The best sound to come out of any Taylor Swift’s orifices…ever.


I don’t watch the VMA’s for many reasons.


I find no pleasure in watching hours of music industry thugs, charlatans, attention whores and self-enamored scumbags gratuitously savor the spotlight like a fat woman might a half gallon of Rocky Road ice cream at the end of a long, grueling, low self-esteem day.


The VMA’s are chick crack and moreover, have been proven to lower your IQ by at least 3 points per viewing.


But sometimes, shit (literally) does happen.


Like this.


Taylor Swift is such a hot piece of ass, but I had no clue that fine White ass was capable of such wretched effusions. Obviously women fart, even pretty women, but I picture their farts sounding more like lilting musical notes in the wind. Not like rumbling cheek smackers.


Undoubtedly, there are men who probably masturbate to this clip.


Personally, I think Taylor Swift has found her musical calling. Now this is music…better than any of that crap she sings and passes off as such.





Kanye for Prez. Where’s the exit? Stoicism is dead, gravity is a whore.

I muffle an uncomfortable laugh.

And I realize I’m getting quite old. I’m having a hard time keeping up with the flippancy of our times.

Getting off this globe is not quite the option I’m looking for.

All this shit is too amusing.

Stoicism is dead, gravity is a whore.

I must find a clearing in the forest and never think of mankind again.

If you can’t beat ’em, hide.

Two thousand and fifteen. I will die for the art, for what I believe in. The art ain’t always gonna be polite. Y’all might be thinking right now, “I wonder, did he smoke something before he came here?” The answer is yes, I rolled up a little something to knock the edge off. I don’t know what’s gonna happen tonight. I don’t know what’s gonna happen tomorrow, bro. But all I can say to my artist, my fellow artist, just worry about how you feel at the time man. Just worry about how you feel and don’t never… I’m confident, I believe in myself. We the millennials, bro. This is a new mentality. We’re not gonna control our kids with brands. We’re not gonna teach low self esteem and that to our kids. We gonna teach our kids that they can be something. We’re gonna teach our kids that they can stand up for themselves. We’re gonna teach our kids to believe in themselves. If my grandfather was here right now he would not let me back down. I don’t know what I’m finna lose after this, but don’t matter though cause it’s not about me. It’s about ideas bro, new ideas bro. People with ideas. People who believe in truth. And yes, as you probably could have guessed by this moment, I have decided in 2020 to run for president.

Imbecility and ignorance is the hallmark of our day.
Worse, it grows spitefully as we proceed as a “cultured” peoples.

Scott Walker makes Socially Extinct a prophet, once again…

On August 6, I wrote of a certain American presidential candidate’s idea for sealing our Southern border with a wall.

I cautioned against the idea for a number of reasons. Since then, I have publicly stated that I will no longer write about this candidate, and I vow to keep the promise; as such, I believe I can post this without alluding to said candidate directly, for one my cautionary rebukes of his wall idea is now being floated by his fellow GOP Presidential candidate, Scott Walker.

Human nature is frighteningly predictable.

In my earlier post, I wrote:

The Wall supporters lose sight of something: walls can be used to repel, but they can also be used to contain.

First, Trump Wall South, under the guise of preventing entrance of illegal immigrants. What might follow once the concept of a national border wall has found complacent accceptance in our collective psyche? Maybe Trump Wall North, perhaps under the guise of preventing entrance of murderous Muslims. The slippery slope never ends. One day, perhaps, we may find we are surrounded by walls, trapped behind them with our oligarchical headmasters in Washington D.C. who found it easier to physically repel peasant immigrants than to effect real change and transformation within our borders which would perform the same function, albeit with less bigoted symbolism than Trump’s Wall.

And today, The Guardian reports:

The Republican presidential candidate Scott Walker said on Sunday that building a wall on the US northern border with Canada was “a legitimate issue for us to look at”.

Asked in an interview on NBC if he wanted to build a wall on the Canadian border, the Wisconsin governor cited his experience talking to voters “including some law enforcement folks” in New Hampshire, an early voting state in the Republican primaries. Such people, he said, were concerned about terrorists potentially crossing over from Canada.

“They raised some very legitimate concerns, including some law enforcement folks that brought that up to me at one of our town hall meetings about a week and a half ago,” Walker said. “So that is a legitimate issue for us to look at.”

In recent months, with the rise of Donald Trump in polls concerning the Republican presidential field, political debate in the US has focused on illegal immigration and the desirability and feasibility of building a wall on the southern border, with Mexico.

However, concerns about the border with Canada, a country that has witnessed two attacks by Islamist terrorists in the past year, have so far gone unaddressed.

Human culture, composed largely of frightened lemmings, will bury itself into an irreclaimable hole if allowed to pursue its own base hysterics. Or burrow itself into a cave where it will eat itself like a trapped cockroach.

Ghosting comes of age in our Era of Weak Humanity.

I’m such a hipster.

I ghosted before ghosting was cool. It happened in 1993, to be exact.

The victim’s name was Anita.

She was a sweet divorced mother who lived on the westside, near Venice. She was amorphously cute in a deranged Jo Ann Worley way (circa 1960’s, of course). I don’t think that’s who she modeled herself after, but truth hurts. Hey, it was cool. I wasn’t exactly Tom Selleck.

Still, she was light and easy and we went on several lunch and dinner activity dates. I even met her parents and her young daughter. We grew closer, but I never felt a great kinship. I was not connected to her, but I was young, I was bored, I was enjoying the “benefits” of our acquaintanceship. Who was I to turn my back on the cow?

At one point later in our “relationship,” we began discussing a trip to San Francisco. She was really into the idea and I was sorta, as well, but I was more excited about the San Francisco part of it than anything else. See, our relationship had turned sexual only a week or two in, and we had sex frequently, in the dark. Once, we had sex on her parent’s living room floor, and after we were done, she stood up to go the restroom and in the semi-lit room I saw for the first time that the back of her legs were cascaded by cliffs upon cliffs of cellulite. She was not terribly fat, but she wasn’t thin either. However she was one of those unfortunate people who just has a natural state of cellulite. I was grossed out and my feelings for her were henceforth stunted in place. It was very immature and shallow of me, a little Seinfeldian even, I’ll admit, but I was only like 27 at the time. I had no maturity, no honor and from that moment on, I just didn’t see her the same, even as we planned our SF trip.

We finally decided upon the details of our SF trip. The dates, activities, etc. During this time I answered a dating advertisement in one of those circulars that made the rounds prior to our Ashley Madisonian cyber age.

The girl’s name was N****. She was a cute Filipino girl and our first date was on a Sunday night. She was slender and fit, albeit a little FOBish, but she had a great sense of humor and bubbly personality. She was single, had no local children whatsoever (well, other than the ones that she left behind in the Philippines). She lived closer to me so we began hanging out a lot while in the background, I was making plans with poor Anita for our SF trip. I was a meek coward. Me and N**** grew very close and the sex was great, and moreover, she had NO cellulite!

The day drew closer for the trip to San Francisco and I never let on to Anita that I really didn’t want to go, and in fact, didn’t want to hang out with her any more. But I had no balls. Anita called the house frequently (I lived with my parents at the time) in the days leading up to the trip and I would not answer. I disguised my languor by spending all those free moments with N**** or on the phone with her. My mom told me Anita called several times and she was thrust into the unsavory role of covering for me. It is one of the worst things I’ve ever done. I was a simpering, vile coward.

Finally, Anita gave up. The San Francisco dates came and went, and I spent them with N**** because apparently, Anita finally got my passive message.

Now somewhere along the way, I grew up.

My spine stiffened, my testicles descended, something.

I “matured” and came to face confrontation with nary a reservation; to welcome it, in fact. The more protracted, intense and angry the confrontation, the better. My adoration of interpersonal conflict was a strongly ethnic extension of my personality and Socially Extinct at 27 was nothing like Socially Extinct at 40. I would have played that Anita game very differently if I was older.

Ghosting has been covered extensively by Althouse on her blog. She linked to a comment chain at the NYT discussing the justifications and damnation of ghosting.

I personally feel ghosting is the last refuge of the coward. It is a tool of escape wielded by both men and women (a young version of yours truly, included). It is no surprise that the concept has made a return engagement because we appear to be entering, have entered, an era of weak humanity in which direct human interaction has give way to disconnected, bridged interaction that dampens all emotional vitality.

Ghosting is the break up tool of our times.