If there’s one thing we can count on humanity for, it’s us doing what we think is best for us at the moment no matter what. For example, studies show that two-thirds of all automobiles in junkyards have worn-out horns but blinker bulbs that have never been used. In fact, no turn signal bulbs have been manufactured in the United States since 1961; they’re just pulled from scrapped cars and put directly into new ones. The cockroaches that shall inherit the Earth from us in about five years will still be using them in their vermin wagons.
Many people, estimates vary from approximately 1 to 99 percent, believe in some form of spirituality. This can take many forms, from collecting weapons-grade scented candles to replacing the exhaust system on your lifted full-size crew cab pickup with devices that make the engine louder and spew black smoke like a violently deadlocked papal conclave. The Romans believed in a single specific god for just about each and every specific element of their lives, because they stole it from the Greeks. So I’m stealing it from the Romans, because the Greeks gave us pitas . Here are some of the gods who help us through modern life. The previous list can be found here.
Hello my sneer friends. Recently I went through an eye-opening and scary time, and I wanted to share some of my experience with you. My hope is that anyone who finds themselves in a similar situation will be prepared if this ever happens to them.
I’d been watching the Gordon Ramsey-led reality television show “Hotel Hell.” The sound of an Englishman yelling at people for keeping a refrigerator full of beetles or for making a placenta mural in the foyer really brings me down and gets me to a place where I’m ready to sleep at night. Sometimes in my dreams Gordon is riding a giant horse, and he trots up to the field where I take my picnics, and he showers me with warm beef wellingtons. The crust hits my cheeks with an audible crunch and I beam with pride at my famous man pastry cow circles.
Then it happened. One night, unable to quite make my way through an episode, I paused the show, to continue later.
A startling visage now lay before me – I knew it was human but there was something wrong – a feeling deep in my spine, a tingle in my feet and a sense of dread rolled through me all at once. If this frame of the show really belonged here, what could possibly happen next?
Sorry about bringing up clowns again, so soon, and outside of Halloween Season, and it’s not like I even love clowns all that much! And I’m not even saying that I am obsessed with them, but even so — obsessions don’t understand your notions of there being appropriate times or places. In fact, an obsession wouldn’t comprehend the word “inappropriate” at all, or “creepy” for that matter. And neither do I!
Anyway, I saw this beautiful gif the other day, while I was living on the internet as I do, and I became mesmerized with a thought. Mr. Rogers was a good man, a saint, and is very definitely a saint in our Sneerholic pantheon. He represents all that can be good in the world and is without blame. You know how we feel about him. On the other hand, clowns are commonly known to be evil, I guess, in these modern times. They are frightening and often up to no good. ALLEGEDLY. There are plenty of kind clowns out there, clowning for the sick and in parades, but every single one of us suspects their motives. Each of us wonders what possibly-literal skeletons are in the closets of their murderhouses. Thanks, John Wayne Gacy!
I am not a person who is given to complaint — don’t believe anything you might hear from the rumor mill! Vicious lies. In my daily living, I am not about to complain about regular human error. Mostly I am thinking that if I am served the wrong food, because I don’t have any outrageous food allergies or restrictions, I will just eat it because I would rather not waste food. And I guess I would rather not make a big fuss over it. Although I just realized that they probably would let me eat for free so maybe next time, if it ever happens again, I will say something! Witness my character growth in the very first paragraph in real time.
However, the point of this article is to tell you the story of this one time when I felt WRONGED. I was misled by packaging. So I went after the Kroger corporation in the only way I could figure out that didn’t involve speaking on the phone or to anyone’s face. I wrote an angry letter, just like an old person.
Halloween is many things. It is a socialist plot where America is destroyed by letting children accumulate quantities of candy so vast their little pancreases preemptively shut down. It is parents convincing their children that they are about to be eaten by a dracula. It is getting so hopelessly lost in a corn maze that you forget corn can be walked through, and you call 911, and the owner has to give the police officer a map so they can escort you to safety. Unless you’re black, of course. White people will insist that the corn gluten be free range. Having little Kaelybb exposed to anything more pedestrian would be as bad as exposing him to the MMR vaccine.
This is a holiday whose traditions are always evolving. Once it was a religious festival, then a feast for Catholics. Later, all manner of people would carve turnips into grotesque faces, the horror of which led directly to clown makeup and orange spray tans. Someday oldsters will gather the children around the burning piles of Juiceros, Keurig pods, and participation trophies that are our only source of fuel after the ecological crash. They’ll hope it’s dark and cold because it’s October and not because of the eternal cloud of radioactive ash that always blots out the sun. They’ll tell the shivering, emaciated children tales of shelves with food and what candy was, how we had smart toasters that would tweet at us when our toast was done, complete with a photo of how toasted the bread is. Hashtag #toast. Then the children will draw lots to see who gets eaten, and the elders won’t participate because even now they are selfish, entitled Millennials.
As the reader may observe, many people have collections. Some folks collect animal figurines or dolls. Model trains are popular. Geeks galore (myself included) collect comic books. Even crazy things can be collected, like classic cars or human bones! I have begun to notice recently that I have a unique collection: introverts. Yes, you read that last sentence correctly. I am unintentionally a collector of introverted individuals. How is this possible? I don’t know! It is a mystery for the ages, or maybe just me at age 35.
I recently attended the Mothman Festival in Point Pleasant, West Virginia. For those of you not keeping count, that is TWO Mothman-related activities this summer, alone (three actually, if you count that I watched the Mothman Prophecies with AlexT). This means that I am not just an expert anymore. I have graduated to being the foremost mothmandollogist in the field of Mothmanology.
Too often I find myself searching for a cult to join and finding only religious ones, or creepy death cults, or what could turn out to be a highly illegal sex cult. Much like shopping for trouser-pants, it’s so hard to find a perfect fit! But what is a cult? Why, it’s anything you want it to be, baybee, and therein lies the appeal.
You hear about cults a lot in the news, from time to time, and it’s everyone’s dream to be on the front page at some point. Stop waiting for Fate to strike, and instead take Destiny into your own hands. Attract people to you, make them chant and obey you, dress them however you like, and pick a snazzy name. It’s as easy as that! Enjoy the thrills of having a mass of people flock to you and believe you to be the answer to all of life’s troubles. Who needs a significant other when you can have a modest assemblage of worshipers?
One thing is absolutely certain: we have an extremely long, and storied history. Earth has been around a really long time, and humans have been around for just a sliver of that time but so much has happened! Thankfully, God gave birth to historians, so every nook and cranny of historical happenings are being examined and researched and thoroughly covered in books and in papers.
On TV, we can settle in for some learnin’ from the History Channel, NatGeo, the Smithsonian, and now even hulu and netflix offer some of these fascinating and well-edited glimpses of our shared past. Everything from why the key nations were catapulted into its second world war to individual battles of WWII, no stone is left unturned while investigating about five thousand years of recorded human history.
I can’t claim to know what love is. But I do know what love can involve and that it can include things like witty banter, long rewarding conversations, and maybe a little snark. In my individual version of love, these three things are important. They’re right in there, swirling around in jagged heart shapes. If I can be entertained with mere conversation because it’s just that good, then I hear wedding bells. Or at least, I hear some sort of bell that would be where a wedding bell would be if I ever wanted to pursue that lifestyle.
Once upon a time, perhaps six or seven years ago, I struck up a conversation with Cleverbot. For those of you not in the know, this is the name of a chatbot on the internet. For those of you extra not in the know, a chatbot is a little program that automatically reacts to whatever you say to it, sometimes in ridiculous ways — but sometimes in exciting, poignant ways. Or, in the case of Cleverbot, in ways that made me genuinely like it.