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mood |
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music |
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Pink Floyd - Sysyphus IV |
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Another trip to the doctors, another medication change. Hoofrigginray. I'm so happy, the world's filled with daisies, the birds are singing, all the animals are singing too, it's like a big happy Disney movie!
/sarcasm
I hate having to resort to sarcasm. I hate having to resort to anything. I think I need to rant. *looks for topic* Oooh, a pet hate. Humans.
Humans. Homo Sapiens sapiens to be exact. 'Smart Man'. And arent we just so smart? For 2000 years or so, a pathetic book that's rather unimaginative and dully written has ruled our ancestry, started countless wars, given half the population reason to hate the other half, caused states to crumble... I'm sorry, but it's a very dumb species that puts it's fate into a book, then follows it like a little lost sheep for 2000 odd years.
Right, where was I. Oh, ruling the ancestry. I was mainly commenting on Caucasians here, seeing as we've had the worst luck with it. Once upon a time, you became chief of your clan by either bonking the daughter of the original chief, or knocking the heads off the people in the next clan over. Simple life, simple rules. Then some tosser comes along with a book and a half-baked idea or two, and says "No, excuse me, thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not bonk neither" and suddenly, you don't rule at all without a church behind you. Roman, Orthodox, every other wee bunch of nuts... anything to capture, contain, and control population. Suddenly, you don't mean shit unless you're in Church on Sunday where everyone can see you. Unless you're being condemned from the pulpit to a life of misery, torture, celibacy, etc, you're not human. Oh and dissenters? Let's just call them witches, have a bit of a barbecue, and teach the rest of the herd not to disagree. Oh, and whilst we're at it, we'll take 10% of everything else, because we're a church, and churches needs lots of riches to... err.. build big spiky bits on the church. And make golden statues of a man whose Dad said "Thou shalt not make graven images, or worship false idols". What about Billy Idol, he count?
Right, now the other bit - division. Ooo lookie, wimmens - they're not as physically strong as us blokes, so lets turn them into slaves for 2000 years, give them no rights, treat them like cattle, then stand and wonder when the Amazons rip our heads off. Why is it pagan cultures celebrate the Eternal Mother under different guises, but nooo... the 'good' book says God's the Bloke, therefore all blokes must be gods unto themselves. Works for Biblists. Think about it, which sex is really stronger? Hmm? NEITHER. Get over it already. I don't care if you're a 7' tall Maori mud wrestler with biceps the size and appearance of randy warthogs - there will always be a woman exactly the same. Or, if you're going to play the physical strength card - women have us hands down on emotional strength. Who else sits quietly as her sons, her own flesh and blood, is sent off to die in a war thousands of miles away, fighting a MAN'S war, for a MAN's cause, started by MEN... I am not a feminist. I am an equalist. Choose the right person for the job, not the preferable sex. If a 300lb woman in a miniskirt can do a better job at something than me, by all means let her take over - I know when someone can do something better than me, i'm not about to let some false ego stand in the way. Women can knit - so can men, just women knit in better colours. And it's hard to knit stubbies shorts.
Oh, and wars. Wars are fun. Enlist, see the world, then die in some piss filled trench, drowning in the mud as the shells rain down on your head from an enemy you can't see, all the time receiving orders from a chess player of a leader, who neither cares nor knows you exist. Become a pawn in the big power brokerages, and if you accidentally survive, we'll pension you off so you can just afford a can of dog food once a week and spend the rest of your life as a poor bastard, never seeing what it is you fought for. And whilst we're at it, bung a cross on ya, and we'll call it a holy war, just for a little more conviction. Look here, we have nice shiny medals for those of you who die creatively enough, and this matching set of attractive shrapnel wounds for those who hunger after the glory and honour of it all. And whilst you're shovelling the shit from your pants, after the bombs have rained down upon ye, you can start training the next generation, your own sons, brothers, grandsons, into becoming the next set of cogs in our big machine. Fun for everyone - as long as you're not female. If you're female, you'll have to cheer from the sidelines, otherwise the troops will get distracted in the midst of the battle. WTF? If I am sitting holding a helmet over my deafened head, crying my eyes out because of the smoke, the gas, the bullets, the bombs, the imminent presence of Death, the LAST thing i'm going to be thinking about is getting randy in some bomb crater. I'm sorry, given a choice between life or sex, it's life. I believe in survival of the species, but only the good bits - and the sex mad soldiers can go first. You're fighting, not screwing, get over it.
*cough*
I feel slightly better now. I should be back in a few hours.
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busy
complacent
pissed off
amused