Greet the Enemy Head On

Look at this metasticizing spoonful of shit for a second. Just fucking humor me you scab sniffer.

I had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of the people who started this website last week at the Curragh during the usual rounds of Thursday night pints. When I say people I mean women, and I mean the women who lit this website up as a signal fire for the masses of lost suburban post-menapausal vaginas vagrancing through the northern suburbs of Chicago.

LET ME FUCKING TELL YOU. I’m never taken aback by anything that anybody has to say, but I was abruptly sent a nuke to the skull by the maniacal undertones of these ladies’ Made for FOX TV mission statement. I thought my own mother was a complete fucking loony toon with her Eucharistic minister commitments and unquestioning devotion to the papal announcements but these unshaven dick-splitters are the REAL ENEMY and they hit my radar blips reminding me of the first time I heard of Joseph Stalin, youthfully fascinated by the magnitude of evil…

I’m not going out of my way to attack these people; honestly if they wouldn’t have made fun of me for drinking a Guinness as a 22-year-old I probably would have never spoken to them. But they jested and I did the research and now they fucked up. Big time. Picture the opening scene: two older, probably 6-double whiskey fuckable women, slapping it on me and my cousin incessantly talking about their magazine editor positions for a social welfare publication, reminding us that we were “going to be very happy” because we met them at the bar…

Happy in the Buddhist sense that we realized what it was like to not think as a rock and be grateful to ponder as a man…

Asides aside, they wandered through a half hour of trying to pitch the social merit of their jewelry and low cut top magazine to us and we remained in a state of chagrin, almost perplexed, and unable to take any of their syllable strings seriously.

Seriously. These lasses tried to make a case as to why they weren’t money grubbing whores (while they drank their $12 dollar martinis and swept through their iPhones) but rather a bunch of plebian do-gooder’s on the path to righteousness.

My cousin said it best after looking at the section of their publication dedicated to real estate. “So is it going to be the fifth fireplace that complete’s your social mission, or no, it has to be the sixth on this house.”

All they could sputter out was “We are trying to make a difference.”

Enough often becomes enough. All I could reply with was “I wish you the best of luck, but more talking is going to lead to more of me thinking, which will inevitably lead to more cussing and upsetting, so lets just finish our drinks and have a nice, separate kind of night.”

They persisted in trying to convert me to the church of capitalism. “Mike, the north shore exists, you have to accept it.” “One day when you take the chip off of your shoulder, you’ll understand what we’re doing.” “We just want to make a positive difference.”

Hypocrisy doesn’t kill, it rapes and hides and lies and propagates without any responsibility. Fuck these women and their north shore and their feel good agenda confetti. Let’s burn down the subdivisions, blow the red lights and bring their bank accounts down to the knee-level we want our girlfriends perched at. Don’t give into this filth, don’t agree that synthetic pot needs a substance ban just because your kids can’t get the real thing, don’t buy your next time-share out of the Gulf Coast, don’t take your next whole grain recipe from the central binding…Stand up and shout.

This is awful. We, the real north shore, the real any-shore of Chicago, the free-thinking still criminal-hanging public need to retaliate.

I hope the underground can divide and multiply and sweat it out in crowded hallways waiting for the signal fire.

The smoke will come.


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