Stylish Modern Reactions to Contemporary Politics, Part 1

It is the week of May 15, 2017 and today has been a glorious day. What wonders have dawned! Today we see Hobbe's flaming angel struck blind and deaf flailing cloven appendages through the halls of power that we once thought of as reliable objects. Today our senses are singed by the continual guttural bellowing heard echoing on the Potomac's mists. They were good mists, the best. Available today for $29.99.

No one minds the utter wreck you've made of your room when the whole house is on fire.

Are you tired yet? No? The itch of bags threatening to erupt beneath your eyes with each solemn proclamation that you're really trying to focus on other things says you're a liar. But that's fine. Today we all are. We have been, too, but we didn't know it. Civility was never going to last. The good old days were never coming back. The past has always been full of assholes shitting on the future and we lucky few to live in such interesting times exist only as a granular detritus by which to measure the passing rate of these great torrents of shit. If this bothers you, save up and buy some more free speech--be sure to whisper directly in daddy's ear (lest he show you which orifices he'd prefer to regulate).

Ah, child, scream louder so that others may ignore you better! The sky is falling! Panic! PANIC! Bathe your sensual cynicism in only the finest scandalwood soap and dry your lush outrage off with the assurance that surely those-who-aren't-the-same (twats) Are Definitely Feeling the Heat Now. But don't forget to exercise your daily reaction ration. Breathe deep, panic, paaaanic, PANIC, buy gooooooooooold.....wait. Have you unconsciously become the twats you soughts to swats? No, don't contemplate that. Doubling down is cheaper (and more satisfying) than taking out a mortgage on introspection (which won't even get you likes on your Instagram feed :(()

Relax. I insist. Failure to relax will be met with ritualized abuse of drugs. Memes are not drugs. Something will still exist if you just shut the fuck up and close your eyes for ten goddamned minutes. I promise.

To assist: I provide here a fashion guide for dealing with yourself during these exciting times. It also functions as a nifty horoscope with handy tips that will totally get you laid.

To wit:

Q2 2017 POLITICAL FASHION GUIDE, PART 1

Fake News Sweatshopper / Aries
If you can't tell what's real and are too dead inside to care anymore, you might be a fake news manufacturer waiting to be discovered! This fine species has perfected the art of turning sadman food into headless conspiracies and endless bait. If you find yourself mad about getting baited so much online by trolls, consider moving up the food chain and into your parents' basement so that you can devote yourself fully to turning your screaming inner void into more fake outrage for fake attention in a fake world. At some level, you know that both you (and the world) deserve everything you heap upon it. Tips for getting laid: no one can help you.

Desperate Mollifier / Taurus

Keep trying to see the good in everything, even that which doesn't even slightly deserve your generous benefit of doubt. Squeeze out every pore, every gland, every chakra in a desperate attempt to rationalize why things aren't that bad. Shove that urge to stockpile food and ammo deeeeeeeeeep deep down and never cough it up. It needs to stay there in order for your irrational optimism to keep functioning. Please, refrain from opening any history books or traveling overseas. Contrast will only damage you. Tips for getting laid: moisturize your skin better.


Shitlord / Gemini
I'm sorry that, despite it being a fairly shitty time, you peaked in high school, but isn't it nice to not have to try to amount to anything because you already know that you'll just fail anyway? No pressure, no principles, no hope. Just amoral diarrhea all over your keyboard, all day everyday while hoarding as many rare memes in your sweatpants as possible. They feel like being touched by a real human being--almost (not even close, but we all need lies to get us through the day). What does it say about what you are (deep down) that you feel most at home, most real, when you're just a speck of text among anonymous assholes competing to see who can chug the cum box fastest? Tips for getting laid: since the rape threats to SJWs aren't working out, the only thing left for a 1337 undead edgelord like you is autoerotic asphyxiation.

Tone Police / Cancer

You know better. You're a skilled negotiator. You've been the brilliant catalyst by which so many sheeple have gotten woke and goddamnit, you deserve some praise for it! Where the fuck are all your woke sheeple? Shouldn't they be here praising you for delivering them from their own ignorance, bad argument tactics, weak links, and smol contexts? You beautiful, selfless, unrecognized martyr. You've spent so much time wading into discussions, in which you never had a personal stake, to ensure that everyone is afflicted with the higher quality misery that you know and love so well. With enough of that luxury misery, you don't even feel alone anymore. Tips for getting laid: open your mouth 5 times less often.

Dunning-Kruger / Leo

It's just not your fault that the world doesn't understand your brilliance. You're too brilliant for them. Those who don't understand that brilliance are clearly just out to drag you down to their level. It's the only explanation. Those assholes pointing out the tiny (gaping) holes in your carefully constructed arguments are just green with envy at how quickly you arrived at the best conclusion. The best course of action is, as always, to accuse them of not understanding your thing comprehensively-enough to credibly rebut it because we all know you're not wrong. Tips for getting laid: stop comparing so much.

Meme Connoiseur / Virgo

You fiend. Your scrolling finger is so thicc. Warmed by the light of your late night screens and animated by the spirit of Pepe (RIP), you can no longer tell the difference between BO, microwave dinner, and fetid gooch stench. Although this mode of existence may seem strange and horrifying to someone from the past, we both know that it is a state of beatific enlightenment. While all those Silicon Valley douchenozzles are guzzling ayahuasca whinging for nirvana, you've already found it in the firehose of the meme landscape. Unlike real life, here you have power as a selective force for meme propagation and have found idyllic contentment (not addiction) in serving as yet another hairy neuron in the great Lovecraftian meme noosphere of cultural excreta. Tips for getting laid: move to Germany and learn how to whimper "ich bin Scheiße, nur Mistkabel, also kann ich nur mit mir zufrieden bin, wenn Sie bestrafen mich, meiner Herr."

Part 2 drops next week when we check back in on the industrial chemical spill fire that has overtaken the DC swamp. Say a prayer for all the motherfuckers out there tryna not go hollow.