Apathy Jack writes:
Part the first:
I don’t believe in rehabilitating criminals.
See, I’ve never done anything that warranted my removal from society for the protection of the public. I’m not asking for anything from others that I don’t ask from myself – to whit: Don’t kill anyone.
If you want to live a stable, non-being-raped-in-the-showers-by-some-tattooed-thug-named-Twinkles life: don’t kill anyone. I’m living proof that avoiding murder is surprisingly easy.
Sure, a punitive prison system just turns petty criminals into hardened repeat offenders, so that makes them less safe to be part of society. However, the solution to this is deceptively simple:
Lock them up for longer.
If they never become better people (and of course they get no help or vocational training for this improvement – why should we spend more tax money on them than on their victims? Why do they deserve better treatment than the people they raped?) then they never get out.
Simple as that.
I don’t ask much of you people any more – You don’t have to give to charity, you don’t have to appreciate art or literature, you just need to treat people as you wish to be treated.
If you remove someone’s right to live without harm, then we can assume that is how you want to be treated, and we will remove your rights.
That is fair.
Part the second:
There are only two groups of people who don’t like the new anti smoking legislation: The first group are the people who smoke in my living room when they’re sitting next to me ie the ones who don’t care if they give me cancer. The people who go to a window or out onto the roof to smoke have all said “Yeah, probably for the best.” The people who whinge and moan and bitch usually have to blow a noxious cloud at me to do so. The second group is those non-smokers of a libertarian bent.
So: Only the complete and utter fucking wankers.
Smoking causes cancer.
Cancer: a disease that ravages your body and kills you in excruciating pain by eating you from the inside out.
And you unbelievable bastards are giving it to me.
Here’s the thing: Cigarette smoke gives you cancer – that is a scientific fact. When you smoke around me, cigarette smoke goes into my lungs. QED – you are giving me cancer, when I have done nothing to deserve it.
You fucking, fucking, fucking cunts.
You want to kill yourself, then do so away from me, but do not presume to murder me.
As for the whole “it’s your choice” argument? Well, if you choose to kill me by giving me the most horrifying death imaginable, then please don’t get offended when I choose to bend you over and fuck you up the arse with bunch of razor blades so that you can feel some of the pain you are dooming me to.
I get cancer you fucks, that means you are making my choices for me: not only the choice to live or die, but the choice of how much pain I’m going to die in. So it is not your personal choice, it is you overriding my rights and making my choices for me. Do the maths: If you’re allowed to override my rights qua not dying in horrible pain, I’m allowed to override your rights qua not being fucked in the arse with razors.
That’s fair, so the next time you light up near me, you’d better not be wearing pants.
And for anyone who thinks I’m being a tad self-righteous: Smokers seem to think that they are allowed to choose to give me cancer, but I’m not allowed to choose to ask them not to – I’m not the self-righteous one in this equation.
Part the third:
If you are, say, twenty-five and you do not have your shit together, you can fuck all the way off.
Aaaalllll the way.
I am not saying that I have a perfect life: I live in a filthy hovel that somehow manages to be a student flat despite the fact that none of us are students. Of the five others living here, I only like two of them enough to be even passingly polite to. As for work; The teacher in the room next to mine trained under me but is already better than I am. A lot of the evidence points to my life being a clusterfuck of brobdignagian proportions.
However, I have a job, I pick up after myself most of the time, and I don’t whine about things I can change.
Twenty-one year olds have not got their shit figured out; big gold key notwithstanding, you’re still pretty young then.
A few years thereafter, you have no excuse.
Oh, sure, you may very well not have the perfect job, but there’s very little excuse for not having a job. (And let’s be very clear on this: Working towards your Masters in Political Studies is not a job. Right? Good. University is fine, if you know where that degree is taking you.)
When you’re a teenager, it is just bordering on acceptable to whinge on a livejournal about how none of the pretty girls like you and why oh why isn’t life perfect because by God you’ve ironed your anorak and your parents let you stay out past eleven now so you’re a pretty good catch all things considered and if only you could actually talk to a girl they’d find out how special you really were... When you are in your late twenties, well, just No, alright.
And you know, as much as I believe in complaining to anyone who asks, I’m actually getting a bit tired of the following conversation:
“How’s it going?”
“Not so good.”
See, I’m old and my brain hurts. Also, I quite like my life: I don’t need you losers ruining my buzz. When you’re coming up on thirty, your parents aren’t going to sort your shit out for you, and I’m sure as hell not going to either. Sadly, it’s up to you, and the simple reality is that the more time you spend whinging to me about it, the less time you have to actually sort said shit out.
Disclaimer: Of course life has its turbulent patches, and everyone is entitled to have a bit of a whinge come Friday afternoon. But I spend all week listening to teenagers complaining about trivial nothings they think are problems, so the adults in my life had better be kvetching about actual concerns.
Long story short: Shut Up.
Part the fourth:
Should marijuana be legalised?
Of course not – it’s a mood altering drug you stupid moron.
But I’m not a hypocrite – I believe all mood altering drugs with a proven track record of harming people should be banned.
If alcohol was discovered tomorrow, the Powers wouldn’t even consider for a second legalising something so stupidly dangerous: An addictive chemical that reduces inhibitions, removes one’s ability to drive and not beat your wife and such forth. I mean, come on now.
Alcohol and cigarettes are way, waaaaaaay more dangerous than any other drug for the one simple reason that you’re allowed to use them in public. In fact, you’re legally allowed to abuse them.
The thing that gets me is the hypocrisy: You can’t rail against heroin and P and LSD while you’re lighting up or swilling a beer.
Hell, anyone who is saying that methamphetamine is a dangerous addictive drug better not be saying so over their morning cup of coffee.
Of course, lest anyone accuse me of being unrealistic: I don’t smoke or drink alcohol or coffee.
And look how much better I am than you.
Coincidence? I think not.
Of course there is the argument that these “social” drugs are less dangerous than the prohibited ones.
My counter point is as follows:
Shut the fuck up you stupid dick.
I could rail about how addictive marijuana isn’t when you compare it to smoking, or even coffee. But you all know this – You just want to excuse your disgusting addictions.
So shut the fuck up dick.
No, really. Shut the fuck up.