Thomas Ligotti

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Thomas Ligotti is my kind of guy, sorta.  He always expects the worst.  He spends all his time worrying about how he’s going to suffer and die and expects that everyone else is just the same, except some of us are better at fooling ourselves about the outcome.  That makes him mad.  He thinks all the folks that don’t worry about dying and suffering are deceiving themselves and just distracting themselves with ideas of afterlives or just having a good time, you know, trying not to think about it.  And he’s right, but these other folks are a whole lot happier than he is.  Now we can see the real problem, sorta.

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Ligotti has a big head, a really big head and that’s why he thinks about all these dreary things all the time instead of watching television or playing golf.  He’s always talking about how consciousness and self awareness are a tragedy and a curse on humankind; a crappy adaptation that evolution sneaked in there.  The thing he forgets is most people are really unconscious most of the time anyway, even when they’re not sleeping; they’re clueless about this kind of stuff, so why does he want to remind them and take them into his pity party?  Leave them alone with their fairy tale lives.  Don’t bring ’em down.  Don’t rain on their parade.  Not enough hobbies I guess.  Not enough television.  Not enough high speed internet downloading those “short films.”

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Well what’s Ligotti’s answer?  Don’t have any kids.  That’s it.  What, you say?  That makes him feel better about things?  Yeah, his basic argument is that by having kids we doom all the future generations to the suffering and death we have so we shouldn’t have any:  antinatalism they call it.  Let the species die out.  Well if Ligotti had any kids he wouldn’t be worrying about his great grandbaby’s suffering, he’d be worrying about his own suffering trying to deal with his own kids, getting them through college and boyfriends, etc.  I bet his parents suffered plenty with him.  Forget about future generation’s suffering.  Besides his kids would be the kind that would suffer because all the bullies would rag them about their egghead dad.

I think his problem maybe is really low testosterone and therefore low sperm count.  He isn’t gettin’ it on enough.  Only those coffin chicks would even consider hangin’ out with him he’s so dreary and down.  He needs to jerk it more too, take some of the tension and pressure off it.  He can’t have kids so he wants us to join him.  Sour grapes.

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Ligotti writes a horror story about once every decade or so, when he isn’t feeling sorry for himself and the rest of us.  They’re pretty good, but enigmatic.  Now I don’t expect you to understand a word like that, nor a story like that, because you are correctly spending your time feeling good and not worrying about future generation’s suffering or how the joke’s on us.  Stay away from funerals.  Hide the razorblades.

Sure, we’re all going to step off the pier sometime, but why waste any time thinking about that?  Remember I told you to always expect the worst, so now that that’s over let’s move on to feelin’ good.

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I’ve given you all the prescription you need in this blog to quit thinking about that dirt nap:  TV, NCIS, loud music, giant monster movies, malt liquor.  So, mix up some cocktails and turn on the wide screen to some NCIS and put a Chuck Berry record on that stereo set ’cause we’re goin’ out with a buzz in our heads and a smile on our faces.

What’s so bad about feelin’ good for the rest of your miserable little life?

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Bring May Flowers…

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Well, Walpurgisnacht went pretty well this year:  sixty children in, thirty seven out.  Not great, but okay.  You can’t compare the US to the Old Country.

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Today is May Day for all you doomed atheist communists (get it while you can!) and ironically All Saints Day for the blessed.  Fancy that.

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Still working on that pharma expose but I’ve got to keep a low profile since I’ve been targeted by the big prescription drug cartel.

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I fingered a drunk driver today.  I used to drink so it’s fun to get a little revenge for the bitterness of quitting.  I’m such a nice guy.

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IPA My Ass

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Pretty cool, two April Fool’s jokes on the same blog?  Woot helped me out, but I did most of the heavy lifting.  You saps went for it hook, line, and, sinker!  All around the world even!  Did that make my day, or what?  I told you I’m putting in 110% for you and there you are, proof positive.  Your dreary world got that much brighter because I put down the US government spies in a daft way and slipped (pun intended!) that Rhonda Shear bra thing in as well.  Wasn’t that a hoot?  I even thought about buying one myself just to show Woot my appreciation, but I’m not that dumb or wealthy.

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No May Day posts though.  It’s a communist pagan holiday like Labor Day.  We don’t go for that here.  Communism is like an enforced D minus effort and Liberty is what we are about; even if everyone would be better off in a D minus world.  If you are stupid enough to not follow my easy, I mean easy, like no effort at all, life principles, well that’s your problem and I’ll defend your right to choose that desperate way of life all the way to the point where I have to use you as a human shield to defend that principle.  Like I’ve said before, I’ve got your back even if you choose to be a human sandbag for me.

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Whoa, steady in the boat there boy.  I got a little worked up.  Someday I’ll tell you why communism is the only thing worse than rampant capitalism as a world system (I know one is economic and the other is political, I’m not a ‘tard).  Some other day when you are ready for it.  Not now.  All things in good time.

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Okay here is another heads up and on-target essay so pay attention, no napping. The swill we used to call Malt Liquor is now referred to as Ale.  Yeah, the high alcohol content brew that was for low-down drinking is now being foisted off on the public under designer and “craft” brew labels as India Pale Ale.  Now I don’t drink anymore ’cause it interferes with my ability to try to make your life better, but I used to drink, a lot, and you can make of that what you want but right now today it makes me better than a swill-head like you so listen up.

When I used to buy a case of Mickey’s in college people gave me a hard time.  They said I was going downscale ethnically.  Being a man who ignored the bigot, I bought it anyway, better buzz, better value.

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Well some bootleggers keen on evading government taxes got the bright idea if they could convince lawmakers to waive the tax on “amateur” brewing for “home” use it would be a good idea, for them.  No doubt some grease was applied.  ‘Nuff said.

Then these so-called home brewers wanted to share some of their 20 proof bathtub jack with their “friends,” and maybe serve some ribs on the side, so voila, the brewpub was born, again tax free with a little more lubricant applied. Now these clever entrepreneurs figured if they could convince the gullible, ie you, that this brew pub thing was upscale, then they could pick 5 bucks off you for a glass of their hooch.  They quit calling it just beer and created the craft lager and ale market.

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From there it was just a matter of scaling things up and signing up more rubes (with some more grease, of course) to buy their dishwater basement brau in the supermarket or gas station.  All that for what we used to call cheap malt liquor. The stuff is nasty, bitter and sweet flavored at the same time.  Then they started throwing apples, blueberries, oranges, and similar adulterants in to get the ladies onboard.  Chumps and snobs.

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Now you can’t get a Budweiser in a bar for all the taps that are dedicated to these and other “imported” (from Canada) bathtub gray water beverages. Well, you can just drink this overpriced crap with dead rats in it if you want.  If I want a malt liquor, I’m getting a Mickey’s or a Cobra, something that burns going down, not something that gives you a sinus headache and makes my breath smell like Chanel No. 5.  Go for it, it’s not my money.

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I’m working up a Wiccan article for Walpurgisnacht, April 30, so just be patient, and if I don’t give you one, well if you are following this blog you are also used to being disappointed, and you expected as much, so it can’t get any worse now, can it? Have a Nice Day!  Go pop one for me.

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