One has to be very careful how one praises hatred, particularly when that "one" is a Southern white male of slaveholding stock. Which I am. So, to be clear from the start, the hatred I espouse isn't racial or sexist in the least little bit. I'm egalitarian in my hatred. I'm not a misogynist or a bigot. I hate pretty much everone. I'm a misanthropist.
Actually, that's not quite right. I'm really more of an Ignorist. If you're willfully stupid, I'm going to mock you and antagonistically dislike you regardless of your genitals or the color or religious affiliation they happen to possess. Fair warning.
Without further ado, here goes.
Southerners have long been said to hate groups and like individuals; northerners are said to like groups and hate individuals. I'm definitely Southern. Southerners are famously eccentric or quirky. We have to be. The weather down South is too damn hot to do much of anything so we, historically, have to sit still, usually on a porch. While we're sittin' we tend to get bored. We learn pretty quickly to amuse ourselves. Alcohol helps (plus, when you sweat booze and it evaporates in the breeze it's like biological A/C). At any rate, sauced up, uncomfortable, and bored, Southerners have long pondered that question that's been the goldmine of comedians since time immemorial: "What annoys me?"
Now, unfortunately, those without a properly attenuated sense of humor, when they've pondered that question, have gone on to cause all sorts of trouble (eg Ku Klux Klan, al Qaeda, the Inquisition, Nazis, etc.). As I'm firmly entrenched that there isn't much of anything worth getting truly worked up about (even as I get faux worked up about nearly everything), I make sure not to take anything so seriously as to upset myself. Thus, I take my drive to be annoyed and direct it to something meaningless that will, hopefully, stir up loads of indignation and give me something truly amusing to witness.
We all have the "us versus them" mentality in us. It's locked in our DNA. We are animals, after all. I'm aware of it though, so I play with it. The key to satire and the satiric mindset is to function on multiple levels. On one level you must see the big picture for the comedy of it, but for the other, you absolutely MUST embrace the idiocy of what you're mocking and take it to obscenely fervent levels. There's no indignation, there's no amusement, if anyone feels "eh."
Hatred is a building pressure. You need a safety valve. Hate builds in us (save for the Enlightened Few), much like lust. Just like lust, redirecting it is more intelligent than ignoring it or repressing it, but it's critical to express it appropriately. Thus, here's my hate masturbation.
Enter sports.
In the big picture, I could absolutely care less about a bunch of people playing games (On an even bigger picture level, who cares about games? On the biggest picture level, who cares about anything?). That's sensible. It's also very boring to feel that way. It's also slightly arrogant because it would seem to say that I am above the "us versus them." I'm not though; none of us really are, so I choose to care. Not only do I choose to care, but ultimately %#$! them.
%#$! them, fervently.
Thus it is that I happen to root for eighteen to twenty-two year old men from the University of South Carolina Football team running into others. Why do I identify with them? Sheer, dumb luck, honestly. Yeah, yeah, I can justify it by saying I went to that school, but then if I happened to go elsewhere, I'd care about that team instead. I'm from South Carolina and I'm a Philadelphia Eagles fan. Why? Because the first magazine I ever got had Randall Cunningham on the cover. Judge all you want. That's as good a reason as any. (I'm a New York Knicks fan because Patrick Ewing was on the cover the next month.)
The point being, it's fun to have a point. To have something to care about.
Caring and Love define us, so
Go Cocks!
But then so too does hate, so
@#$! UGA!
Georgia is a buffer colony of poor people who couldn't pay their bills. Carolina was the richest colony, but it was also disturbingly close to the heretical, marauding Spaniards in Florida. This would not do. The king had a rather brilliant solution. Empty the debtors prisons in England and make them think they were being given a privilege! Let them settle in the buffer (kill) zone between Carolina and Florida. The whole reason Georgia exists is to serve South Carolina. Let them plant peanuts and peaches and stay dirt poor and pathetic and they'd feel proud. Because pride typically is attached to a stigmatized group (Black, gay, Southern, etc).
Therefore, Georgians and the University of Georgia are all dumbasses who can't pay their bills and are preferred candidates for episodes of Cops and Teen Mom.
Go Cocks!
@#$! Clemson!
I don't have any historical explanation for it other than good old fashioned @#$! them.
Go Cocks!
Hate is not just a way to separate yourself from others; it's also a way to identify and bond. Yin. Yang. If I didn't hate, I wouldn't love. If I didn't love, I wouldn't care. If I didn't care, what's the point? If there's no point, there's no point.
Thus, in order to truly love,
Hate.
Hate.
Hate!
(Just remember somewhere deep down that none of it matters so you don't go acting like a true butthead)
Actually, that's not quite right. I'm really more of an Ignorist. If you're willfully stupid, I'm going to mock you and antagonistically dislike you regardless of your genitals or the color or religious affiliation they happen to possess. Fair warning.
Without further ado, here goes.
Southerners have long been said to hate groups and like individuals; northerners are said to like groups and hate individuals. I'm definitely Southern. Southerners are famously eccentric or quirky. We have to be. The weather down South is too damn hot to do much of anything so we, historically, have to sit still, usually on a porch. While we're sittin' we tend to get bored. We learn pretty quickly to amuse ourselves. Alcohol helps (plus, when you sweat booze and it evaporates in the breeze it's like biological A/C). At any rate, sauced up, uncomfortable, and bored, Southerners have long pondered that question that's been the goldmine of comedians since time immemorial: "What annoys me?"
Now, unfortunately, those without a properly attenuated sense of humor, when they've pondered that question, have gone on to cause all sorts of trouble (eg Ku Klux Klan, al Qaeda, the Inquisition, Nazis, etc.). As I'm firmly entrenched that there isn't much of anything worth getting truly worked up about (even as I get faux worked up about nearly everything), I make sure not to take anything so seriously as to upset myself. Thus, I take my drive to be annoyed and direct it to something meaningless that will, hopefully, stir up loads of indignation and give me something truly amusing to witness.
We all have the "us versus them" mentality in us. It's locked in our DNA. We are animals, after all. I'm aware of it though, so I play with it. The key to satire and the satiric mindset is to function on multiple levels. On one level you must see the big picture for the comedy of it, but for the other, you absolutely MUST embrace the idiocy of what you're mocking and take it to obscenely fervent levels. There's no indignation, there's no amusement, if anyone feels "eh."
Hatred is a building pressure. You need a safety valve. Hate builds in us (save for the Enlightened Few), much like lust. Just like lust, redirecting it is more intelligent than ignoring it or repressing it, but it's critical to express it appropriately. Thus, here's my hate masturbation.
Enter sports.
In the big picture, I could absolutely care less about a bunch of people playing games (On an even bigger picture level, who cares about games? On the biggest picture level, who cares about anything?). That's sensible. It's also very boring to feel that way. It's also slightly arrogant because it would seem to say that I am above the "us versus them." I'm not though; none of us really are, so I choose to care. Not only do I choose to care, but ultimately %#$! them.
%#$! them, fervently.
Thus it is that I happen to root for eighteen to twenty-two year old men from the University of South Carolina Football team running into others. Why do I identify with them? Sheer, dumb luck, honestly. Yeah, yeah, I can justify it by saying I went to that school, but then if I happened to go elsewhere, I'd care about that team instead. I'm from South Carolina and I'm a Philadelphia Eagles fan. Why? Because the first magazine I ever got had Randall Cunningham on the cover. Judge all you want. That's as good a reason as any. (I'm a New York Knicks fan because Patrick Ewing was on the cover the next month.)
The point being, it's fun to have a point. To have something to care about.
Caring and Love define us, so
Go Cocks!
But then so too does hate, so
@#$! UGA!
Georgia is a buffer colony of poor people who couldn't pay their bills. Carolina was the richest colony, but it was also disturbingly close to the heretical, marauding Spaniards in Florida. This would not do. The king had a rather brilliant solution. Empty the debtors prisons in England and make them think they were being given a privilege! Let them settle in the buffer (kill) zone between Carolina and Florida. The whole reason Georgia exists is to serve South Carolina. Let them plant peanuts and peaches and stay dirt poor and pathetic and they'd feel proud. Because pride typically is attached to a stigmatized group (Black, gay, Southern, etc).
Therefore, Georgians and the University of Georgia are all dumbasses who can't pay their bills and are preferred candidates for episodes of Cops and Teen Mom.
Go Cocks!
@#$! Clemson!
I don't have any historical explanation for it other than good old fashioned @#$! them.
Go Cocks!
Hate is not just a way to separate yourself from others; it's also a way to identify and bond. Yin. Yang. If I didn't hate, I wouldn't love. If I didn't love, I wouldn't care. If I didn't care, what's the point? If there's no point, there's no point.
Thus, in order to truly love,
Hate.
Hate.
Hate!
(Just remember somewhere deep down that none of it matters so you don't go acting like a true butthead)
7 comments:
where are the boobs?
That picture of Brad Scott sizing up his next sexual conquest is as good as boobs to a Clemson fan.
I've never been a college football fan. The NFL has been known to make me emotional enough to cry, however.
See, that last throwaway line is what stumps me about this whole line of thinking...
What's the difference between "being a butthead" and "acting like a true butthead"? Isn't that like the difference between repetitive, redundant, and tautological?
How fine is the line between "funny" and "hurtful"? Or is everyone that eventually gets tired of a barrage of faux nastiness weak/stupid?
I mean, I get the whole being-offensive-as-a-form-of-self-defense thing, and I *totally* understand the allure of surfing on multiple tiers of meaning in communication (especially with someone that seems self-aware). And yes, "The Opposite of Love is not Hate, it's Apathy", blahblahblah...
But how does the outsider/listener know whether the speaker "remember[s] somewhere deep down that none of it matters"? Or whether the speaker's actual intention is to willfully wound & deliberately denigrate?
(In the interest of full disclosure, these questions come from a strong-willed, socially evasive, borderline-Aspie that .Never.Forking.Understood. this aspect of socialization.)
(So, yes, I'm serious.)
Last thing:
How do you even know if anyone picked up on all (if any) of your layered meaning? And if people routinely miss out on it, does that make them stupid or you crazy?
Fine. You win. You hooked me at "alcohol" and sealed the deal at "Go Cocks!" Fill me with wives or take my babies or whatever...
hahahaha h8h8h8 let me direct you to the playa hata's ball, my man :) hate on
"Bucknasty!" was my trivia team name back in the states.
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