Well, here we are. 2009. A brand new year, ready for fresh, new ideas. For new rants. For new opportunities to be generally pissed off with the world I live in. And I just got back from India…
Coincidence? I think not…
When attempting to describe India, a good friend of mine wisely said that there is a difference between vacationing and traveling, and that most people think of the two as the same thing. You see, vacationing is about sitting on a beach, alcoholic beverage in hand, feet extended on a covered chair without a care in the world. Traveling is about experience. It’s about taking yourself out of your comfort zone for the purpose of understanding the world you live in. India, my friends, is traveling…
What most Americans will never understand is just how much people in undeveloped countries struggle for survival. We sit on our couches, formulating opinions about the world we live in without the slightest understanding of how difficult life can be. The pollution. The crowding. The truly miserable conditions in which millions of people live. It’s no wonder that we, perched upon our golden thrones, have invented the idea that something can be too large or too important to fail…
At the peril of sounding serious, let me quickly remind you of the economic situation that we currently face. Financial institutions, bloated with their own mismanagement, asking for handouts from our government under the premise that failure is an unthinkable option. Surely the same logic can be applied to the auto industry, and indeed it has. And perhaps even the porn industry, though somehow our principled leaders have found this notion to be unsavory. Trust me, I’m no advocate of giving a dime to Larry Flynt, but neither am I for the government protecting any person or industry from their own mistakes. The idea that something is beyond failure illustrates just how dangerously ignorant we are of life’s hard realities… and that, my friends, sets the stage for what needs to be said this evening.
Every slippery slope can be traced back to a summit… and for this subject, I present to you the trophy for the losing little league team. Once upon a time, second place was simply second place. No cake, no celebration… sorry, kid, try harder next time. At some point a group of weak, limp-wristed, bleeding heart pussies began cultivating the idea that Little Johnny and his sensitive six-year-old psyche was simply too impressionable to deal with the thought of losing. And, hey, these trophies are cheap to produce… why not spare this poor child the turmoil of defeat by emphasizing that his effort, though ending in obvious failure, is also worthy of praise? Surely, $5 is pennies compared to the value one can place upon a child’s self esteem?
Sure. I’m with you. It’s just that, you know, the pain of failure is worth so much more…
How far must we fall before this failed logic becomes plain and obvious? Shall we wait until it’s illegal for you to, say, discipline your dog for taking a crap on the living room carpet?- “How dare you disrupt its sensitive canine instinct for shitting in a warm, comfortable place!” How long do we have before this example drifts from hyperbole to the edge of reason? Goddamnit, America, I want my failure back. Promise everyone, every company, every industry that failure is not only possible but guaranteed if you fuck up. And when failure comes, it isn’t going to be wearing bunny slippers, arms extended to offer a comforting embrace… it’s going to suck. It’s going to punch you in the balls and grab a handful of short and curlies, daring you to do it again. If you’re happy with second place, move to Russia. Or Germany. Don’t want to work for a living? France has got some room for you. The rest of you? Start doing your fucking part… and every chance you get, show the rest of the world we mean business by making failure SUCK MORE for those around you.
I want a grizzly, mean-spirited old man standing at the side of every pee-wee football game taunting the losing team for being a bunch of dress-wearing crybabies. I want battle-hardened Iraqi veterans shoving fat, self-absorbed bankers out of 20th story Wall Street windows like paratroopers on D-Day. I want people that signed an interest-only mortgage to be forced to confess their shameful secret door to door like fucking sex offenders. And for those of us that suffer the quiet dignity of earning a honest living and repaying our debts, I want nothing. Not a goddamn thing. I want the stoic, unsympathetic stare from those that currently reward failure to remain, because you see, that’s the only thing that bleeding hearts actually get right.
Liberals don’t give a shit about me, nor should they. Let their focus remain on those that fail… let’s just help them realize that their use of carrots is somewhat… misguided. They would be wiser to follow the teachings of life… and when life comes with a lesson, it’s only motivator is a big, strong stick.
More to come.
— Bingo