It’s a little-known fact that Deon Mumple exhibits hysteria rage. That’s all about to change. It’s true: Deon Mumple exhibits hysteria rage.
I was trying to find a word that means “fear of hysterical idiots, frenzies and those who encourage the hysteria, the idiots, and their various frenzies,” but all I could find was “fear of mankind,” which at second glance appears to be closer to the truth than I would like. Which is why I like my bunker. And it’s not really fear so much as pathological hatred.
Honestly, I do my best not to hate people. Instead I hate trends. I have a special hatred for trends that cost me money. Beanie Babies. Cabbage Patches. Gaming iZords. Cell Phones. Global warming. Sorry, it’s hysterical fear, not real science. We don’t have actual data that supports it, we only have speculation. So for that I only hate people who try to force that religion (and it IS religion) down my throat. So is a lot of so-called “science.” Digital TV. The government shoved that down everyone’s throats and said it would improve the quality of reception for everyone. Well, I still can’t see certain digital channels clearly unless the sun, moon and stars align just right and there aren’t any solar flares, so that was a lie.
I hated the trend of reality TV shows, no great loss there if I can’t see it. From Jerry Springer and Geraldo Rivera on down through recent history, all those shows suck. They show the lowest things they can get away with showing, so everyone else feels better because they aren’t as bad, or as poor, or as evil, or as stupid. Or are they? And on the other side, there are the celebrity and rich people shows that encourage envy. I mean, who (besides Deon, that idiot) doesn’t want a mansion and a limo and a chauffeur?
I hate the keeping-up-with-the-joneses fads so you know I don’t have the newest cell phone. They’re money suckers. I would have been content with my land-line, but Mrs. M wants to be able to harass me when I’m out, or when she’s out. So I have a cell phone but the damned thing is turned off most of the time. And you also know I don’t have to have the biggest, baddest, fastest, of anything. I don’t look over the neighbors’ fences to see their new car, like they show on the damned TV commercials, not that I have the money to spend on that shit. If I did, it wouldn’t be wasted on many frivolities.
I hate the Pokemon Go trend. Sorry kids, but no, I don’t think you should be staring at your cell phones while walking into traffic to catch the rare and elusive Moltres or Articuno. Or fucking DRIVING in traffic to catch it, or to hatch your damned eggs at 15 mph because you’re too fucking lazy to serve the secondary purpose of the game which is to get you to GO, by walking a few kilometers. Get the FUCK out of my way, you damned kids! And you, walkers, get the hell off my yard! Used to be only the milkshakes brought all the boys, and now it’s the stupid Squirtles and Pikachus. If there’s any Pikachus peekingatme, or at my wife or kids, I’ll have the damned things arrested. What the hell is wrong with those boys anyway, are there no more football games or gang fights or other participatory sports to go participate in? And what’s wrong with the girls? Are there no participatory sports or gang fights or football games to participate in?
I hear what you’re thinking, if you go for Pokemon Go: He’s an expert, how does he know those names and that they’re rare if he doesn’t play? Well for one, I have my wife and kids Pokemon go-ing, one who literally drove around the block at 15 mph either to catch one or hatch one. I hate it, but I tolerate it. Go, for heaven’s sake. Walking. I don’t want to “ketcham” all. All I want is Mrs. M.
I hear what you’re thinking and for the record, I am not in favor of gang fights. I hate the trend of irresponsibility, which has probably been going on since Billy Budd killed John Claggart or Cain killed Abel. I’m not at all in favor of committing murder and then making excuses. Or any other crime against another person followed by an excuse. I was taught when I was a kid (oh, read that in my “angry-old-man” voice! which, coincidentally, sounds a lot like my normal voice, shut up, damn it), “Excuses are like ass holes. Everyone has one, and they all smell like bullshit.” If you’re going out for a gang fight or a drive-by shooting or a robbery or whatever other inappropriate shit you want to do, don’t try to make excuses. If you’re going out to shoot someone who’s unarmed, in the back, don’t try to say you were only doing your job. If you rape someone, or assault them in any other way, don’t try to say she (or he) was asking for it. I call fucking bullshit on all those lies. Your actions are on you, not anyone else.
There’s a difference between literature. Both were stories alluding in their own twisted plots in some way to the death of Jesus. One was a true story and the guy claimed full responsibility for his actions, and the other was a work of artistic fiction where the guy said we ought to judge his intentions and not the actual cause and effect of events. And sadly, the modern era shows life imitating bleeding art, so we have bleeding hearts instead of just coming clean and admitting the whole truth. Last time I checked, I didn’t have the divine power to judge an intention or a thought. I can only see what happened and know who did it, I can’t know why. People lie about why anyway, and you can’t trust them. I’m waiting for the fictional story of the dystopian society where … Nevermind, I hate the modern trend of dystopian society stories. It’s so common it’s lost all meaning. I’m bored, move on.
I hate the panic fad. I can’t watch the news and I hate the teasers they put on to advertize the news. You’ve heard the teasers: “Hackers and terrorists are going to steal your identity, your money, your property and then your life and there’s not a damned thing you can do about it. Find out why, tonight at 6!” “There’s a dangerous thing right in your house, and you use it every day and it’s going to make you vomit and bleed from your eyes and ears and ass holes and then kill you. Find out what it is, tonight at 11.” Or worse, “Someone broke into several home near you, broke all their shit, shit on their carpets and dishes, raped the family gerbil and set the neighborhood on fire, and your neighborhood could be next. Find out about it tonight at 10!” Fuck you, news ass holes. I also hate the news itself. They only want to tell you the shit, until they run out of shit to shovel and then they show you the cat hoarder and the lady whose baby was attacked by a baby lion. Those were on this morning. They want to scare you, when a little common sense would avert the bullshit.
Presidential candidates? I hate the presidential candidates too. Whoever gets into office, it’ll be bad. That’s hopeless and I’m tired of being afraid of whomever gets in. I love the USA as a concept, but by and large the people are idiots. Or, we’re being lied to and the people we allegedly picked were not actually picked by popular vote. Conspiracy theory. Don’t nevermind, and please, don’t kill me if you work for Trump or Clinton. They should have to do their own fucking dirty work, and then they should have to admit they did it. Politicians should all wear shock collars that blast them if they lie. Tell THAT story, dystopian novelists. Oh. Nevermind. That’d be a utopia, not a dystopia. Unless you’re a politician, I suppose.
I’d rather see stories about heroes and cheap ways to romance your wife and people who’ve stayed married for 95 years and they’ve never committed adultery and they’ve still not murdered each other. “Mr. Jones, tell us how you do it.” “Well, generic deep-voiced newscaster, it’s like this: ‘Me-e a-and, Mrs. Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones… We’ve got a thing goin’ on.'” I’d rather see stories about criminals caught in the act and stopped, and instant karma, but too frequently there’s no such thing.
Like the old Rolling Stones song goes, “you cain’t always git what you wa-aaunt.”
And Mrs M. wonders why I’m depressed sometimes. Fuck me. (Please!) See, that’s the cure for everything that’s wrong with me. Maybe it’s the cure for all of society. All I need is a good steak, maybe some cake (yeah, you know what I mean, if you know what I mean), some average ice cream, shit that doesn’t fall apart, and hot, steamy, healthy …um, reciprocating social interactions… with Mrs. M. Bring on some NATURAL anti-depressants and I really believe I’d be just fine. And honey? Would you shut off the damned news, please? And get off your phone already. You can’t? Who is it anyway?
Oh. Shit. I can’t win. It’s a Charizard.