The Bullshit Brigade

Membership is free just about anywhere in the free, or not so free, world.

There they be, gathered together: nonsectarian, sectarian, agrarian, religious, persuasions of every imaginable ilk; cut evenly or torn in unmistakably boorish fashion; clear-skinned yet unmercifully pocked by every imaginable disease of deceitful presentation devised by their fellow man.

The colors of the rainbow outdone by an equally assertive arbiter of life unexplained.

In no predetermined order: black, not really black, brown, not really brown, white, well not really white unless you’re a house (like in Washington D.C.). Of course, all the devised colors of the rainbow actually do nothing as a helping hand when trying to glean the inspirational depth of a man’s heart or mind. Like all the vast majority of words relayed to us through the centuries, describing a man’s intellectual worth by the mere use of a color exemplifies the true meaning of non sequitur.

Men and women, boys and girls, aunts and uncles, mothers and fathers, grandparents, and those without parents, assembled by their own free will. Friends and enemies blended together worldwide in what has become known to all. Injected uncommonly by buttons, so soft and soundless but still unconsciously able to notify the world by the simple use of the ugliest of fingers. Without the benefit of Herald Angels singing, our society has become accustomed to a new form of athleticism: Dexterous Thumbs. Dexterous Thumbs are the odorless conductor of our latest blemish: the text or texting.

Thusly, comes a new art form of continuous bullshit.

From thumbs to keyboard, to sight or sound, it comes without the necessity of formal research.

• No real education required

• None desired

• Music of this day

• Lacking candlelight

• Dancing without touching

• Electricity is profound

• No reading, just sound

• Who’s Hemingway anyway?

• Thank goodness he’s not around!

• I love my thumbs

• But give me a break (I don’t mean my thumbs)

• When there’s need to pick up leaves

• Reach for a rake (texting won’t help you!)

Please attempt to understand my salient position points:

• I hate my cell phone.

• I hate my fax machine.

• People in general annoy me.

• Did I mention how I dislike politicians? (Sorry about the redundancy; I do suppose most politicians fall into the people category.)

“In individuals, insanity is rare; but in groups, parties, nations and epochs, it is the rule.”
Friedrich Nietzsche

So you will please take pity on me, and try to excuse my biased abstract. In other words, “What in the name of hell is da harv ranting about now?” If you think I’m truly ranting, I resent your assertions.

Here’s my point, in a proverbial nutshell…. By the way, too bad they don’t sell proverbial nuts at the local grocers; we’d all be better off. Right now, our lives would be better served if we used terms more succinctly stated. What if everyone in your day-to-day carryings managed total candidness? Supposing you asked an important, or not so important, question of another human being (as opposed to talking to your pet, especially an arrogant cat) and said other human being responded with total truth.

What a concept! No ciphering; no delays. You are able to listen, unencumbered and not distraught over realigns of what you might have had planned for your day, or week, or month, or perhaps even the rest of your life. Now, extrapolate the condition you find yourself in. Permit me to explain the scene I’ve concocted for you. When I speak of people annoying me, my feelings could be translated by me saying, “People waste my time by not being candid and by not listening or showing any degree of concentration concerning what I have to say.”

(Especially where actors are concerned) The non-listener and confirmed fibber is usually a charter member in any number of local, regional, and or national “Bullshit Brigades.”

“What it boils down to is chain pulling. Pulling a person’s chain causes pain.”
HK

During a five-minute brief confab with a supposed close friend or neighbor, that neighbor proceeds to tell you a variety of little white lies. Let’s say you’re loss is no more than five minutes. But here’s what we know for sure: those five minutes are gone forever.

But it’s much more serious than that. What about the neighbor? He or she has also been lost to the world for an equal amount of time. Make that a total of ten minutes between the two of you. Multiply it out. How many folks do you come in contact with each and every day who infringe on your life cycle?

NOTE: The older you become the more credence you will give to the little slice of life I have depicted.

“Boy I wish I could have that to do all over again.”

(You and a lot of other people.)