I've been victimized by all the folks jockeying for victim status.
Mental health days used to only be for teachers. I was a teacher once. I’m not anymore. Probably because dealing with your badass kids wore down my spirit until it was just a tiny little nub of a thing. That’s “badass” in the sense of the Kanye West line from “Golddigger” where he says “Four kids and I gotta take all they bad ass to showbiz?”, not “badass” in terms of a guy who hides his infrared body heat by slathering himself in mud and then goes toe-to-toe with Predators. That’s “Predators” in terms of the badass 1980’s testosterone-fueled action classic, not “predators” in terms of guys you won’t let your badass kid around or talk to online for fear of inappropriate touching and grooming. We are wayyyy off track here and frankly, I blame you. I’m the victim here. I’m not taking blame. That’s victim blaming and I’ll have none of it.
Because I’m certainly not going to take responsibility for my own life. Haven’t you heard? That’s totally passe. It’s like, tots-McScrots easier to be victimized, claim victim status, jockey/scratch/claw someone’s eyes out for position on the victim hierarchy, convince a government ultra-douche that you’re a victim, get them to write/sponsor/sign into law legislation some form of victim recompense (or just choke a b**** in the lawsuit sort of way), crack your knuckles in a confident manner, sit back in the easy chair, and wait for the checks to roll in while you watch some cooking show involving new and innovative ways to get avocadoes into your body.
Actually, that sounds like a lot of effort, particularly the part about eating avocadoes (I know they’re good for me but they are so bland and take so much added seasoning to be even a skosh appealing). Some people will work hard so as to not work hard. So I’m creating a new form of victimhood. People who can’t stop talking about being a victim have traumatized me. To the point that I’d be surprised if I do another honest day’s work ever again.
My father’s ancestors were Caucasians from Britain. They moved to the Ohio Valley after slavery in America happened but I’m sure they were in some direct way responsible for it, despite having moved to a northern state after it was abolished because they were what some disparagingly call “whiteys”. My mother’s; Native American. So I know a part of me is owed some stolen land by another part of me. I’d settle for the lower part of a duplex so I don’t have to go up that weird-looking, rickety, second story stairway with a roof that doesn’t really stop the rain on the side of the house. I also know one part of me is part of the only people that have messed up the world, engaged in genocide, slavery, and other atrocities against the human race. When leftists talk about that part of me is where I’ve narrowed down my victimization. So give me money.
When a leftist talks—no, shouts—no, screams—no, screeches about living on stolen land, I undergo a mental quandary. I want to ask them if they are living on stolen land also and if they have given up all their possessions to a local tribe so as to be morally consistent with their argument, but I also don’t want death wished on my children for having the audacity to engage in debate. The resulting mental anguish on to-debate-or-not-to-debate is traumatizing. Give me your debit card number, along with the CVC code. I’ll also take your mother’s maiden and first pet’s names in case I need to move my Amazon wish list over to my shopping cart and I forget the login information to your online banking.
When a leftist hits a normal identity politics talking point and attempts to gatekeep the exercise of free speech and free exchange of ideas by stating that a person in a certain demographic doesn’t have the right to have an opinion on it, I get all worked up because I really, really, really want to use my free speech but I also really, really, really don’t think I’ll be treated respectfully by devotees of identity politics. I get all shook and tremored and earthquaked and verklempt. That’s traumatizing. Give me your firstborn as an indentured servant for no less than seven years.
When a liberal talks about—no, spews—no, vomits buzzwords about how 100% of white people are racist and have always been racist and always will be racist but need to stop being racist even though they can’t help being racist because white supremacy is in their DNA and they need to be anti-racist because it’s not enough to not be racist even though they are racist and can’t help it and…I can’t even finish this thought without throwing up in my mouth a little bit. That’s ultra-upsetting on an epic level. Give me your bride and just sit there as I exercise my prima nocta rights as a noble who’s been victimized. She’s quite the dish, but hold the vengeful Scottish husband. I’m on a diet.
When a young person who has failed professionally after going to college to get a worthless degree pontificates on the oppression of capitalism, I want to tell them to visit/study a socialist/communist country to get some perspective on the matter, but I also don’t want all that neon hair and facial piercings getting all up in my grill (those ridiculously large ear gauges making the lobe jiggle is so off-putting) and being labeled a bootlicker, so I just stifle and swallow my thoughts. That’s like holding in a fart and a sneeze at the same time. It’s devastating on my mental health. I’m an American, after all. Spouting opinions is as American as apple pie. Give me the keys to your car and a map to the lost city of El Dorado. I’ll pick you up something nice, offer it to you when we meet, then whip it back and say “psyche!”, then just watch you in your pathetic misery, having undergone a really sweet psyche-out.
Whenever I hear "that’s your white privilege talking”, “you can say that because you’re white” after I’ve made a salient point that I expect to be answered with a salient counterpoint, it’s soul-crushing. When Van Jones…basically opens his mouth, I know I’m supposed to feel guilty about something. Those feelings of guilt can’t all be drowned with pizza rolls and Mountain Dew, now can they? He talks a lot and toxic amounts of pizza rolls and Mountain Dew are…toxic. And I don’t mean toxic in terms of any person possessing even the slightest amount of masculinity basically existing near a woman. I mean hazardous to your health. So I’m left to feel those feelings. That leaves me in a terrible state. Whenever I’m working the complicated mathematical calculations on which person in a discussion is winning based on their victim group, I’m out of my depth as an English teacher and that’s just an invitation to self-diagnose anxiety and self-medicate with weed and Xanax pills I bought off that guy who really wants to be friends with me but I’m not so sure because he’s kind of sketchy but I score drugs from him so who am I to judge? Give me a similar product of equal or lesser value when I steal something of value from you.
So to sum it all up. I’m a victim of victims constantly claiming they are victims. Just being offended is enough to be a victim and I basically spend the majority of my day outraged and offended. I don’t got this. I can’t do this alone. I refuse to work hard, take responsibility, pull myself up by my bootstraps, or fall victim to any other easy life slogans. I’m owed something. That something is whatever you’ve got. What’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is soon to end up in the hands of a sketchy pawnbroker so I can get my hands on some quick cash, nervously hand it over to aforementioned sketchy drug dealer, and chase a neon dragon up the side of a chocolate mountain. Happy victimizing!
Hey there, beloved reader! Don’t stop reading yet. I enjoy writing and creating content for you, but I don’t get paid to do it just yet. Recently, I took on the Herculean task of fixing America and wrote a book on the subject; the very literal-titled “I’ll Fix America Tonight”. There is a a link where you can conveniently add the book to your Amazon cart (if you’re flush with about $20 in cash right now) or your wish list (if around $20 in cash is a little too much right now, but hypothetically not too much in the near future). Buy it, and help end poverty (namely my poverty). Thanks for reading!
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