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Thursday, December 22, 2011
Verloc
debuts:
Occupy: FAIL
You
have to know the rules to win the game.
AS LENNON WOULD SAY, I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE... I have a letter I wrote to the Occupiers. No way to deliver it. They are persons of no fixed address. So I'm posting it here instead.
Dear
Occupier:
Ha ha. I notice your little tantrum fizzled out. It must have been quite a high, though. Even big shots in a sympathetic national media pretended your high ideals are what made you camp out in the parks. But, deep down you know that wasn’t it. A sign carried by one of your comrades that read, “We want more, you have more” was closer to the truth. And now that you’re back in your cozy room above your parents’ garage, I can tell you something you don’t even know about yourselves. What you are really demanding is much more than money. What you’re saying is, “I demand happiness.” As in, you expect someone else to do whatever it takes to make you happy. Someone else? Do you mean me? No one said what was in it for me.
I could call you a spoiled, pampered brat, but that doesn’t seem to cover it. A demand like the one you’re making has to be deeper than that. It must come from an emotional corruption, a character deformity. Yeah, that’s what you have. You feel that happiness is your right and you demand that it be given to you by someone else, in unlimited amounts. I know who you are -- you’re a student who racked up huge debts and can’t get a job. Now you feel it’s not your fault and youfeel entitled to debt forgiveness and an easy office job, despite not having any employable skills. That would make you happy for a while, wouldn’t it? But what about the person, the organizations, the nation expected to provide it? What was it you said about them, the lenders whom you would loot and employers whom you would rob? Oh yeah, I remember: You called them the evil 1%. And you expect them to guarantee your happiness. You snot.
I have some news for you. Your little scam is old. Way back in your grandparents' time, some dude named Salinger wrote a short story, Uncle Wiggily in Connecticut, about two broads sitting around boozing on an icy afternoon. But the story's really about you. The host is miserable (like you) and convinces her friend to stay and guzzle scotch instead of going back to work, and as the drinks go down she starts crying over the long-ago death of her lover. The guy was poor but could always make her laugh, and that’s all she remembers, because to her that meant he would always make her happy (happiness as a gift -- sound familiar?). She was promised the gift of happiness and didn’t get it. But the kicker is. she wound up marrying a serious man, one who actually provided everything needed for her well-being. But she is still miserable and hates her husband. See, she wants laughter, which is an emotion of happiness, but she doesn’t get it that happiness is nothing if it’s not derived from a fundamental well-being. Character deformity: her emotions are disconnected from reality and will never be real. She’d be miserable with either man; she will always be miserable, no matter what, and she will always be a sinkhole of wants. Can you relate?
You're playing a rigged game, and you’re late to it. Have you taken note that your demands were not met? You’re like the last looter at the store who finds nothing but broken glass and empty shelves, and as a final blow the police finally show up and nab you. All the other looters already got the goods and left the last vandal to take the rap. That’s you. Take a last look at the devastated store as they slap on the cuffs and haul you off. All the news about the struggling economy, unemployment, hopelessness, debt, default, and misery -- that’s the legacy of the other looters who already took what they wanted because they feel entitled to happiness, just like you. The only difference is that now no one is replacing the glass and restocking the shelves, because they expected someone else to do it. Which, sorry to break it to you, will be you, as terms of your parole.
But guess what? The old producers of the things you want and believe yourself entitled to are tired. They can’t and won't support a degenerate generation of thieves. Which means it's your generation that will have to become the new producers required to support the waves of new looters to come It’s all fixed -- that’s how the game ends.
Oh. What’s that? No one told you the rules? Hmmm, that’s too bad. Joke’s on you. Ha ha.
Signed,
Verloc
Ha ha. I notice your little tantrum fizzled out. It must have been quite a high, though. Even big shots in a sympathetic national media pretended your high ideals are what made you camp out in the parks. But, deep down you know that wasn’t it. A sign carried by one of your comrades that read, “We want more, you have more” was closer to the truth. And now that you’re back in your cozy room above your parents’ garage, I can tell you something you don’t even know about yourselves. What you are really demanding is much more than money. What you’re saying is, “I demand happiness.” As in, you expect someone else to do whatever it takes to make you happy. Someone else? Do you mean me? No one said what was in it for me.
I could call you a spoiled, pampered brat, but that doesn’t seem to cover it. A demand like the one you’re making has to be deeper than that. It must come from an emotional corruption, a character deformity. Yeah, that’s what you have. You feel that happiness is your right and you demand that it be given to you by someone else, in unlimited amounts. I know who you are -- you’re a student who racked up huge debts and can’t get a job. Now you feel it’s not your fault and youfeel entitled to debt forgiveness and an easy office job, despite not having any employable skills. That would make you happy for a while, wouldn’t it? But what about the person, the organizations, the nation expected to provide it? What was it you said about them, the lenders whom you would loot and employers whom you would rob? Oh yeah, I remember: You called them the evil 1%. And you expect them to guarantee your happiness. You snot.
I have some news for you. Your little scam is old. Way back in your grandparents' time, some dude named Salinger wrote a short story, Uncle Wiggily in Connecticut, about two broads sitting around boozing on an icy afternoon. But the story's really about you. The host is miserable (like you) and convinces her friend to stay and guzzle scotch instead of going back to work, and as the drinks go down she starts crying over the long-ago death of her lover. The guy was poor but could always make her laugh, and that’s all she remembers, because to her that meant he would always make her happy (happiness as a gift -- sound familiar?). She was promised the gift of happiness and didn’t get it. But the kicker is. she wound up marrying a serious man, one who actually provided everything needed for her well-being. But she is still miserable and hates her husband. See, she wants laughter, which is an emotion of happiness, but she doesn’t get it that happiness is nothing if it’s not derived from a fundamental well-being. Character deformity: her emotions are disconnected from reality and will never be real. She’d be miserable with either man; she will always be miserable, no matter what, and she will always be a sinkhole of wants. Can you relate?
You're playing a rigged game, and you’re late to it. Have you taken note that your demands were not met? You’re like the last looter at the store who finds nothing but broken glass and empty shelves, and as a final blow the police finally show up and nab you. All the other looters already got the goods and left the last vandal to take the rap. That’s you. Take a last look at the devastated store as they slap on the cuffs and haul you off. All the news about the struggling economy, unemployment, hopelessness, debt, default, and misery -- that’s the legacy of the other looters who already took what they wanted because they feel entitled to happiness, just like you. The only difference is that now no one is replacing the glass and restocking the shelves, because they expected someone else to do it. Which, sorry to break it to you, will be you, as terms of your parole.
But guess what? The old producers of the things you want and believe yourself entitled to are tired. They can’t and won't support a degenerate generation of thieves. Which means it's your generation that will have to become the new producers required to support the waves of new looters to come It’s all fixed -- that’s how the game ends.
Oh. What’s that? No one told you the rules? Hmmm, that’s too bad. Joke’s on you. Ha ha.
Signed,
Verloc
I didn't really mean that "Ha Ha" part. I meant HA HA. Or HA HA HA. Unless I meant, Gawd help us. Yeah, that's the one.
