Wednesday, January 18, 2012

THE BEATEN GENERATION: The Dick Principle (Chapter 3)

by Dick of All Dicks & Poli Tico

NOTE: Is it a mere thriller? I suggest read it as a political satire written on a psychiatrist's journal instead. The serial killing is just the file cover.
To those who use mobile readers like Pulse: they only catch the first texts published, but as you know, our articles evolve in form throughout the week. We usually do post-publication editing a few days after an article has already been published by the poster just to rectify publishing errors so you might not be getting the preferred texts if you relied on mere mobile readers. To those who have them copied by their female secretaries (culprits: some heterosexual newsmen, I was told), tell them to copy it 3-4 days after the publication date. Better, read the website, just use Hidemyass for privacy. Please recheck the copies you already have at hand.

Chapter 3

" Je ne suis pas sûr que ma vision du monde soit une idéologie. Je n'aime pas les idéologies. Avec elles, ce n'est pas la pensée qui s'adapte au monde mais le monde qu'on tord pour qu'il ressemble au système de pensée.
François Bayrou, French politician, MoDem

"I have the people, therefore, I have the ideology so, world, listen to me!"-
Tina Ford, human rights worker cum serial killer

A cute Dutch word

January 15, 2012 Sochi, Russia

Not your usual evolution. It was mutation, he decided.

Western democracy started in Greece. The fact Greece was about to jump into the economic abyss just about summed up everything. History chose no better symbol, he thought.

Once again he looked at the report he just finished reading. He pursed his lips as if suppressing a smile but his eyes betrayed his amusement.

It was a recurrence of the "Raissha" Syndrome, he concluded. The minute the wife of the last Communist Czar of the Soviet Union started being conscious of her coiffure & designer dress in her photo ops for the Western press, he knew something was wrong. The Gorbachevs were so pathetically tickled pink by the feigned adulation in the West that they forgot they were supposed to be leaders of a Communist state. Same thing happened with that icon of provinciality, Boris Yeltsin. He was sad to admit it but he believed Russians, by nature, have the psychodynamics of peasants who light up at the slightest attention from city folks. Especially if it's from the Western media or, more inferiority complex-inducing, the international jet set. They still haven't wrapped their brains over the concept of "a patronized hick". They buy the biggest yachts in the West, they buy the most expensive real estate in London, they buy sport clubs. At a time when Western Europe was disintegrating, it never occurred to the fools they were trying to impress the has-beens. By 2011, as gauged from Gross-National Product by Purchasing-Power Parity, Russia was already the wealthiest country of Europe, the fourth in the world after the US, China, Japan. Just 20 years after throwing out the Communists. It became so during his watch & he knew majority of the Russians recognized that. It still had a wide room to grow while the rest of Europe were just waiting to collapse. The Russians are a great people if only they learned to impress themselves & not measure themselves thru the eyes of the next batch of losers, he sighed. His sources in New York emphatically told him it's just a matter of time all of Southern Europe would default on their loans. That only meant one thing, & just like kissing a beautiful blond girl, he liked it.

Dimitri should have been wiser but apparently the fool has never forgotten he came from a small hamlet in the Urals. He didn't doubt the fifth richest of the Russian billionaires got infected with the "Raissha" syndrome while lapping up the patronizing adulation of the new poor in London high society. The moron wrote in a London daily about the need for change in Russia when it has never been in a better stead than its perennial European rivals in the modern times. Need to be a modern European democracy when all the old European democracies were collapsing? What a joke, he almost laughed. Fanning the smoke to produce the illusion there's a big fire of clamor for change when there's a hard-pack of snow everywhere in Russia won't work anymore. After the Color Revolutions, which swept up the former Eastern Bloc earlier, ended up producing nothing & leading to hilarious reversals like the eventual incarceration of that Ukrainian political whore, Yulia Timoshenko, only the Potemkin states like the old Western European states would hang on to such wishful thinking. At a time when they were about to implode, the only way they could salvage their self-respect was to wish that others should implode with them... but alas, those other people have bigger futures. Ah, why even bother musing over yesterday's gimmicks, he chided himself: impromptu people's organizations are dime a dozen & he had more money than his enemies to create them, or destroy them.

The American billionaire looked at him. "He wrote it in a London newspaper not already owned by a Russian billionaire", he said in Russian. A brief deadpan, then as if suddenly realizing the irony of what he said, he guffawed.

He, too, couldn't control a hearty guffaw.

"And a leftist paper at that," again the American burst off with another round of belly-shaking mirth.

He joined in the fun. "He probably got tired proving he had billions, I bet he wanted to experience how to pretend to be an intellectual too!"

"Right choice of company! Leftists just love pretending they were intellectuals to justify to themselves why they were such big losers!"

Again a staccato of hearty laughter, more sustained this time. The American's laugh was naturally infectious. Their laughter sonorously echoed throughout the cavernous room with the floor-to-ceiling picture windows framing the snowy mountains in the distance. Which probably heard them because a big section on its eastern slope suddenly heaved like a belly convulsed with laughter, so vigorously it collapsed into the first big avalanche for the new year in the area.

The American billionaire was the twelft richest in America circa 2012, Herbert William Caldwell II. He inherited billions from his father who was the second richest American when this was still alive but he parlayed them ten times over with his investments in oil & other commodities. The elder Caldwell, an old-style capitalist, created a foundation in the 1980's during the most heated moments of the Cold War that had as its avowed mission to help mankind. It was along that vision that his trustees created Human Rights Protection Monitor, which became the most aggressive among the many leftist-led human rights organizations in the world.

January 15, 2012 Los Angeles

Tony glanced at the small screen of his Blackberry:

I can't wait for tonight. I'm wet already, are you?

From Tina, his British girl friend who worked for a human rights organization.

He didn't bother to respond. He felt a vague wave of nausea instead, but he immediately suppressed it. She had been a dependable beard but increasingly, all he could feel for her now was total repulsion.

It's been 6 months now of feigning that his inconsistent erection was due to his addiction or drunkenness. It was turning into a drag but he was wary of losing her just yet. He might not be able to find another woman as easily duped as her. True, he needed the extra benefits (aka money) though she couldn't hand out much, she's hard-up herself. Their twenty-year difference he saw it as a boost to his liberal credentials (I am breaking all the old-fashioned cultural straitjackets, baby!) But of course, he wasn't saying the real reason, that he merely needed a beard when the last young girl left him because she found better sex elsewhere & Tina was a well-preserved cougar just waiting for any man to save her from a lonely middle-age. He was right in assuming European women were more liberated but he was surprised how docile they actually were. The desperation of creeping old age? This one took pride in mouthing she was a feminist but she was completely under his control. She had to do all the job of making him hard without ever complaining, much less realizing she was just a low-intensive stimulus to him (he actually snapped at her once when he was drunk & he still wouldn't harden up after an hour of manipulation,"You're already old, lady, so pay your dues!" He sure made her guilty she was the reason, but she persevered nonetheless each time. He was just drunk or stoned, see?). The few times he readily got an erection, he was thinking of the last jack-off buddy he just had a secret tryst with in some motel somewhere.

Nobody knew his secret. Not even the two fags in the office. He worked for a website which had the illusion to bill itself as an online liberal magazine. Their main thrust was to pretend they were arbiters of cultural cool, & as the only self-identified straight man in the small staff, he was tasked to write about his "cool" encounters with fags. In actual life, he couldn't remember he ever had a cool encounter with one. It was total revulsion with fags ever since. He decided long ago the problem wasn't homosexuality because men have always done & will always do anything if it's delicious to them. Sex was better if shrouded in mystery anyway & the last thing you wanted to lift the mystery were fags themselves. Just imagine entering a room expecting to have the best sex of your life then upon switching the light, you see a naked fag waiting for you splayed writhing on the bed. That thought always gave him the creeps. No way could political action make a cross-eyed lady desirable to the most ordinary dude with an intact vision. Same banana with fags. He dated men but he preferred to score by posting at Craiglist: A straight man wants to meet another straight man as jack-off buddy, & some possible blow-jobs ... He would really have preferred a real straight man but his low salary forced him to make do with the nearest available variety, what he called the "straights for the poor". Just steel his stomach for the meantime, no choice. Meanwhile, he could make use of the "cool" pretension to up his stature with his present crowd which he knew was into all kinds of big-time pretension (social, political, personal, name it) just like him. He needed the job.

Again, a beep from his Blackberry.

Another text message from Tina.

I love you, baby.

Christ! he cursed. He actually shivered with disgust. One more & I'll vomit!

Next :Chapter 4

Since discovering The Doors, I've been on a revival binge. Another treasure, from 1991.

You- Ten Sharp (Netherlands)