Saturday, July 30, 2016


I'll give David Frum some small benefit of the doubt -- he's certainly traveled far from his "Axis of Evil" bafflegab a decade ago, providing the rhetorical buttress for the fanciful arguments of a feckless doofus. Frum has been front-and-center in his dismay at all things Drumpfski, probably because, like fellow columnist Bobo Brooks, his vanilla sensibilities are rankled by Cheetolini's voluble rampages. It is the form, more than the content, that chafes Frum's suburbanite mores.

So it makes sense that someone with Frum's aesthetic would adopt the rhetorical trope of "let's find out what makes these folks tick, so's we can talk to them in a language they can understand," which is condescending to begin with, but let's set that aside for the moment.

But as always, the weakness of that trope ignores our prime maxim at this here jernt:  It is impossible to deal rationally with irrational people. We may not like to hear that, but like gravity and death, it is true and inevitable. It is, as they say, what it is.

And so you have to make some tactical decisions. You have to recognize that it's a complete waste of time to try and reach out to scumbags like this. The best you can hope for with the guy in that link is that the 'roids have shriveled his balls too much to procreate, and that he'll be done in by a heart attack before his thirtieth birthday, so that the damage he does in this world is at least mitigated.

I know that's harsh; I'm not going to deny it. But here is another hard truth:  when you have someone who says to random Mexicans things like, “BUILD THAT FUCKIN’ WALL... FOR ME!” and “GO FUCKIN’ COOK MY BURRITO BITCH”, you are dealing with someone who never has and never will make a positive contribution to this vale of sorrows on which we all coexist. Just by definition, there it is. That animal has no redeeming qualities. Maybe he's nice to his grandma and his cat. Maybe he walks his elderly aunt across the street to the pharmacist. Big fucking deal, you're supposed to do that shit.

It may be nothing but anecdata, but we've all seen those stories about people who have rarely or never voted before, and been, um, inspired by Drumpfski to get out there and register their righteous anger. So here's the thing:  it's a fucking waste of time to try to "talk" to those people. By definition, they're morons. Quit trying to "relate" to them on "their level."

Theoretically, we want everyone to engage in the political process; as a practical matter, it'd be nice if only the people who actually read and thought coherently took the time to vote. This is not a reality show, and a subculture of maroons who want to use the electoral process to externalize their existential butt-hurt helps nothing.

So fuck them. I don't want to talk to them, and I don't need to hear anything they have to say. They cannot give a coherent, competent reason why they take the position they have. It's fucking nonsense. They're nothing more than a collective version of a bedraggled sidewalk alcoholic wearing a sandwich board saying "THE END IS NEAR." There's nothing you can say to them, nor anything to be learned from them, except hey, try not to do so many drugs, kids.

Disagreements are one thing; as I've said umpteen times before, I have plenty of conservative friends in real life with whom I disagree, and we trade shots back and forth, as it should be. But they generally hew to principles. They don't give stupid bullshit pulled-straight-out-of-the-ass answers, and they are willing to adjust opinions contingent on learning new verifiable facts. I probably won't convert them, but you won't find any of them standing on a street corner screaming at beaners like a fucking speed-freak.

So we do not need or want to talk to Steroid Boy in the above Gawker link, nor do we want the Democrats to try to reach out to him. He's a turd peeking out of the asshole of humanity; all you can do is wipe and wish you had a bidet to get a good clean rinse.

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