If You Hold Me Responsible for my Views, You are Ageist

What a wonderful day. Governor Ron DeSantis has banned discomfort for white people.

It must be true, because a Yahoo News headline says it is.

I am white. I try to downplay it, because it’s so embarrassing, but it’s true. Of course, I am not happy with myself. I am ashamed about not being ashamed of being white. It torments me day and night. For some reason, I just can’t seem to get down on myself over my complexion, my inability to dunk a basketball, or my secret love of golf pants. The resultant self-loathing probably costs me several minutes of sleep every year.

That’s all over with now, because White Governor Ron is going to make it impossible for me to feel bad about anything, ever again.

Oh, wait. It’s not Governor Ron. Sorry about the mistake. I guess I got the idea he was handling this because YAHOO PUT HIS PHOTO AT THE TOP OF THE STORY.

There is a bill in the Florida State Senate, proposed by a legislator named Manny Diaz, whom I have concluded, based on my remarkable investigative skills, is not Ron DeSantis. Here is what the bill says:

An individual, by virtue of his or her race or sex, does not bear responsibility for actions committed in the past by other members of the same race or sex. An individual should not be made to feel discomfort, guilt, anguish, or any other form of psychological distress on account of his or her race.

Wait…is this supposed to help white people? Because it kind of sounds like the things civil rights activists used to say in the Sixties. Back then, they told us everyone deserved a fair chance regardless of his race.

This could be a first draft. Maybe it will eventually be corrected to say things like “An individual CAUCASIAN, by virtue of his or her race or sex…”

The story says DeSantis is “pushing” the bill. Forget all those state senators. Blaming them would be like blaming keyboard keys (all black) for things I write. When Governor Ron wants a bill passed, he just sticks out his arm and does one of those Emperor Palpatine telekinesis things.

The bill will supposedly apply to state-sponsored education. It’s not clear, because the article is not written well. The person who wrote it was almost certainly educated by leftists, so we must make allowances.

I hope it applies to everything, because I just want to feel good all the time.

Is it wrong to laugh about stories like this? It must be, because I am doing it, and I am white. Everything white people do is wrong, including agreeing with little brown people, because we do it incorrectly, appropriating their cultures and somehow being motivated by the desire to turn their home countries into rubber plantations.

On the subject of subjects that make people really uncomfortable, my friend Mike has a new 25%-black granddaughter, and so far, she looks pink. I sent my wife a photo, and we laughed and laughed. The baby is very cute, so don’t get the wrong idea. It’s just that her parents are leftists, and, well, we can’t help thinking they will be disappointed if their daughter ends up looking so white she attracts CRT-style criticism and condemnation instead of sympathy and handouts.

It kind of makes you wonder what “black” means. If you’re over 75% white, and you were raised by a white dad and a 50%+ white mother, and your mother was raised by a white couple, and most people think you’re white, you’re not exactly Shaka Zulu.

It makes me think about my grandfather, who was a Cherokee Indian. He had dark skin, straight black hair, and a total inability to handle alcohol. He had to abstain completely in order to control himself. Does this make me an Indian? Granted, he was my father’s stepdad, so I’m not really related to him, but I read that the chief of the Cherokee nation was 1/32 Indian, so it seems like I should qualify. I’m 31/32 as Cherokee as my chief is. Where is my government money? I’m going to the drugstore to buy a deck of cards. My new casino opens at 5 p.m.

It wouldn’t be funny if people were hard on her for being white, but it would be extremely funny if her parents were frustrated because they had a difficult time getting her preferential treatment. This would be doubly true if my own future children, the spawn of two anti-CRT conservatives, were simultaneously pampered by the anti-white establishment. They will be darker than Mike’s granddaughter.

Rhodah wants to have kids, so we talked about these issues. I said we would have to home-school them, because otherwise they would be indoctrinated with CRT. Then I reversed course, realizing I had it all wrong. I said we definitely needed to send them to public school, because if they teach them CRT, they’ll basically be kissing their butts and doing them favors all day. Our kids would be part of the new ruling oppressor class. What could be better than that? I want my half-African kids to be ruling oppressors with all sorts of race-based privilege. Then they can buy me things.

Go, CRT! Get my kids as much preferential treatment as possible! I’m old, and I’ll be dead soon. No one cares about my future. Not even me. Just help my wife and kids.

I said we could forget about paying college tuition, because it’s so easy for black kids to get scholarships. Rhodah said we should prepare the kids for interviews by putting them out in the sun. They will want to be nice and dark.

As for me, I would simply hide. After all, I wouldn’t be the one applying. I could skip all their college events and then show up at graduation. Possibly in blackface, but that all depends on how willing I am to risk being outed and killed.

I would be well into the senility danger zone by then, so maybe I could take chances other people couldn’t. “Don’t mind him. He thinks it’s 1986, and he wants us to take him home so he can watch Gimme a Break.” If they pushed me, I could start calling everyone “Mary” and asking if the pancakes were done.

It’s wonderful, if you think about it. Right when it’s becoming fashionable to persecute me, blame me for your problems, and take my wealth, I’m about to generate a family that will belong to the new privileged class. In a way, the old white guy is still winning.

If you’re a leftist, and you’re reading this, it must burn. That’s just tough. No matter how much you hate me, you will have to love my wife and kids.

In truth, I think it would be unwise to send our kids to college unless they want to do things involving math and science. I mean, assuming we have to pay for it. For most people, College is the worst waste of money imaginable. You take incredibly stupid classes like Medieval French Poetry and English Lit., which you could just as easily learn on your own for nearly nothing, and you pay up to $90,000 per year. Think about that for a minute. Let’s say you take 10 courses per year, so $9,000 per course. So if you send your kid to Harvard, and he takes “Tacos, Tamales, and Tequila: Eating and Drinking in Ancient Mexico” (actual Harvard course), you and your retirement nest egg will shell out $200 per class session.

When I say liberal arts classes are incredibly stupid, I don’t mean the subjects are stupid, although many are. I mean it’s stupid to pay outrageous sums to learn these subjects.

A couple of years back, I felt bad about cheating in order to avoid failing a college course, so I bought all the books for the course and read them. It was torture. If you’ve read Homer and Sappho, you will understand. Nonetheless, it was very easy apart from the pain of the kidney-stone-rivaling boredom, and I’m confident I got just as much out of it as the people in my class who actually did the reading when they were young. I probably spent $250 for the books, and that’s a lot, but it’s better than going to Harvard and paying $200 per lecture for two semesters ($18000).

Actually, at Columbia, it would only run $12000 this year. Even Billy Mays would be shocked by a bargain like that.

Let’s be real. Unless you’re a 90th-percentile student in terms of sincerity and motivation, you’re not going to do the reading in literature classes. You’re going to pay thousands of dollars to be tested on your comprehension of Cliff’s Notes. Almost no one actually wants to read Don Quixote or Ulysses. You’re going to waste your parents’ money, do as little work as possible, and get a B unless you’re at either extreme on the grade curve. When you’re out in the world as a graduate, you will never look at the books you were forced to pretend to read, and they will only enrich your life to the extent that they make it easier to understand pretentious cultural references and answer Jeopardy questions.

What if, instead of paying $400,000 for my kids to learn how to be well-read waiters and cab drivers, I gave each one a subscription to IBD and The Value Line, handed over $400,000, and helped them to invest it? Three and three-quarters years later (college doesn’t really take 4 years), they would probably have net worths of $500,000 each, and we would probably have found clever, legal ways to put some of it in IRA’s. Where would their friends be? In those awful cubicles that trap most college graduates, grinding out sums little better than minimum wage, proving to the world how fungible they were. They would be commodities; my kids would be franchises.

What if they used the money to start businesses? They would probably be even better off, as long as they did it right. I could hook them up with wealthy mentors from SCORE who would advise them for nothing. Maybe they could get investors and avoid risking their own (my) capital. It worked for Arianna Huffington, who turned a balloon farm with zero profits into a fortune.

Now I’m thinking about Ulysses. I really tried to read it. I did it after college. I actually liked literature, and I figured there had to be something to the book. For 300 agonizing pages, I kept slogging, thinking the value of the novel would soon become apparent. It never did. It was unbearable and worthless. Even worse than Virginia Woolf’s The Lighthouse, which I read during my cheating penance.

Harvard has a course dedicated to Ulysses! I just checked! Imagine spending $9,000 to find out James Joyce was a horrible writer with nothing to say! Thanks, Mom and Dad! You’re going to die in blue Walmart vests, but it was all worth it!

I don’t get Joyce and Woolf. Are they supposed to be the Jackson Pollocks of literature? Was it innovative to write novels that had no plots, themes, memorable characters, wit, or messages? There is a “million monkeys at typewriters” joke in there somewhere. There should be a Million Monkeys book award.

When I was at Columbia, I took a creative writing course. Two semesters. What a waste of time and my dad’s money. The instructor was a guy named Michael Stephens. Nice guy. He had worked on a ship, so he had written a novella called Shipping Out. I actually bought it. Today, if you search for it, you will find almost no references to it. Those who can, do, and so on and so forth. When you take a STEM course at a good school, your instructor will probably be a top practitioner in his field. When you take a liberal arts course, you get people who got tired of working at The Olive Garden.

I’m not saying Mr. Stephens worked at The Olive Garden, but he wasn’t Herman Wouk.

The class was pleasant. We sat at a big table in the journalism building, which was cleverly named “Journalism”, and we were allowed to drink in class, so I would bring six-packs and share. The assignments were easy. Did they improve my writing? Of course not. We sat around and listened to Mr. Stephens talk about dharmas. The punchline of the dharma story is, “Take good care of my dharma,” in case you’re wondering. That will get you an A at your temple. It’s brilliant. Trust me; don’t try to understand why. Good American Hindus and Buddhists don’t figure things out. They just “get it.” Do what everyone else does. Pretend you got it.

No one is actually enlightened. The point is to smile a lot, say utterly meaningless things as though they were extremely important, and act like you’re high on something.

Apparently, if you want your own dharma, whatever it is, the key is to not care what other people think. That’s kind of strange, since leftists love Hinduism yet also hate people who don’t care what other people think. If it doesn’t bother you that they’re offended, you are worse than Hitler.

Maybe Trump has a huge dharma.

We also talked about the angry Irish-looking student and his girlfriend Mara Hennessy. I still remember that name. I am spelling it by sound. I didn’t have occasion to read it. Sounds like a Cognac heiress. She was very sweet and had a boxer’s nose. You don’t get one of those from happy relationships. I don’t know how she got hers, but I have suspicions. I missed one or two classes, and one night I returned and heard everyone talking about Mara and her boyfriend. Something about domestic violence and a threat toward Mr. Stephens involving a bat, and they would not be returning to class. That was interesting and sad, but not worth what my dad paid for it.

Wow. I just Googled. Her last name is Hennessey, and she married Buster Poindexter, AKA David Johansen. He’s the near-celebrity who played the weird-looking cab driver in the movie Scrooged. He has never been much of a national figure, but when I was in college, he was a big deal in New Jersey. That, in spite of being born on Staten Island. I remember seeing him on The Uncle Floyd Show. Or maybe I just thought I saw him. I drank a lot in college.

I realize you have no idea who Uncle Floyd Vivino is, and there is no valid reason to waste your time by telling you.

I will call the Irish-looking guy George, because I think that was his name. George wore a black wool overcoat, which was the standard outer garment of the Columbia tortured artist. If you didn’t like black, you could wear grey herringbone. If you really wanted to impress chicks with your torturedness, you also wore a keffiyeh around your neck, as though you actually cared about Palestinians. Columbia was heavily self-hating Jewish, so maybe the keffiyehs were intended to show the world how much Jewish kids disagreed with the productive capitalist podiatrists and orthodontists and landlords who paid their bills.

I always thought it was funny that you had to dress like all the other nonconformists if you wanted your nonconformity to be taken seriously. This was literally true.

Of course, virtually all of the tortured artists became various types of corporate drones, unless they became academics so they had cradle-to-grave security while continuing the rebel charade.

One of my friends practically worshiped a campus rebel named Elpidio. He was of Mexican descent. I don’t want to call an American a Mexican. Elpidio was all about the revolution and sticking it to the man. I remember when he came to our place to help us prepare guacamole for a party. He and I made it. He told me it wasn’t going to be a “sibli guac.” I am guessing at the spelling of the word “sibli,” which he said meant something like “sellout” or “bourgeois.” It was a Chicano revolutionary word. We didn’t have latinxs yet. Just Chicanos. We were going to have an authentic guerrilla guac worthy of Cesar Chavez, I guess. Worthy of being strained through Frida Kahlo’s moustache. I didn’t really know what he was talking about.

He ended up at Harvard Law.

The next time I heard of him, he was a corporate lawyer, representing McDonald’s against little people, some of them probably brown, whom McDonald’s didn’t want to pay. McDonald’s had one of those promotions where you, I don’t know, scratch something off a cup, maybe, and you get money. Greedy old Ronald wanted to make sure no one who was ineligible got any money, so they went after employees, their relatives, their friends…and Elpidio the tiger of the barrio was there to protect those precious capitalist gains. I thought that was hilarious. My friend thought Elpidio was an inspiration and a genius. I wonder if he ever read the McDonald’s story. Can’t recall whether I discussed it with him.

The herd leftists were really funny. They protested and posed, and then they went into academia or the business world to get financial security. They became exactly what they claimed they hated, and, remarkably, they continued to pretend to be rebels. Does this mean they changed? Of course not. It means they were never rebels; just liars who loved attention.

Where am I? Pretty far from where I started. I don’t really believe a new state law will prevent white people from being uncomfortable, but it’s amusing to read about it. I do think my children will be extremely privileged unless people connect them to me. I think it is unlikely that we’ll pay full tuition if they go to college. This is based on personal observation of the experiences of black students I have known well.

I think my kids should go into business and forget college. The true purpose of college is to ensure financial prosperity, and it does a poor job of that. In the process, it teaches people to hate God, love poisonous socialism, fornicate, experiment with perversion, and take drugs.

I hope Jesus returns before such decisions have to be made. I am ready to go. Today. Tomorrow. Yesterday. My main plan for the future is to intercede for others and try to help people know God. I’m not interested in establishing a dynasty in a gangrenous world.