Saturday, April 15, 2006

Hie Thee To A Nuthouse

In the summer of 1969 I worked in a psychiatric hospital in Kings Park, NY. At the time I was a potential moonbat considering changing my college major to psych; I wanted to know more about the psychology profession and what kind of "psych things" one in such a profession would do. Needless to say, after three months of working in the child and adult wards I switched to poli sci and automatically became eligible to flip burgers or go to grad school. It was a lot better than working in a nutter assembly plant.

Now don't go getting your panties in a knot. It's just that I saw what goes on in those places and wanted no part of it. The mentally ill are truly an underserved population that yada yada yada, and we should mainstream them so we can pay for their legal guardians and apartments and booze by using Social Security Disability and SSI funds (can't work if you're a nutter or an alcoholic or someone in the throes of tertiary clap) and then get hit up by Him Who Never Blinks for spare change and embrace their insane rantings on street corners and have them keep vent grates warm and get knocked up by various and sundry drunken low lifes and remind us when riding the bus of how aromatic life can truly be without the regular exercise of basic hygiene and kill someone when the voice in their head tells them that the harmless old lady waiting at the bus stop is actually Satan in drag with blue hair.

Was that one sentence? Gotta calm down.

But I was reminded of all this when I landed at The Mudville Gazette who linked up to a Washington Post article about the insane bloggers of the left.

"In the angry life of Maryscott O'Connor, the rage begins as soon as she opens her eyes and realizes that her president is still George W. Bush. The sun has yet to rise and her family is asleep, but no matter; as soon as the realization kicks in, O'Connor, 37, is out of bed and heading toward her computer."

We must give more credit to the digital revolution. It keeps some of the nutters off the corners and out of our faces. How would you like this nutbag yammering in your ear while waiting in line for a mocha latte?

"... she wonders what she should scream about this day... Darfur, she finally decides. She will write about Darfur. The shame of it. The culpability of all Americans, including herself, for doing nothing. She will write something so filled with outrage that it will accomplish the one thing above all she wants from her anger: to have an effect."

And what would she do to stop the killing? Lob aroma therapy missiles? There is only one way to stop someone from killing. It has nothing to do with writing anything other than orders for the Marines to be deployed and the authorizations for air strikes. That is how you stop people from killing. This methodology has been perfected over countless millennia and has worked like a charm every time it's been used. It is called war. Other methods have been tried (appeasement, surrender, etc.) but they do not stop the killing. Only war.

The one thing you can always count on from nutters and moonbats (like there's a difference) is that it is always our fault. It is the fault of the US that Muslims are doing what Muslims have been doing for the past 1,400 years, that is , oppressing and killing non-Muslims. The rage begins as soon as a Muslim opens his eyes and realizes that less than 20% of the earth's population is Muslim.

"typing harder and harder on a keyboard that is surrounded by a pack of cigarettes, a dirty ashtray, a can of nonalcoholic beer, an album with photos of her dead father and a taped-up note -- staring at her -- on which she has scrawled "Why am I/you here?"

Simple, you are here as a sterling example for every other howling mad assmonkey who can't get a life. It's the pathos of the powerless. Suffering from obsessive/compulsive listentomeism, she hammers away at her solutions to the world's problems. As a moonbat responsible for nothing, she believes her blog is the answer for everything.

"What's notable about this isn't only the level of anger but the direction from which it is coming. Not that long ago, it was the right that was angry and the left that was, at least comparatively, polite."

Where has Finkel been for the last forty years! The left was comparatively polite, huh?

Polite like the Chicago Riot of 1968? The Kent State Riots of 1970? The Weatherman/SDS bombings, bank robberies and murders of the 60's and 70's? The almost twenty year reign of mail bombings by the Unabomber (1978 to 1996)? The Earth Liberation Front (1992 to the present) responsible for more than 1,200 acts of arson in this country alone?

Or how about the Democrats' age old accusations that republicans are killing people with social program cuts (actually cuts in the growth of off budget items from as high as 12% per annum to 6%).

"I am this close to being one of those muttering people pushing a cart."
"I'm insane with rage and grief."
"But I also feel more connected than I ever have."

This happens when you experience a total anal/cranial eclipse. Your libtard tendencies get directly in the path of whatever little brains you have left. It creates an "Ass Umbra" blocking out all rational thought.

The people she connects to are just like herself, flies to a fresh road apple. What's scary is that there are so many of them. And what is so utterly confounding is this:

"And the photo album is because of a 25-year-old Marine who died fighting in Vietnam three months before she was born, which she thinks helps explain the note, the alcohol, the cigarettes and the very first piece of writing she ever published online, a rant against the war in Iraq that began, "Every single millisecond of my life was directly affected by the nightmare that was Vietnam."

Vietnam was a democratic war. If this lunatic is 37 years old, she was born in 1968 or 1969. Since her dad died three months before she was born, he most likely died in 1968 when LBJ was the President. Nixon was sworn in on January 20, 1969.

So why does she blog?

It also felt good, she says, transforming even, and soon she was posting regularly to Daily Kos, where she became one of the more widely read diarists with attention-getters such as "Go [expletive] Yourself, Mrs. Cheney" and "Bush Must Be HIV Positive By Now (you can't [expletive] 500 million people and not get infected)."

She feels good about herself. These good feelings come about not from doing charitable work, not from volunteering for the sick and injured, not from helping orphans. She feels good about venting her emotions in the vilest, most foul manner possible. This is an indication of her character. This is what makes her feel complete.

"I want you to get mad!" she shouts along, startling Terry. "What?" he says, backing away with his balloon.

Move slowly Terry, your mom is unhinged. Drop the balloon (she may think it is telling her to kill you) and arm yourself.

About her dad:
"He never knew her name, or that she was a girl, or that his wife weighed less on the day their daughter was born than when she was conceived. "Catatonic" is how O'Connor describes what her mother became for a while, and then the mother got better, and then the daughter got worse, and then the daughter got better by becoming angry rather than silent about a new war, so angry she began wishing her president would go to hell."

The communists killed your dad Maryscott. I'm sure he'd be real proud of you now.

And you are not better. You are a loon.

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