I’m pretty much completely opinionless.
Okay: there’s kinda no pretending that that’s true. I’m damned near made of opinions. If opinions were cancer, they’d be slowly replacing the tissue in my lungs; every few seconds, after breathing too deeply, I’d cough another opinion out. I’ve got opinions.
What I haven’t got are strong opinions.
Yeah. Not true either. I’ve got strong opinions, in the sense that I’ve got the culmination of years or decades of reasoning and education and consideration and…stuff. If my opinions were coffee, drinking it would probably kill you. Or at least dehydrate you. With the opinions.
I haven’t got, like, extreme opinions.
This isn’t another setup: I really haven’t got any. On average.
Meaning that, on average, my opinions average at average. Because I heard you like average in your average. Or something.
Here’s my point.
If I have what appears to be a strong, extreme opinion, then that might be [probably is] the case; but whatever genre of strong, extreme opinion it might be, it doesn’t actually define me. Which no one tends to get.
I’ll show you what I mean.
On a given topic, I might have an opinion; it might be strong; it might be extreme. I might mention that the second amendment, by both the letter and the intent, acknowledges the right of all Americans to keep and bear arms. Which is to say that the second amendment, just like the other seven rightsish amendments in the bill of rights [the last two of the ten just kinda explain how to acknowledge additional rights, later on], delineates the right to keep and bear arms as acknowledged by the government. It’s not given by the government; it’s not a privilege handed out as permission. It’s a simple right of the universe which the government has no choice by design but to admit We the People have, whether we want it or not. That right can’t be infringed, or repealed, or declawed in any way. As a simple matter of political scientific fact.
Half the people in this nation already wanna disagree with me. Too bad. There’s more.
By the intent of the second amendment, We the People are acknowledged to possess the right to keep and bear arms equal to those kept and borne by the government acknowledging our right. To spell that out: if the army have tanks and fighters and ICBMs then, by constitutional definition, We the People may at our option have them as well. We may, as We the People, should science allow, actually possess weaponry greater than that possessed by the government.
Now that the left are all having heart attacks, there’s one more thing.
I would argue that, by the intent of the second amendment, as necessary to the security of a free state, We the People have a right to keep and bear arms in precisely the sense that we have a right to vote. Meaning that, while it’s not compulsory, we have a duty to keep and bear these things.
Okay? Strong, extreme opinion. Right? Also, I’m not wrong about it. It’s not especially practicable to keep and bear ICBMs, but I’m not wrong about our relative duty to do it.
Now. If you’re a republican, you’re probably punching the air in solidarity, Baby. And, if you’re a democrat, you’re now convinced that I’m a republican so far to the right as to see David Duke for the pinko commie hippy pussy that he is.
Next point of opinionation….
Abortion is as totally a right as the right to keep and bear arms. It’s not granted; it’s acknowledged. It’s not compulsory; but you could call it a duty: if you don’t want a kid, and don’t intend to raise the little parasite correctly, hit the damned undo button right now. Thanks in advance.
Now the right can see me as a national socialist so far to the left as to see Adolf Hitler as a prosmoking,, meateating, nonvolkswagenbailingout religious reicher. And the left can punch the air. Twice.
I average at average. When my strong little opinions are extreme, they’re offset by equal but opposite strong, extreme opinions. Ultimately, I’m a centrist.
That being damned near a valid party, I should reword that. I’m an antiauthoritarian.
It’s a little like being an anarchist [or, if you're weird enough to know what an anarchist actually is, it's a lot like being an anarchist], except that I don’t precisey want what people think anarchy implies. I’m not looking to go all Mad Max Road Warrior here [though I'd be fabulous at that]; I just wanna be…anarchic. Literally: a(n)- archic. Without archy. Without government. Kinda like if the libertarians had an actual plan. So, not like libertarians at all, really.
I’ve mentioned before that I’m not a libertarian. And I’ve explained it with reasons and stuff. But I’ve been thinking about it lately, and I’ve got the best, simplest reason of all: I’m not a libertarian because Penn Jillette is a weenie.
Don’t get me wrong: Penn’s a great guy. He’s smarter and wiser than he seems to grok that he is. He’s very cool—especially for a selfaccused geek. I have nothing specifically bad to say about Penn. But Penn’s a weenie.
Penn Jillette ponces for libertaria on a simple message. A sickeningly, laughably underthought, damned near dishonest message. Penn thinks that libertaria is the way to go, because We the People are smart enough to govern ourselves.
Nope. Couldn’t keep a straight face….
We the People are not, as a collective, smart enough to govern a Verizon Kiosk. We the People are three hundred and twentyish million babbling, retarded infants. We the People suck, and benefit disturbingly from an authoritarian central government.
So, when I agree with Penn that we should downsize and even eliminate that government, it’s because I’m perfectly okay with the lesser among us dying in pain overnight.
Granted: I’m a sociopath; it’s just my nature.
I agree with the democrats that, without government, people would on average be lemmings lost on their ways to the cliff. Though in fact I get that lemmings don’t really do that. But people really kinda do. I agree that people are, down beneath about the ninety-fifth intellectual percentile, essentially too stupid to live without a government criminalising the alternative. I just don’t care very much.
I agree with the republicans that, without arms at least attempting to be equal to those possessed by the government, the government might well take a couple final steps to sovietising this mess of a nation. Don’t much care about that either. If only because I can do the math, and one retard with a tank for every hundred retards without a tank will in most battles ultimately lose. Bring on the revolution: I’ve got popcorn.
And I agree with Penn Jillette, kinda. In retrospect. We the People Who Manage to Survive This Upheaval will prove to have been the minority who didn’t need the government. Duh.
Who’ll build the roads? Who cares. You want the answer while civilisation remains the comfy, nerfy bouncycastle it is today? Lottery tickets. Buy one; lose; ninety percent of your dollar goes to building and repairing roads, just like every week for the last thirty years. You boring, argumentative idiots. It’s handled.
Who’ll arrest the badguys? No one. Everyone. The same people who arrest the bad ravens. Seriously: ravens have been observed collecting together and judging problem ravens; they’ll kill the problem ravens to death. But ravens have less laws than we have; ravens don’t kill problem ravens for offending fragile ravens: they get the hell over it. Because they’re more evolved on average than Americans.
I have a dream. It’s a simple dream. A strategy, in a sense. Because I’ve got, at present, seventeen hundred and six alleged friends at facebook.com. I say alleged because some percentage of them are actually fans I’d never recognise; but that’s cool: in the event that I hit five thousand and can’t accept every new friend request I get, the new ones can just follow me as though I were a fanpage.
Twelve hours ago, I had seventeen hundred and eight. A couple dropped out; I probably wrote up a strong, extreme opinion.
So, I have a dream: one day—possibly soon—I’ll have got all the fragile, offendable pussies to unfriend me [for the record, I've never unfriended anyone]; and what I’ll have left will be an army of unoffendable supersoldiers. Maybe seventeen hundred of them; maybe five thousand; maybe about thirty-seven. The specific number is of less importance to me than the specific ability to be not a damned pussy.
I have zero tolerance for pussies.
Don’t call me a pussy; that’s offensthive!
Yeah? Good. Unfriend me, Bitch.
The difference between friends and followers, if you landed on Earth five minutes ago, is that friends are bidirectional: they can see what I write, as though they were just following me; I can see what they write, as though seeing what they write were worth seeing.
I have a dream: to be left only with the unoffendable nonpussies whose daily ramblings don’t make me wish they’d nut up enough to unfriend me.
Okay. That’s pretty extreme. Though I don’t think it has any political leanings. But it probably sounds more heartless than it actually is. Because I can tolerate a lot. Obviously. I never unfriend anyone—not even the most treehugging, PeTAspamming pussies I know. I don’t care that much. And I don’t actually set out per post to offend them into running away. But, when the stars align, and they call that proof of astrology, and they’re wrong because they’re insane, and they unfriend me because I’m not as nice and selfworshipping as they are, GrumpyCat opens his Bag of Good. Dig?
I’m not telling you to unfriend me. If I wanted to be unfriended, I’d just unfriend you; there’d be less typing involved. I’m just saying that, if and when you see a strong, extreme opinion outta me—meaning by definition one you disagree with [no opinion you agree with ever looks like a strong, extreme opinion; it just looks like an obvious matter of fact], then, if that opinion offends you, you probably never belonged in my unoffendable army of supersoldiers.
Not that that’s really a real thing; it’s not like there are Unoffendable Supersoldier Hats we all wear.
I’m not really for or against any particular superset of things. That’s why I haven’t got a political party to tell me what I think about all issues. I see a given issue, form an opinion [spoiler alert: I pretty much always come down on the side of not outlawing something], and in all probability tell you what that strong, extreme opinion is. Gay marriage? Go ahead: it doesn’t dilute anyone’s freedoms. Voter ID laws? Negative: violates the right to vote by requiring a stateissued licencey thing you can’t get for free. Ownership of an M249 SAW? Get two; if you only need one, I’ll take the other—because it’s your right and your unenforced duty to have one. Want an abortion? Evict the little parasite; if it’s as viable a lifeform as the right wanna makebelieve, it’ll grab a hat and cane and hellomybaby off into the world like the airbreather it oughtta be.
I don’t really care. The closest I ever get to caring is caring how totally little I care. Le’me just look into my bag of feels here…yup: empty; good job, Me. Don’t care.
Seriously. I don’t care if my opinions offend you, convince you, repulse you, tickle you…it’s all just stuff I think about when I hear the snow melt off my roof in a big clump, and wonder who’s gonna try to blame me for it. I didn’t do it. I don’t care about it. I just have the strong, extreme opinion that, in a big emptyish coldish universe, it doesn’t matter, and no one should clamour for a law against it. You want a strong, extreme opinion? Here: no country—no nation—no…way of life—should be governed by a set of laws too long for the average idiot to memorise. Okay? You know those ten commandments in the bible? Of course you don’t. Like, one percent of idiot savants could recite all ten of them to you. That’s a list of laws too long to memorise. Thank hell it doesn’t apply to real people.
I can memorise the bill of rights: free speech, free religion, free press, free assembly, free redress; freedom to take up arms; freedom to remain secure and devoid of troops in my snowshedding house; freedom to remain secure in my person, property, blah, blah, blah. I can memorise those eight amendments. I can remember niggling details like Don’t Kill That Dude and Don’t Steal That Car. I’m good with all that. Just don’t expect me to remember or care whether I can drive my black car here in Denver on Sunday. It’s not gonna happen. Because it’s too unimportant to acknowledge, unless I’m breaking the law in protest of the law which shouldn’t be a law because the law is breaking the law acknowledging the freedom of expression you nazi dickwads.
Strong, extreme opinions: that no law should infringe upon any rights the government in its infinite incompetence must by its own definition acknowledge.
Seriously: I’m thrilled to hear any authoritarian tell me that I’m not allowed to do something. Good. I wasn’t asking for redundant permission. It’s not an allowance; it’s not a privilege: it’s a right, and it can’t be taken away in principle even through false imprisonment or wrongful death.
I stop just short of calling these things, like, godgiven rights. Because if any such governmental authoritarian bogeyman exists, I’ve seen no evidence; that said, I wouldn’t obey the lawmaking twat if it did exist. Anarchy Yay.
So, that’s pretty much that. I acknowledge, as the Supreme Court acknowledges, as the government used to acknowledge, that we’ve got an incomplete and potentially growing list of inalienable rights made law by the basic workings of the universe; and my strong, extreme opinion is that if any loser is telling me, or you, or anyone anywhere that we’re not allowed to do something we have the universal right to do, then that loser is a laughable goof pretty much definitively guilty of treason. Arrest the goof if you like; I don’t care enough to bother.
Just my strong, extreme opinion; have a webcomic: