White lightning (Broken sidewalk)

This will not end well

I.

So why are the bulk of serial killers white males? 

If a brown or black male kills just one person, their entire race and ethnicity is called into question. What is up with arabs, hispanics, blacks and immigrants? Ole Sameer who shot up Akiko’s last Friday on Bardstown road also torched cars back in June of last year. Are they violent as a people? Do they hate us? Is every one of them a potential killer and rapist?

The answer, if you are white, is of course they are. Goes without saying really. 

But when a straight, white, male shoots a dozen plus people, no one asks what is up with white males? What has them so lonely, violent, and bizarrely methodical?

What (Dis)connection are we missing?

II.

When you play a video game, most allow you to choose a difficulty setting prior to playing. Rookie/easy, experienced/medium and veteran/hard are three typical setting levels, right? There are more of course but these will do.

If you select easy, you can expect the game to allow for your mistakes. The games built in opponents don’t seem that organized or good at hitting you or capitalizing on your errors. At the hard setting they are all over you. The game opponent is exacting. Make a mistake and forget it. They pounce.

Being a straight white male is like having the setting put to easy at birth. It’s not a guarantee that all will be easy, only that life's built in opponents are not automatically set against you with all their abilities. You can fuck up and still reach the power ups, level ups and prizes. Shit is in plain sight for you. 

Being a black male for example is like having the setting set to difficult at birth. It’s not a guarantee that you will fail but your not getting any breaks anytime soon and if you slip up, shits coming down on you fast. Your going to have to move twice as fast to reach the same level ups as the easy setting. More is hidden. Penalties are steeper. (Credit to John Scalzi for the construct)

Don’t agree? Chances are that’s because your white, male and straight. “But, it was still hard!”, you will say. Of course it was. No one begrudges you that. Maybe you even had it on medium setting but lets not begrudge those who have the setting preset to difficult shall we? If they could choose easy, they would. 

But for the sake of a bigger argument, lets say the above is true. Or true enough. Remember the word like doesn’t mean is. Just means resembles or has the same characteristics. 

So put that AK-47 down for Christ’s sake you loony. Sit still and eat your chic-fil-a.

III.

If its so easy, why the angst and mass shootings? What has young, white, males so bent on destruction of what appears to be random victims?

Part of the answer lies in how you see media. All media. When you see shows like “24”,  and movies like “Taken” as indoctrinating/training videos, you will understand more. “Battle L.A.” was a recruiting video. What?

You heard me. Only then does the randomness fall away.  But as yet, you are not there. Its just entertainment, right?

War in Syria? Shoosh. American Idol is on.

IV.

The documentary “Confessions of a Superhero” will astound you. But you haven’t seen it because documentaries are boring and very little in them explodes with fire or orgasms. I only watched it because I had masturbated myself raw and needed a break. It follows four failed actors who have assumed their costumed heroes identity and panhandle for tips on hollywood boulevard’s sidewalks. 

   The failed- security guard- character of batman tries very hard to convince you he was once a bad man. Not to be trifled with. But as empty as that myth is and as embarrassing as it is to watch him try to convince us and himself, he can’t give it up. Its who he is now. And since he values that myth, he figures you must to. When anyone ruptures that myth, he gets angry. Really angry. And arrested.

V.

The original ending of “I am Legend” had the zombies allowing Neville (Will Smith) to live if he returned the zombie female he took- back to them. The ‘others’ weren’t mindless fiends. They had a culture. Screeners didn’t like it and it was altered for your palates. 

We want our monsters to be monsters. 

Non-straight, white, males know this all to well.

VI. 

When you have too many options and nothing to define you...You get anxiety. The fact that you DON’T have defining monsters actually makes it worse. The easy setting becomes a haunting ghoul. You don’t know who you are, what you want or what you shouldn’t be doing. Freedom suffocates you. God is dead. The training videos have you hungry but nothing you can spend your money or time on fulfills. The ads say you should be happy with hot chics fighting over who can grope your crotch first. But no one wants you. Increasingly you are portrayed as the bad guy on screen. No one misses your connection. Not even here. So, you invent one. You long to be loved like the character you love. To fill the chasm of who you are- verses who you want to be, you drink. A lot. Or worse...

VII.

The narcissist loads the clip, dons the outfit and heads for the mall unawares that others might not want to be in the next gruesome scene or two. But, someone has to be. Fate decides that, not you. Randomness is your confederate from guilt. They say that the Colorado shooter wants to know how the Dark Knight Rises movie ended. Such a question could only mean that he wants us to know he’s so much more than what we see. 

Aren’t we all. 

N.

Livin' La Vida Loca (On the floor)

I’m almost positive that drinking before hand was bad mojo but when the ‘new’ chic in the back row passed out I knew I was meant to be here. I was made for such a time as this. I started mouth to mouth immediately.

You said that I shouldn’t be using my tongue during CPR and that my hand was on her breasts. That maybe I should back away.

Once, while in boot camp, our drill instructors thought it would be funny if they made a guy hump the full size, first aid doll. Which, he did...for an hour. I couldn’t see it but I could hear the bunk squeaking and the instructors yelling at him to “give it to her harder”.

So, yea, I know how to do CPR thank you very much.

You also questioned my credentials as a visiting instructor from Ecuador. I’m often mistaken as a latino of some variety and in this case I just failed to disabuse the person of the notion at the front door. !Me quiero a mi mismo!

But clearly you were into me as you kept digging.

“How long have you been doing Zumba?” You asked kneeling next to me.

What the fuck is Zumba? I was following the females in for the sole purpose of lifting some purses when I almost got caught reaching into one. The rest, is destino. I also couldn’t seem to stop playing with the still unconscious woman’s large breasts. So I managed to answer with: “Since the revolution, of course”.

“This is my second year and I’ve never seen you here before...And you had us dancing to death metal?!?” 

You had that uppity, white girl oppressed look on your face. Like the look they have when you tell them sorry, this gas station doesn’t carry Creme Brûlée. Difficult crossword puzzles, in-grown hairs, and declining stock portfolios — it's hard out here for skinny, blond, Caucasians. 

“South of Heaven by Slayer is a classic. A middle aged white women pretending to dance like J-Lo should remember her roots.”

“Why are you removing her bra?” 

“It’s restricting her breathing...”

“I’m calling the cops...”

I needed a distraction. 

“I noted earlier that you kept bending over directly in front of me causing a dance party in my pants. Did you want the ‘beto’ fat burner inside you as well?”

“What? Excuse me??”

“Madam, I have been...‘enhancing’ the experience of women whose husbands cannot “dance’ and need to get their wiggle on for many festival moons. Perhaps a private lesson is what you seek”. The accent was spot on, I assure you.

I used the few moments that you lost your ability to speak to write on the passed out women's boobie with a sharpie. “Narcissus. Saved your life. 555...”

I also swiped a loose 20 from your purse as you lectured me in a vocal pitch that only neutered men and small lap dogs can perceive. I began to feel a tinge of sorrow for the males under your roof but, not really. 

In a sort of ghastly simplicity we remove the organ and demand the function. We make men without chests and expect of them virtue and enterprise. We laugh at honour and are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate and bid the geldings be fruitful. - CS Lewis

When your done pretending to be worthy of all the privilege you were born with, hit me up.

N.