originally posted at Obnoxi.us, 29.04.2011
Most of what I write I publish on my other, primary blog, a place where I share my thoughts on all sorts of issues, from music to philosophy to current affairs and personal stuff. Over the time I’ve been doing this, I’ve developed a certain kind of persona – which is certainly me – reflective, balanced, polite. It’s me all right, but not all of me. There are certain other, darker, wilder parts of my personality which don’t really suit the persona of the author of Attempted Essays. He’s a cultivated, educated, middle-aged type. If he occasionally farts in public, he tries to cover it up, or looks embarrassed if somebody notices.
My Mr. Hyde is quite different. I think I’ll call him Frankie. Frankie will happily fart in public while simultaneously picking his nose and examining the boogers and if you don’t like it, well, that’s your fucking problem, isn’t it?
I have to warn you, I have no idea what he’s going to do when I let him out. I fear he may disgrace me, the way the characters of my great compatriot Brian O’Nolan, a.k.a. Flann O’Brian, a.k.a. Myles na gCopaleen frequently rebelled against their author and creator …
Frankie Jaysus, Hunt, will you cut out the fucking bullshit, for chrissakes? Bollocking on about obscure metafictional Irish authors. This is an American website, you don’t think any of those ignorant Yanks are going to understand what you’re on about, other than a few frustrated professors of English lit, oogling their nubile co-eds and wanking into their bed sheets at night?
Americans! Jesus wept! It takes some kind of arrogance to appropriate the name of two continents and use it to designate themselves. What about the Mexicans? Or the Canadians? Or the fucking Costa Ricans or Brazilians? Aren’t they just as much Americans too? The correct name for them is
Americans, but they’re so bloody
arrogant, they can’t even realise that this might be an issue for others. U.S.
Sweet land of liberty. Founded on an act of genocide and ethnic cleansing so monumental that Slobodan Milošević looked like a choirboy in comparison. But if you call it “Manifest Destiny” then it’s all right. It doesn’t even register. Oh yes, you can do a Dances with Wolves Hollywood catharsis but when you come out of the cinema in most of the USA the only Indian remnant around is the name of the state or the river. Dances with Wolves is a great example of the American Dream, Kevin Costner earning millions out of a sanitised noble savage guilt trip, with the guilt only lasting as long as it takes to drive your pickup to the next McDonalds.
So what about the Indians? Those who’ve wised up and aren’t lying drunk in their own piss on some reservation have finally achieved the ultimate revenge, making money on the white man’s addiction to gambling. Bury my heart at
Wounded Knee? Yeah,
and bury my money in the Foxwoods Casino.
This is a country where they pride themselves on being the best in the world – where there is a collective belief that their history which has made them the richest and most powerful country in the world proves this. Well, big deal, I say – it’s not all that difficult when you have the entire resources of half a continent to exploit in a few hundred years; from the coal mines of Kentucky to the California gold, from the lobster banks of Maine to the oil fields of the Gulf. And all that rich farming land too, once you’ve dealt with a few minor annoyances like Indians, buffaloes and forests – from sea to shining fucking sea, even if some of that shining has been from the sun’s rays scintillating on spilled oil recently.
Ah well, no matter, it’s always been the American attitude that, if you break something, hell, you just move on and find something else. That’s what the frontier’s for. Go west, young man, and leave the ghost town and the Dust Bowl behind. Of course, even back in the thirties that didn’t really work any more as Okies like the Joads discovered. Brand new state, gonna treat you great! So what do you do when you run out of frontier? Why, you set up an empire and take over the world! And if you break things there, like in
Vietnam or , you just
move right on there too. And don’t you just love the smell of napalm in the
Oh, it’s God’s country all right, where at the age of nineteen you can vote, and join the marines and see the world, meet interesting people and kill them, and get executed for committing murder but where you can’t go out and buy a drink. From the halls of Montezuma to the shores of
Semper fi, but this time let’s do Tripoli with drones, it’s neater. Oorah! Tripoli
But what can you expect from a country where nearly half the citizens still believe that God created the world in six days? And that he then planted the fossil records which prove otherwise – as some kind of test. They haven’t learned anything since the Scopes Monkey Trial, for chrissakes! This is a country where millions apparently refuse to accept that their President was born in the country, despite incontrovertible documentary evidence to the contrary – but this has nothing to do with the fact that he happens to be a nigger with Hussein as his middle name. And these are the same people who claim the right to arm themselves to the teeth in case their neighbour tries to break into their house.
When I think about it, if I had fucking neighbours like that, I’d want a gun too.
I think I’ll give Charlie Sheen a call and ask him if he feels like a night on the town …