in the comments.

Eight hours? They spent more time cleaning those bikes than they did on the Ebola-infected Third World Condo in Dallas.

A bag of shit is a horrible thing to waste on you when you’re full of it already.

Posted in L1

Uh, no. I don’t care about football one way or the other. I just think it’s boring as hell.

It’s highly amusing, in much the same way a dog wearing a sweater is, when I hear people trying to intellectualize as vapid a matter as football.

Charlotte Allen, guest blogging at the Los Angeles Times, confronts an editorial that appeared in the same newspaper by Steve Almond (and something he later repeated in a separate Salon article) in which he took the sport to task for various seemingly knee-jerk, contrived reasons. Allen contends, that it’s not football Almond has a problem with…it’s maleness, something she assumes is a proxy for the ridiculous sport.

Steve Almond doesn’t like football anymore. He’s upset because football players sometimes get injured. He’s upset because football players sometimes engage in off-the-field criminal or quasi-criminal acts. Mainly, he’s upset because football is a masculine sport played by men and enjoyed by men.

I really don’t care for football, but my reasons are less sociopolitical. I dislike the game for reasons having nothing to do with gender or “masculinity.” It is possible to dislike the sport for no other reason other than that one may find it plodding and repetitive and an overblown spectacle of meaningless collisions.

I just think it’s just boring as shit.

Posted in L2

[Insert your deity of choice], you’ve outlived your usefulness. Religion must be banned.

It’s horribly true.

We live in a world where worship is war, where dogma is a battle strategy. Humans have defiled religion…or have they? How can you defile a lie? Humans are religion. Superstition is only a manifestation of their polluted, incomplete nature. It’s like trying to interpret a dream…there is no magic, only a glimpse into your diseased soul.


[Insert your deity of choice], you’ve outlived your welcome here among a humanity that is hopelessly unable to safely tolerate your presence and significance.

Humans, the creatures created in your supposed image, are the least god-like entities in the universe. We are stupid, myopic, selfish, egotistical, judgmental, and yet, we organize movements, religions, subcultures, proclaiming your existence and values.

Human are the greatest hypocrites in the world.

Posted in L2

If I happened to drop some acid and then Hilary Clinton walked into the room…

I’ve often wondered what Hilary Clinton would look like if a dropped acid. OK, not really, but that makes a clever segue to a photo I saw on my wall earlier.

“Assassination Chic”

Hilary Mantel is a bestselling British novelist whose works—mostly historical fiction, or novels and stories with contemporary political overtones—are better known in Great Britain than here. Which is surprising, since the 62-year-old Dame Hilary has a knack for self-publicity.

Her name is utterly coincidental, of course. Acid, acid, acid…Hilary….Clinton


Posted in L1

Oh Lena, have a cupcake (or 20) and just shut up for once.

I’ve come to the conclusion that Lena Dunham is pulling our collective leg on a grand, abdominal scale.

All her antics and despicable faux-intellectual showboating is part of a master plan she’s concocted in that bloated skull designed to elicit grimaces from that sector of the American public that still clings to common sense.



Her bullshit can’t be real. I’m a tinfoil Dunham Doubter. I never thought I’d say it, but it seems what comes out her mouth actually dwarfs the platters of plentiful culinary cornucopia that slither down that serpentine gullet.

Lena Dunham thinks the colloquialism, “TMI,” is sexist.

According to feminist icon Lena Dunham, yet another common expression is actually really a super-sexist one: “too much information,” or “TMI.”

In fact, Dunham said she finds the expression so offensive that it’s her “least favorite phrase.”

“I think when men share their experiences, it’s bravery, and when women share their experiences, it’s some sort of — people are like, ‘TMI,’” she told NPR’s Terry Gross in an interview this week.

Despite Dunham’s claims, men have in the past shared their experiences without being praised for “bravery,” and women have used “TMI” to tell a man they think he’s “oversharing.”

To top it off, Dunham said that the word “oversharing” is also unacceptable because it, too, is “really gendered.”

“I feel as though there’s some sense that society trivializes female experiences,” she said.

Dunham published a book, Not That Kind of Girl, about her own “female experiences,” and earned a very not-trivial $3.5 million off of its publication alone.

It was released Tuesday.

If I won the lottery, I would send her a ten-year supply of cupcakes. That should silence her nonsense for a few minutes.

Posted in L2

It’s time for Texas to begin accepting EBT (Ebola Benefits Transfer) cards…I suspect there may be more Thomas Eric Duncans in the charity pipeline.

The NYT did a smash up job of retracing Thomas Eric Duncan’s escape from microbe-infested Liberia straight into a welcoming Dallas emergency room last week as he writhed in the throes of deathly Ebola infection. Great timeline, great maps, Gray Lady!

(courtesy, NY Times)

(courtesy, NY Times)

On September 15 in Monrovia, Liberia, Mr. Duncan, in a fit of altruistic charity, carried a young girl to a hospital as her life slowly drifted away while the last stages of Ebola ravaged her soft tissues. The hospital, decidedly less altruistic, but more African, turned her away. Duncan brought her back home, where she later died. Five days later, he boarded several airborne tin cans that would bring him to Dallas by way of Brussels and Washington D.C. In Dallas, he began a short-lived stay with relatives before he began displaying the gory symptoms of initial Ebola infection (and contagiousness).

I don’t know what to make of this chain of events.

Duncan quit his Liberian job in early September, decided to carry a girl who was dying from Ebola around, just short of a trip to the United States. Don’t most people just pack for their trip? The level of ignorance in Africa leaves the rest of this story (which is yet to play out) up to anyone’s wild, speculative imagination and paranoia.

Even the dirtiest public ER in the United States must seem a paradise compared to the dirt infested hovels where sick people must seek treatment in the poor areas of Africa. Who can blame someone for fleeing to the U.S. when the beacon of free, effective, health care awaits, no questions asked (until after you’ve puked all over EMT’s and exuded microbe laced dander all over some young children as they run off to school for the day)? Free ER rooms have long been the cynical draw for all manner of Third Worlders here in Los Angeles.

Texas is sickeningly fond of endless recitation about what a great draw that state is for business; of its free-wheeling, free-market Utopian dust vision. And the Texas Chamber of Commerce especially loves to rub their anarchic prosperity in the face of Californians.

Well take this, Texas. Have a virus.

Perhaps it’s time that Texas surrenders the facade of EBT payments from its lowest, most destitute leeches, and simply re-brands the “We Accept EBT” moniker for hospital emergency rooms. If businesses flee to Texas, why not the Ebola African hordes seeking cheap health care? Unlike their homeland, American hospitals will not turn them away.

All Texas hospitals can now post this familiar icon:

Ebola Benefits Transfer

Posted in L3

Where Camille Paglia and Socially Extinct intercepted.

It’s quite revealing and indicative of our instant cyber age that an article that is just a little over 24 hours old can so readily be cast aside as “old news,” but that is certainly the sense that I get in linking to Camille Paglia’s Time Magazine treatise in which she opines on the American (and the West’s) Darwinian reversal march. According to Paglia, complacence and pampered home lives and an over-civilized familial culture interspersed with First World entitlement-fed apathy and ignorance has resulted in a breed of college student that is incapable of self-protection or the calling upon of sharp, primal instincts which should automatically trigger when survival beckons.

Simply put, modern technological culture is breeding a domesticated, innocuously coated species of Millennial “beast” that is, at best, helpless in the foreign role of recognizing and contending with danger.

Paglia wrote:

Too many young middleclass women, raised far from the urban streets, seem to expect adult life to be an extension of their comfortable, overprotected homes. But the world remains a wilderness. The price of women’s modern freedoms is personal responsibility for vigilance and self-defense.

I agreed heartily as I read her piece. I concur strongly with Paglias’ sentiments. Technology and modernity have made men less warrior-like and women less prudent.

In a world where your primal instincts are lathered over by our culture of electronic nannyism and effusive watchdoggedness, the result can only be a caliber of human that is but a skinny stack of delicate bones and tremulous sensibilities. So shielded are today’s youth from savagery, cruelty, unfairness, brutality, that their entire chain of maturity is molded around the acceptance and expectation of a scripted world approved by censors and protectors. Paglia’s article struck a note, for I recall having written a post which vaguely touched on this point.

I found it. Titled Why do White people keep falling to their death? and posted August of last year, I wrote (I used “White” as the archetype, the analog, for all modern, First World inhabitants):

Modern, urban, young White people have no sense of danger because they don’t know danger. This is typified by extending the safety harness of ledges and rickety rusted metal cages to their everyday pampered lives. It’s natural selection on a very small scale. If we do not learn danger, we become weak, ignorant, and worst of all, incautious.

White people have become horribly incautious and this is why they’ve lost control of the United States.

Perhaps it’s a stretch to correlate the deaths of falling White people with American decline, but it’s very appropriate if one truly pays attention.

White people lean too far because no one has taught them that it’s time to stop, and everything falls to shit.

Posted in L5

Fast walkers, die!

This video makes my blood boil. Some sorry-ass guy in Japan walks around and rings a bell when people are walking “too slow” for him.

This shit makes me so angry.

I have a strange, visceral, instinctive reaction when I’m rushed. I hate to be rushed and I will lash out. I would happily kill all automobile tailgaters and pedestrian tailgaters.

If this guy came up behind me with his little bell dinging away, I would turn around, rip it from his hands, and shove it right up his ass. Never rush me, bastard. If you are truly in a hurry, go around. Surely you can manage that in your feeble little overclocked mind?

Besides, how do you define “slow” or “fast” anyhow? It’s so relative. The old “anyone walking slower than me is walking too slow” bullshit does fly with me. Go to hell you rushers. Get a life. Here in L.A., it seems White people are the rushers. They are the people who have that delusion of self-importance that proclaims their destination needs them so desperately that they’ll trample all in their path.

Posted in L3

The Needy, Non-Ironic, Ego archetype.

So there is this rather fat chick I have the misfortune of crossing regular paths with. She’s of the Dunhamian landwhale-XX variety. Hence, I have no problem calling her “fat,” as opposed to “obese,” which is much too forgiving a term due to its neutral and clinical description. This chick is fat, she’s loud, but rather than letting this devolve into an anti-fat dirge, I want to mention she is also something else that I detest in people: she is one of those people with needy, non-ironic, egos.

I suppose this ego type is most commonly seen in bloated female specimens, but it has been noted across the span of all humanity.

I detest this ego type.

The needy, non-ironic, ego type is characterized by sly, weakly subtle, expressions of boastfulness.

These people appear to be involved in an incessant, never-ending competition and battle with the world that takes place entirely in their heads. They are constantly immersed in a vigilant stance of appraisal of their environment, a quality which appears as nosiness and intrusiveness. These people live entirely outside their mind for they are always on the look out for the next opportunity by which to engorge their gluttonous egos. These people are typified by a self-directed blindness which is so severe that they do not seem to realize how transparent their neediness is to the outside observer. Their “slyness” is laughable for it is nothing of the sort. It is blatant and embarrassingly obvious, this egotistical yearning. Any battle, however trivial, they believe they have “won” in their heads becomes the stuff of legend as they recount it in subdued allusions of happenstance that really is their way of saying “look how fucking awesome I am” without owning this awesomeness. It may be because there is an implicit guilt they actually feel but, unable to recognize it, a trait further exacerbated by this maddening neediness, is photoshopped out of their putative extravagant personality and is manifested as a privatized grandstanding that others generally do not observe (except for hyper-observant dolts like me). Ultimately, it’s the “non-ironic” aspect of this clingy egotism that is their trademark, for their neediness is born of insecurity and laziness of spirit. Their needy, non-ironic ego is unable to refer to itself, for if allowed to do so, would result in such people having to glare clearly and honestly into their fragmented soul.

Posted in L2