No Love for Losers

As published at SubStack, 5/8/24:

[Tirana, 4/1/21]

I write often about ordinary people just trying to get by. After an article mentioning a retired lifelong worker in Philly who slept for free on someone’s floor, I got this comment:

I bought a camera at a yard sale over near the tire factory. I paid $6 for it, but the worker who bought it in 1963 paid $189 for it. I did the math. $189 in Coca Cola stock in 1963 would be $538,000 today.

Poverty is not a problem that money can solve. Most every yard sale I go to, even in the crappiest hoods, are festooned with Karaoke machines, G Foreman grills, flat-screen tvs, and boxes of movies on DVD. Poor people are poor because they follow the book “How to be broke forever, you Dummy” to the letter.

1) Do drugs 2) Get pregnant out of wedlock 3) Get divorced 4) Get arrested 5) Get tattoos 6) Borrow money 7) Gamble.

Since there’s no indication the man I described was a drugged or tatted up felon, borrowed money, gambled or was ever pregnant out of wedlock, why did “Anonymous” leave this comment? Granted, he’s divorced, but most American marriages end that way, often without the wish of one partner.

As for anyone’s failure to buy Coca Cola stocks in 1963, that’s just retarded. $189 back then equaled half a month’s wage for many people. After paying rent and buying grocery, there’s nothing left to invest. Plus, the national mood was optimistic. No one anticipated America would turn into a burning, half sinking ship filled with the angry, desperate or smug.

In 1982, I barely graduated from Thomas Jefferson High School in Northern Virginia. This was before it became an elite institution. My three closest friends were Brian Robertson, Phil Brenner and Kelvin Nash. Brian and Phil were freaks, meaning they smoked pot. It was easy enough to buy it at school. Kelvin, I played basketball with.

The Beatles’ “Lucy in the Sky with Diamond,” released in 1967, was a classic, as was Eric Clapton’s “Cocaine” (1977). Cheech and Chong’s Up in Smoke came out in 1978.

Another close friend was David Logue, a Beatles freak. Lennon was his favorite. The murdered singer’s responsible for “Tomorrow Never Knows” and “She Said She Said,” both inspired by LSD. “Doctor Robert” is about Lennon’s pill dispenser. “You’ll pay money just to see yourself.” Only nerds shun self-discovery.

In college, I smoked pot in the dorm and did coke with a professor. Later, I dropped acid at Dirty Frank’s. My main mood enhancer, though, was alcohol. I never liked clear liquor. Jameson was no nonsense and cheap enough. Hennessy was too expensive. Bailey’s was a comfort beverage reserved for special occasions. Liking its name, I guzzled Southern Comfort but found its sweetness embarrassing, so I stopped. Mostly, I drank local cheap beers Rolling Rock and Yuengling. When I could afford it, I ordered Guinness.

Growing up in America from the 60’s onward meant sampling, at least, all sorts of alcohols and drugs. As for pregnancy out of wedlock, it’s common enough with nonmarital sex constantly pushed. Incels don’t yearn for a spouse, just many fuckmates. As for incurring debts, it starts with going to college, then buying a car and house. The system is designed to keep you paying compound interest for life. Tattoos didn’t become a fad until the late 80’s, but now, every American child wants to be fabulously inked, just like his favorite singers, actors and athletes. Wanting or needing more than they can afford, many lapse into crime, starting with shoplifting and stealing from your boss. If the president on down is a thief, why not pinch a few items?

Growing up in the USA is mostly about conforming to a tribe, as defined by pop culture. At Jefferson, most kids belonged to the heavy metal one, as inflected by the South, so they listened to AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, Van Halen, Lynyrd Skynyrd and Charlie Daniels, etc. If you were into the Bee Gees, Chicago or KC and the Sunshine Band, you could expect to eat lunch alone. Despite all this, one could still define oneself independently. Two kids I knew were into Devo. Hearing Lester Bowie’s “Great Pretender” on WPFW in 1981, I was so excited, I called the station to gush. Brian and I listened attentively to Bix Beiderbecke, Jelly Roll Morton and Thelonious Monk. We saw his long-time collaborator, Charlie Rouse, in DC.

The increasing depravity of American pop culture is intentional. Concurrent with this is an indifference or hostility to high arts. There’s not much thinking left either. The mindless are easier to steer and stoke. Doped up and distracted, most have no idea why they’re going broke.

Broker than anyone is Uncle Sam. He spends money he doesn’t have on wars for Jews and Israel. With “FREEDOM,” “DEMOCRACY” and “HUMAN RIGHTS” tattooed on his neck, Samuel rapes the Statue of Liberty to spawn millions whose only hope is to enlist to kill and die for Lockheed Martin, Black Rock, Boeing, Raytheon, General Electrics, Goldman Sachs and Jews.

Illegal immigrants flooding in ensures there’s a constant pool of the desperate fighting over shit jobs. Dazed, impotent, isolated and overly horny, they’re liable to ingest anything just to feel a bit better after another impossibly long day. Thumping, monotonous music with idiotic or nonsensical lyrics reflects their scrambled brains.

The average rent for a Manhattan apartment is $4,831. In Los Angeles, it’s merely $2,691! Smirking at tent cities sprouting all over, there are those who think it’s still 1963. If a president could be shot without consequence, anything is possible.

Anyone with memories of 1963 has his finish line in sight. Raising his arms, he exudes over all he has achieved. Feeling so virile suddenly, he has to refrain from dropping his pants to show all these whiny losers what he’s made of.

When I was your age, I had already fought in several wars, started a profitable business, married a virgin and fathered kids who didn’t turn out homos or rappers. I also bought a fine house in a negro-free neighborhood for just $13,000. I only tried pot once and, just like Bill Clinton, I didn’t inhale. As online porn became widely available, I’ve limited myself to just one jerk off a day. Unlike you, I have discipline. My generation went to the moon.

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