This world is going to hell and we gotta stop it.

I call myself a personal pessimist/societal optimist. That’s what I am. I don’t have high hopes for myself, but I’ve got enough faith in, if not the essential goodness of man, then the common sense of man.

Sometimes I think I’m wrong, though.

Take this heartwarming case of family life. A young Colorado girl of age seven was beaten to death by her sister and her sister’s boyfriend, who were drunkenly acting out Mortal Kombat.

Calling these people idiots is too light. Calling them sick, degenerate fucks is too light. No, these people are broken. No two ways about it. They’re defective. Not in a birth-defect way, either, I mean they came off the production line with serious safety issues that should mandate a recall.

People like this give validity to certain thoughts, thoughts like “why do we even allow violent media?” I won’t deny there’s a point to be made. I wish there wasn’t, but if this can happen then clearly there are things to be looking at, here. The problem isn’t the game, though. The problem isn’t the film, or the album. The problem is that we as a society, and a species are going to hell, now.

Times like this, my first instinct is Biblical.

Kill ’em. Eye for an eye. They’re that sick? Dump em in the ocean teach them how to swim. That isn’t the answer, though. It’s the primal nature of man to seek revenge. The primal is the problem, though. I don’t want these people to die. I want them to learn.

We try and try to legislate our way to a better future, to enlighten through the word of law and a sort of great bureaucratic babysitter program. We need these people to learn, though. It doesn’t stop at two idiots with too much time and liquor, it pierces through into the soul of us, that something’s not right. The civilized nations of the world are just as rife with murder and extremism as the rest.

There’s something wrong with that essential goodness, when a sister can kill her own flesh and blood. There’s something wrong when moral men allow genocide. There’s something wrong when man profits off the death of man. There’s just something wrong.

My only hope is that we can stop it before it stops us.


You never quite realize

I’ve been in this odd place for a while now. I call it the Cryogenically Unfrozen Effect, where I’m relatively unchanged, and the group of people I’ve known since childhood have undergone any number of cataclysmic shitstorms while I’ve been dark, so to speak.

Every now and then I check up on the miscreants I grew up with just to see what they’ve done.

The cute irish girl who slugged me after I asked her out in the seventh grade is pregnant. And she’s not the only former-friend with pod. Three others are as well.

The guy who I’d goof on in ninth grade looks like he’s fifty years old, completely bald.

My best friend from youth is married, as is my best friend of junior high.

Several friends from ninth grade are betrothed.

About ten people I know are dead, seven of those to Iraq and the rest to suicide.

My first girlfriend married thee walking embodiment of “puss”, who manages to retain that title despite being a Marine, apparently.

Untold numbers are completely debauched, unemployed, thrown out of college.

Most notably, the girl who made a bombing run on my ego in high school lost her porn job by getting knocked up. Ah, sweet justice.

You never quite realize how quickly the world moves until you slow down to watch it. It is oddly comforting in a way, to know that while many of my contemporaries have shot themselves out of the gun of youth straight into the supple flesh of world-ending cataclysm, I’ve only gotten better with age.

It’s good to be the King.