Your author is a peculiar individual and not only for his love of Loly Hardcore.
(Incidentally, VLAD, you keep giving speeches about repopulating Russia but no Loly on my doorstep yet…it was my understanding Russian shills were compensated spectacularly!?!…*sigh*…)
Anyway — as your Humble Correspondent was reminiscing — the more I exist the more unusual I become.
To wit, every day seems to me as if yesterday.
Such is this extreme condition I sometimes find I have to remind others about what was once commonplace in this country.
Not so much as five years past, and definitely as recently as ten years ago, was a day called Black Friday.
Traditionally this was the date following Thanksgiving which denoted a business began to earn after costs and taxes. (i.e. went from being "in the red” of debt to being "in the black” of profitability.)
It also became known as the Great Awakening before the holidays on which you could score those sweet bargains for electronics that barely fit into your studio apartment or pad over the garage.
Discount sales at otherwise respectable retailers began early the morning following the feast…then at midnight on the date of the dinner…eventually leading to stores opening in evening of Thanksgiving itself.
(Which was heretical to us raised when Blue Laws were common and NOTHING was open on any Sunday save the petrol station.)
Be that as it may, Americans love a deal…or a steal…and especially a brawl.
All of which led to disgraceful scenes where shoppers waited in endless ques for hours, then mobbed doors, then fought each other, then trampled small children (no joke), then it became ordinary at least one person annually was actually killed every year — over a stereo or bigscreen ten percent off.
One of the better aspects of Amazon murdering Walmart being at least no more customers were slaughtered after having celebrated harmony with their families scant hours prior.
The internet effectively silenced Black Friday in the sense it was a shared hysteria.
Yet as ludicrous as it all sounds that was once our contemporary reality.
Whatever side they supported this election year, half the country will be furious with the result. Partly, this is entirely the fault of Controlled Media. (See what I did there? Smile, voter!)
No really, it was the reckless Controlled Media that whipped everyone into a mania over this vote.
Every story was singed with hyperbolic language designed to make the blood boil. Lamentably, one suspects that itself was the scheme…”If it bleeds it leads…so why not encourage the Plebians to act?”
The Controlled Media enjoys violence because they know it sells. Your local newsreaders want school shootings to happen. They hope for a mall massacre. These fine journalists wait on riots to occur.
So with an entire country, many on prescription medication, surely newsreaders could get someone to do a something to some politician? (Well, in fact, it would seem they almost succeeded.)
If residing in a civilized nation the entire focus of the Press would have been to defuse, mitigate, prepare and soothe.
That is not where we live. Thus I am going to try and help you out a little bit.
Listen, I understand many are upset. I get that. But let me tell you, the election isn't nearly as serious as some believe.
Dying over a CD player, technology not even used anymore, is serious. Consider. On Black Fridays of yore some poor Citizens died for discounts on trinkets which literally have no value at all today.
Some recommendations:
YOU DO NOT KNOW THAT PERSON.
He (or she) is just some idiot loudmouth. Don't wreck your life over him (or her). Whatever you do, never react with violence. Leave the area and forget about that individual. Okay?
YOU DO NOT CARE ABOUT THE OPINIONS OF SOMEONE YOU DO NOT EVEN KNOW.
If it helps, consider me. I've been publishing for…a very lengthy amount of time. The past decades, with social media, comments have become so vitriolic you wouldn't believe the vulgar insults.
(Fortunately, professional entertainment helped in the preparation of such cogent feedback!)
The point is, you have to let it go. There is nothing anyone can say to me (aside from Vlad who, did I mention, has not sent Loly my way…) that rustles my jimmies.
If I can do it, so can you — LET IT PASS.
2. It's Not as Serious as You Think — For real. Trust me. For really reals, Sportsfans.
The Controlled Media has been lecturing for a year "democracy is on the line” and it is "the most important election event ever” and "our way of life is in peril”…WHATEVER.
IT IS ALL LIES.
Take it seriously if you must, but hear me out because — everything in the moment seems utterly consequential. Only…you remember your first date? Good, you probably do. But what about your third? Or your tenth? Sadly, you probably do not.
But at the time, it was then EVERYTHING to you.
That's how humans are — in the instant your life appears to be larger than life itself. Then? You get up the next morning, and the next morning, and the next year, and the next decade, and you don't even remember the face of that girl you were so very much enamored of that you wanted to die for her.
Whatever side you were on in this election, the media was entirely against you. In fact, they relentlessly lied to you. There WILL be other elections. Many of them.
And if you are one of those hypermotivated people…run for office yourself. (No, genius, not for President…let's begin with your local City Council or School Board, okay Honest Abe?
There will be plenty of opportunities to affect the change you want…but NOT if you're in jail or dead.
To reiterate: ONE, do not get into any shouting matches or physical fights today (or this week), and, TWO, do not despair as if this is the final Act in Sorrows of Young Werther.
Final tips? Buy a Coca-Cola, put salted peanuts in, visit the park, sit at a bench, then drink. That's how they do down Southland and most others have never tried it that way before. So take a deep sigh over taking any of this too seriously.
It's fine. You're alive. Find a girl. (Not Loly, she's mine.)
Laugh at yourself.
Soon enough this will all seem like it was only yesterday.
Guy Somerset writes from somewhere in America