Tag Archives: party

You Too Can Be President

As the days pass from President Barack Obama’s inauguration we find ourselves looking to 2012, the next presidential election; the future is always at hand (the leading cable news networks’ talking heads confirm this daily). And no one could find themselves more shit-out-of-luck than the good ole’ boys, the Republican Party. Earlier I thought that the party would split into two, smaller, more pitiful parties; maybe I was wrong. Oh well. Granted, even if Obama doesn’t manage to fix the U.S., or hell, screws it up more, there is a very small chance that he’ll be unseated; but I’m still left wondering who is going to be the new face of the G.O.P.

It could very well be you.

That’s right. You. The assuming, unaware, run-of-the-mill American. Do you remember your teachers in grade school telling you that “you could grow up to be President of the United States”? It’s true. Or almost true. You can at least run a campaign and be shot down by the mass public.

Mmmm... Sarah Palin, you are one dumb, sexy bitch.

Mmmm... Sarah Palin, you are one dumb, sexy bitch.

Just look at the potential nominees. Sarah Palin? That’s a real life American Dream come true; housewife turned mayor, turned governor, turned vice-presidential nominee. I think the requirements to be President have been trimmed down to U.S. citizenship and being able to read a teleprompter. Did you see the Republican Party’s reply to Obama’s inaugural address? Bobby Jindall is a fucking robot.

The rest of the field is just as bad. Mark Sanford is an adulterer (along with John McCain and Rudy Giuliani), Mitt Romney is a Mormon, Mike Huckabee loves Jesus, etc. etc. They’re all also totally out of touch with what the average American needs. This is where you come in: you’re that American. Who would know how to woo the votes of the average American better than the average American? Write down whatever it is you think and voila! Campaign platform!

What’s holding you back from the White House? Political ambition. You simply don’t have the networking power of any big name politician; which is why I’m telling you this now. You have 3 years to ascend to power and rob Obama of his high and mighty throne. It’s going to take hard work, blood, sweat and tears, and the brown-nosing of every Republican asshole you can find, but all you need is a belief in yourself (Yes I Can!) and the nomination will very well be yours.

jakefunc is a contributing writer of projectgroupthink.wordpress.com. Get instant updates for this blog via Twitter: PGTblog.


Filed under Politics, social commentary

Hold Your Tongue: A Call For Prudence

More often than not, on a regular, daily basis, I will find myself talking shit about someone I know. Golly, I cannot resist the chance to gossip, expounding upon every detail entrusted to me by an unsuspecting other. It’s a time honored tradition, especially amongst women. I’ve always wondered why I am friends with a sizable group of the same sex (30+ men), yet so very few females maintain large friend groups of the same sex (Maybe 5?).

Why can’t women stand each other? Because they talk shit about each other so often. Borderline non-stop. And what they don’t realize (or maybe they do actually), is that with a greater integration of individuals, whatever it is they said about person ‘B’ is going to be heard by person ‘B’.

Men must spend more time doing things than saying things. Its in our socialization. As youth we go out and compete amongst one another to flaunt our athleticism and determine who is best, while the girls talked. Or something like that. Men dealt with things honestly, directly; “Wow Jake, you really suck, don’t play with us anymore.” Women deal with things respectfully, indirectly, avoiding conflict until they can get behind closed doors; “See you tomorrow Sally!” [aside] “What a bitch.”

Is it dependency on others? Women are less physically capable to succeed than men, so they depend on the pooling of resources and labor that comes with a collective. I could see that, but then why would females so readily burn bridges by shit talking? Is this just a phenomenon among modern independent women? I have no idea. I should hedge my bets on the idea that they don’t realize that the gossip is going to come back at them. That’s a point duly taken; I probably dug a deep hole myself already.

I’ve had my fill with gossip; everyone is susceptible to its appeal. Truly a great bit of fun, but I can only imagine the bearing of bad fruit in the future.

I don’t think that I will ever know all that is said, and frankly, I really don’t care for it. There is a lesson to be learned though; gossiping about person ‘B’ is not going to make person ‘B’ think very highly of you for very long. Therefore, in order to maintain my valuable standing with my current friends, I vow to be critical of them to their faces, as opposed to gossiping about them later in supposed distant safety.

And yes, my adherence to that ideal will begin after this very period.•

jakefunc is a contributing writer of projectgroupthink.wordpress.com. Get instant updates for this blog via Twitter: PGTblog.


Filed under social commentary

Art, Blood, Catharsis

Admittedly, I am not the most “productive” member of society. I say productive in the most capitalist, meaningless sense of the term, but on rare occasions I do in fact get down on myself for this perceived lack of responsibility. And, during these bouts of turmoil, I console myself by remembering that I am, mentally speaking, bringing food back to the tribe.

Or so I thought. I have noticed, on occasion, that this ideational food is often perceived as bitter, and less than nourishing. As an example, I ran into a girl I knew from high school at a party, the attendants of which were actively pro-drug, and somehow wound up talking about the uses of ketamine in transcending the human ego. Looking horrified, she asked that I not tell her things that would make her think of me in this (presumably negative) light.

This is sort of to be expected, and I’m not really crying in my beer over it (though I am saddened that someone whom I cared about was unable to benefit from my experiences.) One issue, however, seems to evoke this reaction more often than drugs, free love, or nihilist meta-ethics. I am speaking of the issue of masochism.

Barring details, I became acquainted with the art and philosophy of bodily injury on an intimate and spiritual level during the later months of two thousand and eight. I do not practice overt masochism at present, nor do I have plans to resume said practice in the foreseeable future. However, because of the recent nature of these events on the timeline of my life, they have, on occasion, been the subject of controversy of late (such as when a romantic interest found pictures of a particularly brutal work I had crafted in early January – BUZZKILL.) I address this issue because of the frequency with which I find myself pressed to verbally defend my actions, often without having raised the matter of my own volition.

Spiritually and aesthetically, there is something to the masochistic arts that I, a seasoned pursuer of bizarre experiences, found unique. To sit down and tear a knife over one’s own flesh, whether a quickie in the bathroom before class or a thorough-going, hundred cut masterwork, arouses psychical and aesthetic energies on a nuclear level, and does in fact produce beauty for those eyes which have taught themselves to see it.

I am not advocating this path to anyone, just as I wouldn’t hand you a checklist of drugs or sex partners and tell you to emulate the experiences that make my life unique. The point I am attempting to drive home is that much undue shock and chagrin is produced by the mention of a tradition that is as cathartic as it is aesthetic. Quite frankly, I have found otherwise intelligent, open-minded people reacting to the matter much as Victorian society reacted to homosexuality. More disturbing is the fact that, to the masochist-in-practice, those activities which are often symptomatic of deeper concerns are treated with all gravity, while the root problems are overlooked entirely. Not once have I ever truly given a fuck that I was scarred, bleeding, or in danger of some other non-serious biological reaction which the outside world construed as physical jeopardy. What I did care about was the inner blackness with which I found my psyche being consumed – a blackness which the masochistic experience attempted to pacify or resolve.

On that note, I yield the floor to group discussion. Perhaps you have a story of your own, of which I encourage to share as much or as little as you please. Perhaps this article has raised some questions in your own mind, or perhaps you merely think I’m a fucking moron and would like to tell me this in just so many words. If you would like to give feedback but are uncomfortable doing so in a public setting, I welcome responses at mfbrettx@unm.edu.

Redpillneo is a contributing writer for ProjectGroupThink.  Follow us on Twitter at username PGTblog.


Filed under philosophy