Far-Flung Correspondent’s Report: Rallies: Why Aren’t They Illegal?

This weekend, I went to Washington, D.C. to plant a cherry tree on the Washington Mall. A bit sappy, I admit, but it is my way of showing America that I care. In this instance, the cherry tree is meant to bring public attention to the long history of presidential crimes (remember that old tale of John Quincy Adams fellating a cherry tree?), thus suggesting that rather than “presidents” or “congresses” or “a judicial branch,” what America needs is a Gilosopher Ging. Hint, hint.

Anyway, my enjoyment of this tree-planting event was greatly marred by the presence of some fifty people who were walking around and shouting obscure slogans. It’s hard to say what it was they wanted (their posters ranged from such messages as “U.S. Out of Iraq!” to “Israel Out of Palestine!” to “Abortion is Murder!” to “Deport All Asians!”), but their overall goal appeared to be inconveniencing ordinary, brilliant citizens, like this author.
Long ago, the United States demonstrated the wisdom and foresight to create a city that would be almost entirely black and poor. We called it Washington, D.C., after George Washington Carver, a folk hero in black tradition. We then started sending white missionaries into this area (we call them “politicians”), but many were afraid to take residence there, so they bought houses in surrounding suburbs and commuted in using Washington, D.C.’s terrific public transit system.
Now, ever since some radical Marxists got it into their heads that rallies are effective ways of bringing change, every few months a huge number of white people pour into the city, not only confusing the local denizens but obstructing the missionaries from their goals of a White America by 2013.
And these are not your ordinary white people. You know which kind these are. Dreadlocked. If you haven’t observed this phenomenon, consider yourself lucky. A recent report by The Institute for Careful Study noted that nearly 88% of all white radicals wear their hair in dreadlocks. They are also often very tan, and occasionally wear blackface. Know your facts. Now, I enjoy a good minstrel show tap routine as much as the next (white) man, but there is a time and a place for it, and this weekend in Washington, D.C. is neither.
I plead with you, should any wrongheaded radicals be reading this: leave your protests at home. Conduct a hunger strike. Set yourself on fire. Put yourself under house arrest. Nobody wants to see you whining. Now you know.

Waiters - Why Do They Bother Speaking?

I’ve just about had it with people in the service industry. I eagerly anticipate the age of robotic service and murdered waiters that is sure to immediately follow the Singularity. I haven’t always held such hateful sentiments towards the subdivision of the working class I’m forced to deal with anytime I enter a store, restaurant, or (God forbid) airport. Recently though things have gotten seriously out of hand.
Last week I found myself eating dinner in a sensibly priced restaurant. Who I was with, why I was there, and what I ordered are all immaterial, so put your curiosity to bed. The evening started out nicely enough – I was brought a Coke with the right amount of ice, the silverware appeared clean, and the establishment’s lighting was sufficient. However, things started to unravel when our server – a veritable wall of terror – first addressed the table.
Usually I hate to waste time on details describing people who do not deserve to be alive, but in order to really explain how awful this waitress was a brief rundown of her physical appearance is necessary. Imagine, if you will, a gazebo that has had pillows taped all over it, covering every exterior surface. You have just imagined the woman I had to deal with that evening. It was bad enough that she was hideous (you no doubt already know how I feel about ugly people), but things only got worse when she began to speak. Her voice sounded like a pig that had swallowed Fran Drescher whole, and that was now squealing and crying because the actress was both kicking and laughing inside the animal’s stomach. It was like having daggers of sound driven into my ears as this disgrace to gazebos everywhere described the specials of the night.
This brings me to another issue I have with waiters everywhere. It makes no sense to tell me the specials of the evening after I’ve already sat down at the table. Anyone who knows me and who knows how to live their life should be entirely aware that having a clear plan of action for all things is the most important thing ever (ever!). As such I arrive at a restaurant entirely certain of what it is I want to eat. If the restaurant doesn’t have the dish I desire I walk right out, and if the waiters at the restaurant assume that I’m some kind of foresight-blind rube who can’t make a plan by handing me a menu and rattling off a list of specials (that inevitably contain mango-something) I become quietly enraged.
Waiters, servers, busboys, Maître d's, valets, and other assorted restaurant-type employees, take note: please do not talk to me unless there is a very good reason – like to inform me that my meal is gratis, because I deserve it.

Taking the Airwaves by Storm - Shouldn't You Listen?

Hello there, loyal readers. I know, I know, it's been far too long. I have been extremely busy with a number of projects (my book, setting up the Grousecast, organizing my collection of anti-transcendentalist literature, solving the world's problems) and as a result I have not been paying enough attention to this, my most direct outlet to the literate masses. But take heart, for I have something special to share with you this evening. My associate and myself were both invited onto a radio show here at Gufts University, where we made our audio debut to the general English-speaking, radio-operating public. Unfortunately we were forced to share the studio with the show's host, an insufferable liberal and borderline hippie. Even worse, two wacky morning DJ's from America's gayest city were there as well, hogging the microphones and making a mockery of the complex art of radio broadcasting. Despite these horrendous obstacles to the transmission of rational thought Guffin and I managed to shine some of our Glorious Ideas from the transmitting tower. The recording of the whole show can be found online. Click on the "last show" link under "Loud, Fast, and Out of Control." I know, it is a silly name.

Families - What in the World is Wrong with Them?

I have often felt that the Grimary Gource could use a bit more human interest subject matter. While deciding what would make for interesting reading I got an e-mail from my Aunt Gellen, who lives in Gakewood, CA and owns and operates a Jewish bookstore. Now, from just this information you could easily reason that by now I would have marked her address as "Spam" and be done with that business. But I have found that her missives to me make me so furious I arrive at just the correct temprament for composing these tributes to fortitude.
As it happens, my Aunt Gellen somehow stumbled upon this website while looking for information on diabetes or something, and has since taken to reading it every day. If you look here, you can see a list of the locations of the Gource's visitors. She is the one in Israel. No, she doesn't live in Israel. She routes her internet through an Israeli service, just to be contrary. Yes, this is indicative of the problem with her. No, it isn't the whole problem.
Since beginning to read the Gource, she has daily (sometimes twice-daily) e-mailed me to condemn me for the Truths contained within my writings and those of my colleagues. I shall henceforth post her e-mails, and respond here rather than to her privately. My hope is that she will be so embarrassed by her errors made public that she will cut off contact with me entirely, and perhaps retire to a life of lip balm-collecting. Here is her e-mail, in toto:

Guffin:
Once again I find myself completely appalled by your writing in that blog of yours. Gource Feathers, I call it. In a recent essay (I call them "messays"), you wrote:
"How do women expect men to take them seriously if they continue to wear makeup and high heels? Also, how do women expect to find a man if they continue to hold jobs? Are they just doing their best to be a burden on all observers of the weaker sex? And what about baseball? Is that still in season?"
On top of the generally poor quality of writing here (I call it "wronging"), you degrade all women, everywhere, with your sexist behavior and womanizing [sic*] antics. I am ashamed to call you a part of my family (I call it "shamily").

Offendedly,
Gellen

Now, Aunt Gellen, please allow me to respond in kind:

Fuck you.

*Is womanizing even a word? I mean, seriously. Does it mean turning someone into a woman, the same way colonizing means turning something into a colony? Game, set, snatch.