Grandpa Steiner Saves the World (from Illegal Aliens (from Space))
by Eric Muss-Barnes

Table Of Contents

Grandpa Steiner Saves the World (from Illegal Aliens (from Space))

by Eric Muss-Barnes

Title
Copyright
Donations
Dedication
Books by Eric Muss-Barnes
Proem
Opening Quote
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Closing Quote
Epilogue
Biography
Other books by Eric Muss-Barnes
Colophon
Back Cover

Copyright © 2015 Eric Muss-Barnes. All Rights Reserved.

All rights reserved under the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, the Universal Copyright Convention and the Berne Convention For The Protection Of Literary And Artistic Works. The author of this book, Eric Muss-Barnes, secures all rights to this book, including the right to reproduce this book in whole or in part, in any form whatsoever, and extends such privileges to absolutely no other parties, individuals or companies. Not including eBook exemptions of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, no part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, in whole or in part, by any electronic, mechanical, or other means including, but not limited to, all existing and yet to be invented information duplicating, storage or retrieval systems, without specific permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages.

Published by Eric Muss-Barnes at Dubh Sith Ink

All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Hardcover, paperback, and ebook editions of this book contain the complete and identical text. Not one word has been altered or omitted.

Address all correspondence and order inquiries to:
www.DubhSithInk.com

Cover designed and created by Eric Muss-Barnes

PRINTED AND MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

First International Printing: March 2015 (On Demand)

Donations

Dear Reader,

As a writer, the most important reason I publish my books is so good folks like yourself can read and enjoy them. Therefore, in order to make my writing available to the largest possible audience, I have decided to make all of my ebooks available for whatever price readers think is fair.

Here is how it works...

You can download any of my ebooks for free and donate money for it later. Instead of having a set cover price, you can visit www.DubhSithInk.com and give whatever you think this ebook is worth. $1.00 or $5.00 or $50.00 or $18.63 or a nickel. Anything you want. Only you can decide how much value my writing brings your life.

If you can't afford to pay for this ebook, please share a copy with people in your life who would enjoy the story. Some friends. A few family members. A couple coworkers. Anybody you like. Or perhaps, you might be kind enough to write a glowing review for this ebook on the Internet? Whatever helps my writing gain a larger readership is just as generous as a monetary donation.

Perhaps I am naïve in thinking I can earn a living by giving away my stories and requesting donations, instead of selling this ebook for a set price. Nevertheless, in a world where greed and digital piracy has divided people into thieves and misers, I believe readers will gladly spend hard-earned money to support writers who pen worthwhile tales. I believe you are exactly that sort of reader, and I humbly hope you will regard me as that kind of writer.

Thank you for your time. May your few short hours spent with this story enrich all the remaining decades of your life.

Respectfully,

Eric Muss-Barnes

www.DubhSithInk.com

Dedication

Grandpa Steiner Saves the World (from Illegal Aliens (from Space))
is dedicated to
everyone who speaks their mind
misfits with unpopular opinions
those who give an honest answer
the youth who cling to tradition
the elderly who embrace change
patriots oathbound to preserve and defend the Bill of Rights
anyone who calls it like they see it
men and women who believe nobility is more than a word
idealists who toil to improve the world
and most of all...
to everyone who has been vilified
for doing such admirable things

Books by Eric Muss-Barnes

Speculative Fiction & Novels

The Gothic Rainbow: Beginning Volume of The Vampire Noctuaries

Annwn’s Maelstrom Festival: Concluding Volume of The Vampire Noctuaries

The Page of Wands

Voodoo & Loveshadow

Grandpa Steiner Saves the World (from Illegal Aliens (from Space))

Non-Fiction & Memoirs

How You Can Get a Job at Walt Disney Studios Without a College Degree

Schooling Your Boss to not Suck

Short Story Anthologies

Tales from The Dark Tower: “Born of the Night”

The Skateboarder’s Journal - Lives on Board 1949-2009: “Origins”

Horrible Poetry He Wrote As A Teenager

Forever Loving You

Proem

This is author Eric Muss-Barnes and I want to remind readers...

This story is a work of fiction.

Allow me to repeat that...

THIS STORY IS A WORK OF FICTION!

That means it's not real.

That means the conversations and events herein never happened.

That means the opinions and views expressed by the characters do not reflect my views and opinions of the world. They are made up. Fake. Phony. Imaginary. Makebelieve. Fabricated. Illusions. Bullshit. Hogwash. Malarkey. Lies. Phony... Wait. I already used that word.

My point is, although it may address serious social issues, this is a story written for lighthearted entertainment. This book should never be misconstrued as a political or theistic manifesto anymore than a fortune cookie qualifies as a legally binding contract. No violent or seditious actions nor dialog spoken by any characters in this story should ever be imitated or condoned by anyone.

The story isn’t real.

The characters aren’t real.

None of this has ever happened. Everything is bogus.

Do I make myself clear?

Grandpa Steiner is offensive. He can piss off just about everyone.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

The character of Grandpa Steiner is a cranky old man who throws around racial/theological/sexist slurs as nonchalantly as kids tossing jelly beans into their mouths. He’s a good person deep inside, but he’s angry, because he sees the morality, ideals and ethics of his day and age being stripped away and replaced with decadence.

If you’re easily offended, don’t read this book...

Come to think of it...

Only read this book if you’re an atheistic, Caucasian, heterosexual, chauvinistic male over the age of 50.

Otherwise, something in here is bound to insult you.

Heck, Grandpa Steiner often offends me and I wrote his story!

Therefore, as the author of this book, I want to clearly and explicitly reiterate, I do not agree with everything Grandpa Steiner says or thinks.

He’s fiction. Not real. The man doesn’t exist.

Please don’t read his opinions, get full of hate and anger, and end up lashing out at me, the author, because you disagree with the opinions of a fictional character. Okay? Let me make that abundantly evident right from the start. Don’t send me angry hate mail because of an imaginary person.

This story is a work of fiction. Remember?

Fiction.

Fable. Myth. Fairy tale.

Grandpa Steiner is imaginary. Not. A. Real. Person.

Got it?

Stephen King isn’t a teenage girl killing everyone at prom.

J.R.R. Tolkien isn’t the Dark Lord Sauron.

Danielle Steele (probably) never fucked Fabio in a horse stable.

I’m not a grumpy old coot named Grandpa Steiner.

Understand?

Do me one favor.

When the opinions of Grandpa Steiner become terribly offensive to you (and they will), don’t stop reading the book. Give the old man a chance. Let the story progress. As horrible as you may find Grandpa Steiner in one chapter, you may agree with his viewpoints in the next. Allow yourself the open mindedness to contemplate attitudes you may not like. Broaden your horizons. There’s no harm in hearing an outlook which may offend your sensibilities. That’s how we learn to be critical thinkers and construct a strong foundation of values and morality.

Fair enough?

This book is simply meant to be entertaining. A mirror held up to reflect the crazy attitudes people have towards other people. The things we fight and argue about as a culture (and a species) can be very strange. With all the taboo things we self-regulate ourselves into not saying, this story is intended to speak the socially forbidden things no one says and show just how weird and nutty we human beings can be.

“Shortly after arriving in LA, we found out we were staying at a hotel called The Standard. It’s a fancy overpriced hotel in the middle of Hollywood strip. In my opinion, the hotel sucked. It was a trendy, weirdo, homo, California, ‘I-think-I’m-cool’ type of place. My wife just told me that you can’t say ‘homo’, so if you’re offended, I’m sorry your homo little feelings got hurt. Seems like the whole world is turning homo, but you can’t talk about it.”

- Jay Adams

Professional Dogtown Skateboarder & Surfer

Juice Magazine - Issue#59

Chapter One

Grandpa Steiner was hit with the odor of fluorescent lights and dusty linoleum as the rubber floormat magically opened the automatic doors of Discount Drug Mart.

There to pick up her monthly prescription, Grandma Steiner walked a few feet ahead of Grandpa. As usual, he shuffled more than walked. Taking his good old time.

The security guard, a rather hefty black woman with a thick ghetto accent, greeted Grandma Steiner as she walked past. “Good afta’noon, ma’am. Welcome to Discoun’ Drug Mawt.”

“Hello,” Grandma Steiner said with a friendly smile.

“Good af’noon, sir. How is you today?” The security guard asked.

Grandpa Steiner frowned and grumbled, “Oh, I’m pussy good!”

The checkout lines froze.

The security guard gasped.

“Grandpa!” Grandma chided in shock.

The security guard turned to one of the cashiers, “Did ya’ll hear dat!? Ya’ll hear what dat ol’ man said to me!?”

Grandpa Steiner smirked his little mischievous grin and continued shuffling. Grandma wasn’t about to let him get off so easy. “What’s the matter with you? Honestly! Talking like that.”

“Oh,” Grandpa Steiner brushed her words, “I’m just joking around.”

“Well, I’m not laughing. You think that’s supposed to be funny?”

Grandpa Steiner wanted to say, “I know it’s supposed to be funny.” But, in the interest of marital diplomacy, he said nothing.

“What am I going to do with you?” Grandma Steiner asked the bars of soap lining the aisle as they walked.

Grandpa Steiner giggled to himself. Funny how people could get in such a tizzy over something so innocuous. He wore his age comfortably and proudly, loving that he had finally reached the years where he could be the “dirty old man”. At long last, he could revel in his time. He wanted to be a dirty old man when he was 22 years old, but when he was that young, people just called him a “jerk”. At 32, he was “creepy”. At 42, he was a “pervert”. Now, he had finally graduated to “dirty old man”. Bliss.

The couple made their way to the pharmacy. Ever the gentleman to his loving wife, Grandpa Steiner waited in line on her behalf while Grandma, sitting on a bench between the condom display and the vitamin rack, read some women’s magazines.

She was still fuming at him.

Grandpa Steiner had forgotten all about it by the time he reached the counter.

“Hey, Mr. Steiner,” the assistant pharmacist grinned, taking his paperwork.

“Hey, Annie. Been behaving yourself?” Grandpa wore his dentures today and flashed the cute young assistant that dazzling porcelain smile.

“Of course!” Annie blushed. Sure, he was naughty, but she loved the playful attention of dirty old Grandpa Steiner.

“Ain’t been having any fun then, have you?” Grandpa Steiner winked.

Annie laughed politely, as if she hadn’t heard him tell that same joke every single month.

Grandma Steiner would have rolled her eyes, but after so many decades of marriage, husbands and wives just start to tune each other out. Grandma may have still been angry over the “pussy good” remark, but when Grandpa Steiner made the joke about misbehaving, she didn’t even hear him say that wisecrack anymore.

Annie handed the medication over to Grandpa Steiner. “Have a nice afternoon.”

“You too, Annie.”

“Bye, bye, now.”

“So long.”

Grandma grabbed her purse and the two made their way back to the checkout counter.

“That’s him. Right there,” the security guard pointed at Grandpa Steiner and the two police officers approached him.

“Sir, may I see some identification?” One officer asked.

“Identification? Sure. What’s this about?” Grandpa Steiner handed over his driver’s license.

“What’s this all about?” Grandma Steiner repeated.

“Please step aside ma’am.” The cop shoved out a hand, pushing Grandma Steiner away from the checkout aisle.

“Mr. Steiner,” the police officer motioned the license at the security guard, “did you speak to Ms. Hayes upon entering the store today?”

“Yes. I just - ”

“ - Did you touch Ms. Hayes upon entering the store today?”

Grandpa Steiner looked confused, “Touch her? No. I never touc - ”

“ - Sir, please place your hands on the counter.”

“What?” Grandpa Steiner asked, “Why?”

“Place your hands upon the counter, sir.”

Grandpa Steiner complied and the police officers handcuffed him.

As he was frisked, they found a 1911 in his belt.

“Sir, do you have a permit for this sidearm?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve been registered to carry since 1972. My permit is in my wallet.”

Other customers gasped. One of them had been shooting video of everything with his cellphone. “Cool!”

Grandma Steiner asked, “What are you doing!? What’s going on?”

“Please step aside, ma’am.” The police officer told Grandma Steiner. “I won’t ask you again.”

The second police officer explained to Grandpa Steiner, “Sir, we have a statement from the security guard, Ms. Hayes, and from two eyewitness accounts that upon entering the store today, you used profane language and touched Ms. Hayes in an inappropriate manner.”

“Touched her? I never touched her. This is ridiculous! I just made a little joke.” Grandpa Steiner protested.

“Groping women’s bodies is not a joke, sir.” The officer said angrily.

“He never touched her! This is crazy!” Grandma Steiner defended.

The police continued, “Mr. Steiner, you are under arrest for physical assault, disorderly conduct and sexual harassment and illegal possession of a firearm.”

“Illegal!?” Grandma Steiner yelled. “He just told you he has a permit!”

Ignoring her, the police continued, “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney and to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand your rights as I have explained them to you?”

“This is crazy!”

“Sir, if you continue to resist this arrest, I am authorized to use force to restrain you. Now, are you going to resist any further?”

“I’m not resisting. No, sir.”

“Do you understand your rights as I have explained them to you?”

Grandpa Steiner confirmed, “Yes, I understand. I’m not resisting.”

The police started to lead Grandpa Steiner out to their squadcar.

“Wait!” Grandma Steiner called. “You can’t just take him like this!”

Some customers clapped.

Others cheered.

“Sexual predator!”

“Rapist!”

“Serves you right, old pervert!” Shouted the security guard, Ms. Hayes.

The store manager, who was standing in the doorway of his office the whole time, cast Ms. Hayes a disapproving look.

“What?” Ms. Hayes asked in her thick Ebonics accent. “I ain’t toleratin’ no disrespectin’! That’ll teach yo’ old cracka ass to speak that way to a strong black woman!”

“He was totally disrespectful.” A gum-popping cashier agreed.

The manager was proud of his employees and grateful they remained level-headed in the face of such a violent and subversive man. Resisting arrest. Assault. Disorderly conduct. Sexual harassment. Who would have known such a gentle-looking man could be such a menace to the public?

“Alright, people. Back to work.” The manager ordered. “Ms. Hayes, I understand this has been a difficult day for you. If you wish, you can take off the remainder of the afternoon.”

“Damn right, I will! With pay! You ain’t dockin’ no pay!”

“No, ma’am. With pay.”

“Damn straight. I knows my rights!” Ms. Hayes walked through the nearest Employees Only door and disappeared. As she walked back to the breakroom, her nappy empty-headed-skull proudly swam with the misinformation that she was entitled to many rights that were not actually afforded to her at all. Ignorantly mumbling, she threatened she’d “call the ALC and report yo’ white ass” if her boss docked her pay. Ms. Hayes had no idea that she meant the ACLU - American Civil Liberties Union - because she was too uneducated to know she had the abbreviation wrong.

The manager walked back to the pharmacy, to see if the assistant pharmacist, Annie, also needed to press charges against the sexual predator, Grandpa Steiner.

Annie, cowardly fearing her job might be at stake if she didn’t conform and complain, pretended to have felt a little uncomfortable by Grandpa Steiner’s remarks, despite the fact that his comments never upset her in the slightest.

Ω

Forty years earlier...

Ω

Spanky was 3 years old when he rubbed the magic genie lamp.

“I wish Cotton was a monkey. I wish Cotton was a monkey!”

Cotton was a little black boy, even younger than Spanky. Turning to Cotton, Spanky informed him, “Hey, Cotton. I wish you was a monkey.”

Cotton nodded, “Okay.”

Cotton’s older brother, Stymie, scolded Spanky, telling him, “Hey, be careful whatchoo wishin’ fo’! That lamp might work!”

“All he needs is a tail!”

Ω

President Herbert of Tau Ceti had watched this Earth broadcast a dozen times in the past 3 days, and he still drowned in tears of laughter everytime he saw it.

News of The Little Rascals broadcast, including the A Lad an’ a Lamp episode from 1932, had quickly spread around the universe. Finally, the bald monkeys of Earth appeared able to have enough self-deprecating humor to laugh at their differences and celebrate life. Plus, they had at long last gained the technology for interstellar broadcasts. Granted, it was still on primitive visible radiowave frequencies, existing only in the physical dimensions, but it showed a promise few species typically exhibit, until much later in their evolutionary process.

Perhaps the bald monkeys, on the little beacon of Earth, were finally ready to be part of the interstellar community.

After a brief debate with The Intergalactic Counsel, it was unanimously decided - Tau Ceti would make formal contact with Earth and invite the bald monkeys to join the interstellar community. They were still primitive and would only be Charter Members for an introductory millennium, but in the subsequent centuries, they may have something of value to contribute to the universe. At last, they had proven themselves worthy of the proper maturity and technological advances to claim a representative seat with the governing body which determines the fate of all biosphere planets in the galaxy.

An armada of goodwill ships were sent immediately.

Within a few short Earth decades, they would arrive.

Spanky McFarlane became an unwitting ambassador for all mankind.

At last, humanity would be given the answer to the ageless question:

No. We are not alone in the universe.

Ω

Sophie Kember and her husband, Ryan, pulled into the Discount Drug Mart parking lot to pick up her mother, Grandma Steiner. Since Grandma Steiner never got a drivers license, she was stranded and couldn’t drive herself home once Grandpa was taken away.

While Grandma Steiner’s son-in-law took Grandpa Steiner’s car to the police station to pick him up, Sophie drove her mother home.

“He said what?” Sophie asked, stopping at the next traffic light.

“Don’t make me repeat that. I said the security lady asked how he was doing and your father said, ‘Oh, I’m doing pussy good.’” Grandma Steiner furiously shook her head at the window, not even looking at her daughter.

Sophie pursed her lips and was nearly in tears as she tried to hold back her laughter. She knew if she so much as chuckled, her mother would have a conniption.

Sophie didn’t approve of what her father had done.

Ordinarily, she probably wouldn’t have even laughed.

But, somehow, hearing her prim and proper mother tell the story made it hilarious.

“That’s terrible!” Sophie said. Speaking made it easier to keep from laughing, so she talked more, “Why on earth would he say something like that?”

“I. Don’t. Know. You know your father. Always trying to be a smart-alack.”

Sophie wrinkled her face at the windshield. “Well, mom, I can’t believe they arrested him for that! That’s crazy!”

Grandma Steiner patted her purse in her lap. “Oh, the people loved it too! You should have seen them in the store. They all thought he deserved it! I won’t be shopping there anymore.”

Grandma Steiner began to weep.

Maybe her husband was a dirty old man, but he was harmless. He certainly didn’t deserve to be humiliated in public in such a way. Not for such an idle comment. Grandma Steiner didn’t find it amusing, but he was only kidding. You don’t throw people in jail for making a joke! Even if the joke is tasteless. What was this world coming to?

“Mom? Mom, are you okay?” Sophie reached a hand toward her mom while trying to keep her eyes on the road.

Grandma Steiner cried, “No, I’m not okay! They arrested him! They arrested your father for that! They just pushed me aside and took him away! That’s not right! They can’t do that to people!”

“I know, mom.”

“He fought a war for this country! Then he makes a joke to some damn colored woman and he gets thrown in jail? How is that right?” Her lower lip trembled as she dug in her purse for some tissues.

“Don’t cry, mom. Ryan will bring dad right back home.”

“I know. I know. Damn coloreds.”

Sophie wasn’t about to correct her mother and tell her the proper term was African American. Since her mother was upset, Sophie just let it go. Instead, Sophie said, “I’m sure a white security guard would have called the police too.”

“Oh, you know what I mean!” Her mother replied. “That stupid... bitch.” Grandma Steiner put her hand over her mouth. She wasn’t the type to talk that way. “Sorry. But that’s what she is!”

“I know, mom. You’re right.” Sophie gave people too much credit and consequently, she didn’t honestly think the security guard was a bitch, but she just wanted to comfort her mother.

Had Sophie understood people better, she’d know Ms. Hayes was a bitch and three-quarters with a piss-flavored cherry on top.

Ω

“Well, I hope you’re happy now!” Grandma Steiner threw down her dishrag and yelled at her husband the moment he walked in the door. Ryan was right behind him. He spotted his wife in the room and gave her a quick shrug.

Sophie motioned to Ryan, so they could leave her parents alone.

As Ryan and Sophie exited the kitchen, Grandpa Steiner looked at his wife and said, “Well.”

A long pause followed.

Glaring at him, Grandma Steiner grew even more furious as silence hung in the air and looped into a noose. “‘Well?’ That’s all you have to say? ‘Well!?’ Honestly! What happens if you go to jail? How do you expect me to get by? Do you even think of anything but yourself?”

“Now, pipe down!” Grandpa Steiner held up his hand, “I didn’t do this on purpose.”

“Well, why don’t you think before you say those kind of things? You just think you’re being funny? Now look where it gets you!”

Grandpa Steiner wasn’t embarrassed. He wasn’t ashamed. He really didn’t give a fuck.

But he did love his wife. Very much.

And he knew this whole thing was upsetting for her.

And for that, Grandpa Steiner was truly sorry.

In that moment, Grandpa Steiner realized he shouldn’t try to defend himself. He would simply apologize to her and do all he could to make it up to her. What was done to him was wrong and clearly an injustice, but that didn’t matter. His wife was right. This wasn’t about him. This was about her. She was hurt. She was scared. She was worried.

He didn’t want her to feel that way.

Defending himself in a court would be easy, but he became utterly defenseless when he was being judged by her.

To his wife, he could only care to comfort her heart.

“I know.” Grandpa Steiner admitted. “You’re right. I’m sorry, honey.”

“Oh, don’t honey me!”

“You know I didn’t want this. If I knew this would happen, I never would have said a word to that woman. You know, there was a time in this country when joking around didn’t get you arrested.”

“You always think you’re so clever. You’re not as funny as you think you are. Sometimes you’re just so inappropriate!”

“I’m sorry. You’re right.” Grandpa Steiner didn’t really agree with her at all, but, again, he just wanted to smooth things over. He felt awful that his wife was so upset and he couldn’t deny she had every right to be.

The room grew uncomfortably quiet.

Grandma Steiner didn’t say a word.

The silence made Sophie and Ryan come back into the kitchen.

“Everything okay now, dad?” Sophie asked, timidly. “What happens next? That woman isn’t suing or anything, is she?”

Grandma Steiner began to throw dried silverware into the drawer. “Those damn coloreds! You should know better than say something to a negro woman like that. All think they’re ‘entitled’ is what they are!”

Now that everyone had calmed down more, Sophie corrected her mother this time, “Mom, she’s an African American, not colored.”

“Oh, she’s a nigger is what she is!”

“Dad!”

Ryan smirked at his father-in-law for only a split second, grateful that his wife hadn’t seen him do it.

Grandpa Steiner folded up his shoulders and asked, “What? First you had to say ‘colored’. Then you had to say ‘black’. Then you have to call them ‘African Americans’. These stupid niggers can’t make up their mind from one generation to the next what the hell they want to be called! If your mother wants to call them colored, then they’re colored.”

“Colored is offensive, dad. So is the n-word!”

“Oh, gimme a break. Offensive. Colored is offensive now? Why? Why is it offensive? Tell me, how did a word that was perfectly acceptable in one generation become offensive in the next? Who made that decision? Who was the authority to declare that? Did that NAPC mail out some pamphlets to all the white homes, informing all of us what is the latest proper terminology to use?”

Sophie corrected his abbreviation, “Dad, they’re called the NAACP. It just is offensive, dad. Colored is offensive. White people shouldn’t say it.”

“White people? Now you’re telling me word usage is to be segregated based on skin color? Your skin color determines what noises you’re allowed to make with your mouth!? The NAACP has the word ‘Colored’ in their name! National Association for the Advancement of Colored People! Now you claim that word is offensive!? Don’t you hear how insane that sounds? Where is the logic in that? An organization calling people ‘colored’, and founded by colored people, and now you say colored is offensive!?” Grandpa Steiner motioned around the kitchen as if looking for someone. “Says who?”

“It just is!” Sophie corrected.

“What about the United Negro College Fund? I can’t mention that organization anymore either? UNCF is bad because ‘Negro’ offends people too, I suppose?”

“Of course!”

“Of course? Oh? And how would you know this? Have you been appointed to regulate proper Caucasian terminology by the African American community? ‘It just is?’ That’s not an answer. What kind of reason is that? You know what’s offensive? People expecting me to waste my breath saying African American. That’s seven goddamn syllables. Black is one. You can call the niggers African Americans. I’m calling them black. Gonna spend the least amount of breath on those niggers as I can.”

Grandpa Steiner wasn’t a hateful racist. He didn’t mean anything he said in a cruel way. That was just his anger talking. He was just lashing out and venting his rage over the fact he had been arrested for something so inane and unjustified, not to mention the fact that the public seemed to be so happy about it.

Worst of all, he knew by using such language, no one would ever take his side. Saying “pussy” instead of “pretty” landed him in handcuffs. In the time he spent at the police station, he had plenty of time to become angry and realize how unjust and deranged it was, to condemn a man because of a single word.

He didn’t understand the constant homogenizing of language. The whole idea was retarded. He smirked to himself, thinking about how they stole that word away too. “Retards” became “mentally handicapped” then “mentally challenged” and now “developmentally delayed”. Always use the latest “proper” term, so as not to upset anybody.

Where would it all end?

Sophie was done arguing. This wasn’t where she wanted this topic to go. Sighing, she ran her finger across her scalp.

“You didn’t answer my question from earlier.” Sophie said, eager to change the subject.

“What question?” Her father barked.

“What happens next? Is that woman suing you?”

Ryan spoke up for the first time and explained, “They said down at the station he’d have to go to trial in a few weeks. Most likely it will just result in a suspended sentence or community service or something.”

“What will be? I don’t understand.” Grandma Steiner interjected.

“His sentence. The judge will give him community service.” Ryan said.

“Then what?” Sophie wondered.

“Then he could go to jail!” Grandma Steiner angrily spat.

“No, mom.” Ryan explained, “It doesn’t work like that. He won’t go to jail. Just community service, then that’s it. It’s all over. You can put it behind you.”

Finishing the dishes, Grandma Steiner huffed and announced, “Well, I’m putting it behind me right now.”

With that, she stormed out of the kitchen and headed upstairs.

Sophie looked at her father and husband. Then, she turned to leave, calling out to her mother.

Grandpa Steiner resigned himself to the situation.

He had been married long enough to know when to chase after his wife and when to leave her alone. This was a time to leave her alone.

Walking over to his favorite easy-chair, he turned on the television.

Ryan sat on the couch, patting his palms on his knees.

“Well.”

“Well, you have anything you want to watch?” Grandpa Steiner asked his son-in-law.

Ryan shrugged, “No. Nothing in particular.”

Grandpa Steiner muttered and flipped across a few channels, stopping on a rerun of All In The Family.

Chapter Two

Archie Bunker hesitated to drink out of the same glass as Sammy Davis Jr., not a moment after Sammy proposed a toast to friendship.

As he stared awkwardly at the cup, the live studio audience burst out in laughter during Archie’s moment of uncomfortable silence.

“What are you looking at Barney? You’re done now. Get the hell outta here!” Archie yelled at his friend.

“You’re cranky today, Archie!” Barney Hefner yelled back and stormed from the room.

Ω

Commander Johann Bayer, Supreme Chancellor of the Tau Ceti Goodwill Fleet journeying to Earth, was astonished at the discovery of the television show All In The Family and sent word back to Tau Ceti immediately. Being only a few years away from arriving on Earth, the signals reached the fleet far before they would reach his homeworld.

Everything they had anticipated about these bald monkeys was wrong. They thought this species had evolved into something special. Seeing the attitudes and outlook of a character like Archie Bunker, the Commander realized those old television programs were nothing compared to where their culture had progressed.

Clearly, Archie Bunker illustrated the pinnacle of their evolution.

These creatures were far more wonderfully advanced than anyone on Tau Ceti had dared to imagine!

“Meathead!” Soon would become a catchphrase back on Tau Ceti.

Chapter Three

“Holy crap.” Jerome Kember said to his laptop. Collapsing the screen and dashing from his room, he yelled, “Mom! Dad! You have to see this! Grandpa is on the Internet!”

In a video entitled “Pussy Good”, there had been 712,260 views of Grandpa Steiner being arrested. Somehow, someone uploaded security camera footage of the “pussy good” comment and edited it into one of the subsequent cellphone videos of the arrest.

The AutoTune version of the video had 1,138,187 views.

He had only been arrested two days earlier.

Due to the odd angle of the security camera, as Grandpa Steiner passed Ms. Hayes, it looked like he may have smacked her on the butt. In actuality, this was just his hand flicking back from the turnstyles at the entrance to the drugstore. Endless comments on the video argued for and against the likelihood that he was actually patting her ass.

“Mom, look! Look! Grandpa is on the Internet!” Jerome repeated.

“On the Internet?” Sophie asked, wiping mayonnaise on some bread.

Ryan was standing in the kitchen too, pouring a glass of juice, when Jerome set his laptop on the table for both of his parents to see.

“Look!” Jerome pointed at the screen, his eyes flaring.

Sophie saw the footage of her dad and slipped her index finger over her lip. “Oh, my gosh.”

Ryan rubbed his chin, “Oh, Lord.”

There was a short pause of silence as the family watched their father-in-law, grandfather and father getting humiliated online.

“You think grandpa knows about this?” Jerome asked his parents.

There was an uneasy silence as his mom thought about it.

“I doubt it.” Sophie eventually said as she shook her head.

“Mom. Look at the views! It’s only been up for like a day!”

Jerome’s dad noticed the numbers and was shocked, stating the obvious, “Oh, wow. This thing is completely viral.”

Ryan had just learned the term “viral video” and wanted to appear hip to his son. Jerome didn’t even notice his dad said it.

Jerome knew his entire freshman class would be talking about it when he went back to school on Monday. At first, he thought that was awesome. His grandpa gets to be an Internet celebrity!

Then Jerome started reading the ignorant comments on the video.

Ω

ell2datee

fagggot old perv

manutd013013

da nigger bitch lucky he didnt have no walker with him

xDemolokiller101

you people are disguting

JzBravo342

ignorance perpetuated on a grand scale. Beyond pathetic.

raquelvee

Black woman. I am for real.

damassi83

i dont like black guys im black women black guys have so much selfhatred its sad i gave up on them i prefer white and any other race not black tho

nikidijawenn

who let him out of teh nursing home?

hnguyen218

Black women have stinky pussies

odiesmum2012

good boy meets whore yeah, yeah. do her in buddy

sblack812

if u dont wanna listen then get the fuck off teh channel he is the main host dumbass

ZEEK38JA4

Liberals don’t like women. Liberals prefer animals & trannies.

uncleshrek334

Shes mad cuz shes old?

Albina04fu

someone watches a lot of amateur porn apparently

caelumxcx

I suck big juicy dolphin cocks with your mother.

Ω

Jerome couldn’t understand how so many people on the Internet could be so incredibly uneducated. Not only were they incapable of forming a coherent sentence or spelling anything properly, but their comments never seemed to reflect even a vague understanding of what they were watching.

He knew most of them were too stupid to know the difference between “to” and “too” and “two”, or “there” and “their” and “they’re”, or “your” and “you’re”, or “brake” and “break”, but he found himself terrified by just how deep their ignorance sank.

From time to time, Jerome found himself on a forum and he’d see posts with such atrocious spelling, inane sentence structures and poor grammar that he’d immediately close the thread and find another post. He wouldn’t respond. He wouldn’t join the conversation. If people can’t bother to communicate in proper English, they are not worth his time. Besides, he rationalized that anyone with such a flagrant disregard for basic language prowess clearly lacks the mental capacity to absorb or care about any reply Jerome might provide. No use in attempting to communicate with inferior intellects who have no reading comprehension skills.

But sometimes Jerome would have to wonder...

Might he be wrong? He remembered on one forum, a regular poster had awful writing ability, but later explained he had a learning disability and a form of dyslexia. So, while he actually was a fairly bright fellow, he simply couldn’t construct written words very well. Thus, communicating via textual language made him seem colossally dense. Or, sometimes, you find out the poster is 12 years old and attending public school. Jerome thought it was a wonder when a public school kid possesses the aptitude to turn on a computer, let alone write anything. So, he had to cut them a little slack too.

Grandpa Steiner once told Jerome he was too old to be governed by a fear of stupid people. Nevertheless, the more he thought about the consequences of being noticed by stupid people, Jerome slowly became more and more apprehensive. Being an Internet celebrity didn’t seem so awesome anymore.

He didn’t want the lowlifes of humanity judging his grandfather and posting all kinds of insulting crap about him.

For that matter, he didn’t even want these people being supportive.

What’s so great about being supported by fucking retards?

As if reading his mind, his mother said, “You know these things never last. It’s going to be a big deal for a few days. Two or three weeks from now, nobody will remember this video anymore.”

“That’s true.” Jerome conceded.

“Are you going to tell him?” Ryan asked his wife.

Sophie picked up the phone. “No. I’m not telling him.”

“Who you calling then?” Ryan asked.

“My brother.”

“Why?”

“I’m calling David, so he doesn’t tell dad either.”

Jerome bit his lip.

He wasn’t about to let his mother know that before he came downstairs, he had just emailed the link to his grandfather.

Oops.

“Uh... Mom?”

Chapter Four

Commander Johann Bayer sat at his control console in utter shock. He had watched the Earth broadcast from one of their news stations twice already. There had to be some sort of misunderstanding. Dismayed by what he had seen, he could barely move.

Ω

Starting its new season, the most recent episode of South Park used the n-word over three dozen times. When the character of Stan Marsh’s dad says the dubious word on a national television gameshow, he is thereafter called “the n-word guy” and discriminated against. As a result, he is subjected to the type of prejudice treatment experienced by African Americans, simply because he had spoken such an offensive word.

Reporting from the news, one South Park viewer said: “It’s not really the word that’s important; look at what’s going on inside. That’s what I got.”

The report went on to say: “Devon and Jill Blossoms, who co-founded the organization No More N-Word tell us that, in this case, using it was appropriate: ‘This show, in its own comedic way, is helping to educate people about the power of this word and how it feels to have hate language directed at you.’ Clearly this program proved to be both educational and uplifting to the African American community as well as all other cultures. Rather than an abuse of a hateful term, it showed a lesson in compassion.”

Concluding the episode, the news station said, “Daily Variety TV editor, Mike Schneider, says it all needs to be taken in context: ‘You can’t just take it on surface, what they did on the show. To some degree, there’s a complicated story line and you have to watch the entire episode to get to sort of a moral at the end.’”

Ω

Commander Johann Bayer was astonished. Mortified.

They actually used “the n-word” in place of “nigger” in news reports? Their repressive media had become so afraid of defying “politically correct” behavior that even journalistic outlets, designed to inform and enlighten, were censoring their own communications? Could this possibly be the same species and culture that had so easily mocked and ridiculed itself only a few years earlier? How could it be that only a few decades later, their society had regressed so much?

Further research revealed “faggot” had become “the f-word”.

“Retarded” had become “the r-word”.

The entire bald monkey culture was becoming terrified of language.

He feared they had made a grave mistake about Earthlings.

Perhaps the bald monkeys were not as evolved as he and his people had been lead to believe. Perhaps they are still concerned with far too many trivial sociological issues.

Not wanting to make any rash decisions, he decided to forward this information back to Tau Ceti.

At the same time, he chose anthropologist Dr. Frank Sagan, and two of his best security officers, Bruce McClain and Arnold Balboa, to take a translight shuttle ahead to Earth. They would act as scouts for the expedition and arrive upon Earth a year before the rest of the fleet, giving them ample time to observe and report on the Earth cultures up close.

Dr. Sagan was excited to be part of the mission to Earth. The opportunity to encounter a new sentient race was an exceptionally rare occurrence. Knowing the levity of his newly assigned responsibility was something he took very seriously. After all, it would be his observations which could determine the fate of the entire bald monkey species.

No snap judgments would be made, of course.

Countless factors would be taken into consideration.

There would be months of observation and continual reports and the aggregate collection of data would be weighed in order to draw a final solution. The process might take many years, even after their arrival at Earth.

However, the singular initial report would be the one used to determine the focus of the current mission.

Peaceful envoy?

Military annihilation?

Ω

After two weeks of observing bald monkeys on Earth, the first report from Dr. Sagan was sent back to the fleet.

Ω

TAU CETI REPORT ON BALD MONKEY OBSERVATIONS #001:

Although frequently exhibiting low levels of intelligence, biochemical changes in bald monkey physiology frequently reduces their mental capacity, retarding their ability to use coherent and reasonable logic. “Fucking retards” is their clinical term for this phenomenon. The monkeys call these biochemical changes “emotions” and their collective tribes consider some of these emotions to be beneficial (and other emotions detrimental) to both the individual and overall well-being of monkeydom. Unfortunately, the primitive bald monkey cerebrum allows irrelevant environmental factors (for example - the vocalizations of other monkeys) to alter their biochemistry and hence shift their emotional states. In the case of verbalization, emotional stimuli causes certain groups of monkeys to attempt dictating what noises the other monkeys are permitted to emit. When the distraught group chooses to experience detrimental emotions due to these archaic noises, they will seek to silence (sometimes violently) the verbalizing segment of the monkey populous. In addition to violent attacks, monkeys can be subjugated to conformity through techniques such as social pariahism or even financially penalized via the loss of monetary support systems. Obviously meaningless behavior to more advanced species, the monkeys actually think this shit is important... But what do you expect from a bunch of monkeys?

END REPORT FRAGMENT

Ω

Commander Johann Bayer set aside the report, which went on to conclude the only viable solution:

Genocide.

The bald monkeys of Earth were far too fucking stupid to live.

They were an obvious danger, unable to care for their planet.

They were too hateful towards each other over meaningless things.

They would need to be exterminated.

The peace mission objective was officially modified by President Herbert back on Tau Ceti. Their journey to Earth had changed.

No longer an envoy to welcome the Earth to The Intergalactic Counsel, the objective had transformed into a full scale military invasion, intended to end the life of every bald monkey on the planet.

The giant smiley faces emblazoned on the sides of the fleet had to be painted into the appropriate skull and crossbones.

The aliens of Tau Ceti went about this very smoothly and efficiently, of course. But, they often joked that if Earth creatures had to do the same task, it would cause quite an uproar among the illustrators union aboard the ship. Months of choosing the proper details like the curvature of the sabers, the number of teeth in the pirate skull and the bureaucratic discussion of whether it was easier to paint atop the smiley face directly, remove the smiley face first, or to utilize a combination of painting atop it and remove unpainted parts simultaneously, meant it might not get done before they arrived and the ship would have a half-skull/half-smiley-face which would undoubtedly send a very bizarre mixed message to the planet Earth.

Chapter Five

Grandpa Steiner was always fond of woodworking. He’d spend a lot of time in the garage or basement, tinkering.

A few years ago, his son David got him a computer.

Grandpa Steiner wasn’t the stereotypical senior citizen who had an irrational fear of electronics. In fact, he wasn’t remotely apprehensive. He embraced Internet technology and used it for a great deal of research for his woodworking. He could purchase supplies and get blueprints and discover the best tools for every project. The Internet was simply a fantastic resource to assist him in expanding his knowledge and discovering new ideas.

After his arrest, Grandpa Steiner took to spending more and more time on the computer and less time on woodworking.

Grandma Steiner was growing worried about him.

“You don’t suppose he’s found those young girls in that computer?” Grandma Steiner asked her daughter over the phone.

Sophia rolled her eyes at her kitchen sink. “Oh, mom. I’m sure dad isn’t having affairs with young girls on the Internet.”

“No. No. I know that. I didn’t mean an affair. You know what I mean. Those movies they have on there.”

Bemused, Sophie choked, “Do - Do you mean pornography?”

“Well, I don’t like to say that word.” Grandma Steiner said and laughed uncomfortably. Her embarrassed laugh always reminded Sophie of a bad laughtrack from an old television sitcom - that one weird voice that always stood out above the crowd. Even if you weren’t at all uncomfortable with the topic of conversation, you felt uncomfortable just hearing her awkward guffaw. The sound was too high-pitched. Too lilting. Too phony.

Sophie laughed too, but in a tone that was far more condescending than embarrassed. “I don’t think - No. I don’t think dad is looking at porn on the computer.”

“How do you know? He would do that! You know your father.”

“Well, I don’t know anything about that. And I don’t want to know.”

“Well, he would. Trust me.”

“Oh, mom, even if he is, so what? It’s just some pictures.”

“I don’t want him looking at that filthy stuff.”

“Why not? No harm done. He’s a grown man. He can look at what he wants. His house. His computer.”

“I don’t want him getting any ideas.” Grandma Steiner shook her head.

Sophie wondered what the hell her mother was talking about. Did her mother think dad would proposition butt plugs or something? Mortified at the mere notion of these thoughts being put in her head, Sophie desperately wanted to change the topic. “Ideas about what? Mom, it’s not like he’s going to run off with a porn star.”

“Oh, I know. I just don’t like that. It’s not right. Looking at that junk.”

“An old man looking at pictures in his basement is harmless. Why does it bother you so much? You don’t even know if he’s doing it! Why do you insist he’s doing something wrong?”

“Because it’s just wrong! You know better than that.” Grandma wasn’t very articulate and didn’t possess the vocabulary or the deductive reasoning to defend her views. She didn’t understand this about herself though, because she never took any time to question much of anything in her life. She knew what she knew, and that was that. Reason and logic weren’t factors.

She had been programmed well.

“You don’t even know he’s doing it. You’re just speculating.”

“I know.”

“Well, if you’re so suspicious, why don’t you look?” Sophie suggested.

“Look at what? I don’t want to see any of that junk either.”

“I mean, go spy on him and see if there’s any porn on his computer.”

“I can’t work that thing.”

“Well, then I don’t know what to tell you. Do you want me look next time I stop over? Would that make you feel better? Have David take a look. Or, better yet, just don’t worry about it.”

“Well, I don’t know. So long as he’s not on there all day.” Grandma Steiner resigned. Like most people, she was quick to think of bad scenarios and work herself up into getting upset. But, once it came down to facing reality and doing something to confirm her suspicions, she chickened out, and decided it was best to ignore things instead. Like most people, she’d rather cause trouble and base it on unfounded fears than risk reality dashing her paranoia.

She had been programmed very well indeed.

She did not think.

She did not question.

She most certainly did not confront anything.

While she was wrong about Grandpa Steiner (he hadn’t been constantly looking at pornography) he did indulge in a few videos of young disrobed women named Brandy Rawlins and Faye Jillian Henning. Blonde. Redhead. He watched them once or twice, after he had spent a little too long perusing woodshop supplies, and needed a little break.

He sure liked Faye’s freckles.

And Brandy had a chest full of bazongas for days. He hadn’t touched a chest like that but once, with a girl when he was 21 years old.

But Brandy and Faye weren’t his main distraction.

What had truly been keeping Grandpa Steiner so preoccupied with the computer was his obsession with writing a blog.

Ω

“You wrote a bog?” Grandma Steiner asked as they got ready for bed. “What does that mean?”

“Not a bog. A blog, honey.”

“What is that? I don’t know what that computer stuff means.”

“A blog is like a journal that everyone can read.”

“Why would you do that?”

Grandpa squared his shoulders a bit as he tied his robe. “Well, you know, after everyone was saying all those awful things about that video in the drugstore, I felt like I needed to defend myself.”

“Oh, who cares what those people say?” Grandma scoffed. She wanted the whole affair to be dropped and she wasn’t very happy with him for bringing up the subject again.

It was her fault.

She asked.

But she didn’t see it that way, of course. She just blamed him.

Grandma Steiner was even more irritated to discover that was his whole motive for being online so much. She almost would have preferred him to be addicted to pornography, like those creepy men they interview on her daytime talkshows.

“Well, I care.” Grandpa Steiner grumbled, shifting his pajama bottoms. “I don’t want them saying things about our family and you. They can say bad all they want about me. But I don’t think it’s right to say bad things about everyone else and get away with that.”

Grandma Steiner didn’t understand how he did all that computer stuff. “So you wrote a blong? Who taught you about blongs?”

“Blog. Not blong.”

“Whatever.”

“No one taught me about blogs. I figured it out myself.”

“David show you that?”

“What did I just say?”

“David shows you everything on there.”

Grandpa Steiner was getting mad, but he was married long enough to know the proper response, “Yes, David showed me all about it.”

“So, what are you going to do with it now?”

“Nothing. I just wanted the chance to get it out there.”

“Get what out where?”

“The blog! To tell my side of the story.”

“What story? Honestly, Grandpa, sometimes I have no idea what you’re talking about doing on that computer stuff.”

“Nothing.” Grandpa Steiner said. “There’s no story. Just forget about it. It’s not important.”

“Okay.” Grandma Steiner conceded.

She was sure it wasn’t important.

After all, what could he do on a computer that was important?

With that final comment, there was a lull in the conversation.

Grandpa Steiner was grateful that his wife didn’t question too much. Made arguments like this end a lot faster. A well-placed “Yes, dear” or “Sorry, dear” and he could effortlessly end most any fight.

He softly reached over and turned out the light.

“Goodnight.” Grandpa kissed her cheek.

“Goodnight... What is a blong anyway? What do you need that for?”

Ω

Grandpa Steiner’s blog went viral even faster than his arrest video.

After being picked up by reporter at a mainstream news site, the existence of his blog spread faster than herpes in a sorority, infesting throughout all the more “hip” sites and personas online. Reposts multiplied like dick jokes in a brothel.

By the next afternoon, his first entry, a rant of how he was arrested due to the injustices of feminism, had received over 157,000 views and more than 1400 comments, including a few offers for dates from women young enough to be his daughter. Although, those comments got buried so far down the page Grandpa Steiner never noticed them. One of them came from Faye Jillian Henning.

Ω

“Feminists and Negro Security Guards” by Mr. Steiner

Feminists have never believed in equality between genders. The true agenda of feminists is to emasculate, belittle, condemn, and badger men at every possible opportunity. The true agenda of feminism has never been to empower women. The true agenda of feminists is to destroy men.

They will deny this, of course.

But you should know better than to trust a woman.

Chauvinists are people who believe men are superior to women.

Feminists are people who believe women are superior to men.

Humanists are people who believe all people are equal.

Those who truly seek to nurture equality and harmony among people of every age and creed and gender are humanists. Humanists support balance and harmony among all humans. To be clear, I’m not talking about Secular Humanism, because the moment anyone starts to mention Gods or religions, they lose all credibility. When I say “humanism”, I speak of it in the purest sense of the word itself. There are no valid groups or organizations or rules or dogmas to represent genuine humanism. Just like chauvinism and feminism, humanism is merely a word to define an attitude and behavior. Nothing more.

In all honesty, those words are lies anyway.

“Chauvinist” is just a kinder word for misogynist.

“Feminist” is just a kinder word for misandrist.

Feminism simply encourages a form of matriarchal oppression as opposed to patriarchal. Claiming to be about “women’s suffrage” or “gender neutrality” or “reproductive rights” are all lies. The real agenda of feminism is subjugation and vengeance, not equality. Never has been. Never will be.

This is the whole reason I was arrested for making an idle joke at Discount Drug Mart. The willingness of our culture to accept the militant and perverted support of feminist propaganda has undermined the freedom of people to make idle jokes. Feminists have even undermined chivalry itself.

My son David once told me about meeting a girl at a party and offering to walk her to the car. In my day, a woman would be flattered that a man would show her that kind of respect. Feminism has distorted the thinking of women so immensely, that this woman was offended by my son making such an offer. She argued that walking a lady to her car implies she is weak and unable to care for herself and therefore it’s not a noble gesture, but a condescending one. Besides, how did she know he himself was not a dangerous man? She argued that a man who truly respected a woman would honor her wishes and leave her alone.

David walked her to her car anyway. He told her that a respectable woman would not over analyze an altruistic act and would accept a gesture of chivalry and courtesy as such, and do so with dignity and grace. Walking her to her car was not implying she was weak. If anything, it was showing his own subservience - a willingness to go out of his way, to inconvenience himself, for her benefit. To risk endangering himself for her protection.

Good for him.

She arrived safely at her car and departed.

He walked back to the party and never saw her again.

Thankfully, not all women have succumb to this psychotic feminist propaganda. When David was dating his last girlfriend, she was shocked and flattered when he opened his car door for her. She blushed and said no man had ever done that in her life. The woman was 23 years old. A young lady by any measure, but certainly old enough that gentlemen should have opened a few doors for her. Sad to think none ever had.

The reason my son has a sense of chivalry is because that is how I raised him. My wife and I have been married 45 years and I still open doors for her. That’s the way gentlemen are supposed to behave. It’s a sign of courtesy. Of respect.

Feminists are so evil, they teach little girls that chivalry belittles women. Chivalry has never belittled women. Chivalry honors and respects women as ladies of decorum, and treats them as such. Chivalry doesn’t teach that women must earn respect. Chivalry teaches that women automatically deserve respect, until they prove otherwise. Chivalry presumes the best in ladies, as being classy and upstanding and noble.

Chivalry has always shown women more respect than feminism.

In a culture where girls idolize obscene, sleazy, half-naked pop stars, it’s no wonder these young girls believe they should be treated like whores.

You become what you admire.

Now they came up with the phrase “slut shaming” as justification for being promiscuous. Slut shaming? What the fuck is that? Feminists are claiming if some unethical bitch is running around spreading sexual diseases and using abortion as birth control, society has to condone that behavior!? No. Fuck that. Sluts and whores should be ashamed and belittled for having an utter disregard for human life and the health and well-being of their fellow man. And, yes, I said “man” because it takes two to tango, honey. Male sluts are just as vile. Those braindead feminists who think condemnation of indecency is somehow misogynistic need to stop presuming the world revolves around their gender. Men need to show class and decorum just as much as women.

Feminists, in their warped agenda, teach little girls that sleaze and trash are “empowerment” and “embracing their femininity”.

Feminists, in their warped agenda, never teach the power of class and poise. Instead, they preach the lie that women deserve respect, simply because they possess a vagina. When in truth, people deserve respect not because of their genitals, but for carrying themselves with a pride of decency and courtesy.

Feminists, in their warped agenda, convince little girls there are no princes, while telling the girls they should still demand to be treated like a princess. Then, these poor girls grow up into women who lament the fact that chivalry has died. That’s the equivalent of a child killing a goldfish, then questioning why it’s dead.

Chivalry died because feminists did everything they could to kill it!

Just look at the way feminists treat female models.

Feminists never have a single good thing to say about fashion models or swimsuit models. Feminists hate those women. Feminists always claim those women are “exploited” and “objectified”, never empowered. Feminists claim they are sex objects, not embracing their sexuality.

Feminists love to judge and condemn other women.

Anytime a woman seeks to command her own beauty and sexuality, men never degrade them. Instead, it is always the feminists who constantly belittle those women and tell them they are “wrong” for doing so. The double-standard is baffling. Run around on stage in underwear as a pop-star and you’re empowered. Do it as a fashion-model and you’re an exploited victim.

Where is the support?

Where is the empowerment?

Feminists hate the sexuality of their own gender.

It’s so disgustingly pathetic when the fucking ugly bitches of the world hide their hateful agendas of revenge behind the facade of “feminism” and “empowerment” to justify their juvenile need to condescend to pretty girls. Anytime a beautiful woman affirms her sensual nature, a feminist is there to tear her down. No man or woman seeks to be exploited or used. Thus, everytime a feminist calls a female model “exploited”, the feminist is not only tearing down the model’s actions, but tearing down her self-worth by claiming the motivation for her career choice is vanity. Feminists are either insinuating the woman is too weak to defy the exploitation, or too stupid to recognize it.

When my daughter, Sophie, was a little girl, she loved Barbie dolls. Those dolls have been a staple of little girls in American culture since the 1950’s. Within two generations, the feminists started a rampage to destroy them too, claiming the dolls promote a negative “body image” for girls. Apparently, these fatass feminists also want to confuse young ladies with more cruel mixed messages; They tell little girls to accept their body image, to “love themselves” regardless of their weight and shape, then constantly hammer into them the importance of eating healthy and staying fit.

Which is it?

Stay fit and healthy?

Or don’t worry about your physical appearance?

Feminists confuse girls and send mixed messages.

Men never worry about that.

Think about it.

Why are feminists always complaining about “creating unrealistic body image expectations for girls” in dolls or fashion models? You never see boys complaining that they don’t look like a buff and fit Ken doll.

Why?

Barbie dolls are harmful to girls, but G.I. Joe isn’t harmful to boys?

No one has ever been able to explain to me why women never complain about the “body image” of male models on boys. Why do girls always need to be “protected” from thinking they can be a Barbie doll, but boys never need to be “protected” from thinking they can be HeMan? Seems to me that the true sexism lies in the fact that girls are being treated like idiots who attempt to emulate plastic dolls while boys are respected as being smart enough to never do something that fucking stupid!

Clearly, boys aren’t dumb enough to think they are supposed to look like a hunk of plastic. Maybe the problem isn’t with the dolls. Maybe the problem is that feminists are presuming little girls are so dumb they aspire to mimic a goddamn action figure.

Then feminists claim, “It’s different for boys.”

Yes. It is different. My friends and I never sat around feeling sorry for ourselves, just because we weren’t built with the physique of G.I. Joe or HeMan. When a man has low self-esteem, you never see him blaming action figures or underwear models for it. Why then do women blame fashion magazines and Barbie dolls? The problem isn’t the doll. The problem is the women who lack the intelligence to take responsibility for their own self-image. So, they blame the culture. They blame society. They blame a doll. Or a magazine photograph. Or a beauty pageant.

Instead of recognizing their own stupidity, instead of refusing to compare themselves to those things, women shift the blame to the media creating those images. Women can’t take control of their emotions and admit their lack of self-esteme is caused by their own choices. Instead women blame magazines and television shows and retouched photographs.

They never blame themselves for the way they see the world.

It’s always someone else’s fault. Isn’t it?

But if women stop wishing they were made of plastic, what will all the poor plastic surgeons do for a living?

Feminists further warp the whole issue by claiming that men expect women to look like Barbie dolls. As if the way women think, and the way women choose to perceive themselves, is not their own responsibility, but rather, is controlled entirely by males.

First of all, no, men do not expect that.

Second, if men did expect it, why would any woman try to comply?

Men expect women to look like dolls? Which men are these feminists referring to? No intelligent, rational, sensible man who has passed basic biology, expects a woman to be proportioned like a Barbie doll. Women may foolishly presume this misinformation that men are obsessed with a Barbie figure, but the truth is, most men aren’t even aware of the proportions of a Barbie doll, because men never played with Barbies! Only queer boys ever played with Barbies and who cares what standards of beauty a faggot develops for broads? In truth, the only people obsessed with these ideals of “body image” are feminists and feminists alone. No one else cares.

I contend if those man-hating women are choosing to date men who are uneducated morons, then those women are getting exactly what they are looking for. No one ever dictates our self-worth. We give that to ourselves. Having a poor image of ones body, or finances, or heritage, or education, is always our own personal choice. No one makes that choice for us. Women yearning to “live up to the standards of men” (when those men are are irrational morons) are getting exactly what they deserve. Women with the ability to think for themselves do not base their self-worth on the approval of men. Living in an attempt to conform to the “standards” of others is idiotic. When one chooses to live their life in an attempt to satisfy the “standards” of others, it’s always a mistake.

Again, it just goes to show, feminists are liars.

They do not seek equality. They only seek to condemn and destroy.

There are far too many groups of people in this world who claim to be seeking fairness and equality, when the truth is, they are only seeking to empower themselves at the expense of others.

Feminists often twist the facts about disparaging economics between men and women too, claiming that men earn more than women for the same jobs. Dr. Warren Farrell, former board member of the National Organization of Women, argues that the fact men earn more is not due to gender differences, but due to job choices. Men often choose careers which pay more because the job is in unfavorable work - roofing in July and garbage men, versus day care workers and teachers. Wage statistics ignore the occupations and compare all working men and women, lumping the female secretary in with the male professional athlete. Any man who can be so well-educated and care so deeply about women that he serves on the board of directors for a woman’s organization is certainly a reliable source to debunk a gender issue. According to the latest Census results, single women without children, between the ages of 22 and 30, actually earn 8% more than their male peers in most major cities across the country.

But the lying feminists would still have you thinking they are the ones being treated unfairly in terms of income.

Look at their bullshit issues of “gender neutrality” in language. Some of these ignorant bitches even want “mankind” changed to “humanity” but, shouldn’t these fools be pushing for “huPEOPLEity” if the fem-Nazis are going to be so fucking literal everytime the letters M-A-N appear in a word? Does “managers” need to become “personagers”? Of course not! Feminists expect everyone to say the words “firefighter” and “police officer” instead of “fireman” and “policeman”. However, while claiming they want equality, feminists see no problem with leaving words such as “conman” and “gunman” and “manhunt” untouched. Interesting that feminists don’t want to change “manslaughter” to “peopleslaugher”.

Why is that?

Because, as I said earlier, feminists are not about equality.

They never have been.

They are liars.

Any words which carry negative connotations for men, feminists are perfectly happy with leaving those words as male-centric. Feminists only want “gender equality” in language among the words that are favorable to them. So long as words paint men in a negative light, feminists want to leave those words exactly as they are.

Wake up.

I’ll repeat it again.

Feminists seek dominance over men, not equality to them.

Feminists want men to become subservient, not to be their equals.

The thing which infuriates me the most is the simple fact that these stupid women don’t care about other women either. Look at these bitchy feminists dykes on college campuses, staging protests against nymph statues, tucked away behind the corner of a library, at a tiny liberal arts school. They waste all this time and energy protesting a fucking statue when they could have used that time to volunteer at an abortion clinic or a battered women shelter.

Why not help women who truly need help?

No. They won’t do that.

How many of these self-important “feminists” thought of spending their afternoon working at a rape crisis hotline, instead of being at a fucking statue protest?

They don’t think of those things.

Because feminists have no interest in helping women in need.

Feminists are only interested screaming in bullhorns and making useless noise in ostracizing men.

They do not seek to nurture or support fellow women.

They only want to breed anger and rage against the actions of men.

There are clearly ways in which women are treated unfairly, purely because of their gender. I’m not denying that. There is no doubt, there are issues and injustices in this world which only affect women. Those injustices must be fought and overcome. Women should make the same amount of money as a man for doing the same work. Men and women should have the same opportunities to run businesses and support their families. Women undeniably are raped and abused more frequently than men. Surviving those hardships, women clearly should be supported and cared for - because women suffer from these grievances more often, they are obviously worthy of extra attention.

These are just the things happening in civilized nations. The unspeakable atrocities committed against women in third world countries should be eradicated forever and all the men responsible should be slaughtered without mercy.

But to truly care about women and equality, you can never be a feminist.

The more people take pride in labeling themselves, the longer it will take those people to gain any equality. Those who sincerely believe in equality among people strive to create a world where words like “feminism” and “chauvinism” and “racism” and simply do not exist. In a world of true equality, we will raise generations of children who do not understand the meaning of those terms. The words will never be points of pride. They will be antiquated and meaningless. That is when true equality is achieved. True equality only happens when labels fail to stir pride and instead become unnecessary.

There is no prejudice or stereotype or injustice in any culture due to eye color. Consequently, there is no word describing those who are persecuted for their eye color. There is no label to rally behind for “eye color inequality”, because such inequality simply doesn’t exist. No one has pride or shame in their eye color - the color of our eyes merely exists - without ego or disgrace.

“Celebrating” differences is never good. Emphasizing differences only reinforces discrimination and never brings equality. Equality only exists when there is indifference to our differences.

Being “proud” of your race or religion or gender or sexuality only leads to more alienation. Pride and humiliation are simply opposite edges of the same sword, intended to divide and conquer. People calling themselves “The Master Race” or “God’s Chosen People” are different words for the same delusional conceit. Doesn’t anyone notice that “Master Race” and “Chosen People” are interchangeable terms?

Those who pompously brandish labels upon themselves, thinking it “empowers” their gender, or sexuality, or skin tone, or income bracket, or spirituality, will never attain equality. Only when a culture evolves to the point where they have no labels and no words for that form of injustice does true equality thrive. So long as any group of people possess the perverse arrogance of labeling themselves as “elite” in any way, they will always be rightfully ostracized. Those who embody genuine empowerment never need brag or call attention to their strength - only the weak and cruel do that.

Labels can call attention to the fact that an injustice exists, but one should never be boastful to wear that label, for the end goal should be to render that label obsolete. Those who are honored to carry the banner of any label do not truly dream of eradicating the injustice - they just like the attention. They just want an excuse to wave their sword in a tickertape parade.

The day people stop praising themselves for being anything other than human beings, that is the day true equality will exist among all races, all creeds, all ages, and both genders.

Chapter Six

Dr. Frank Sagan smiled as he finished reading the blog by Grandpa Steiner. He barely found himself able to read the entire thing. Grandpa Steiner was a horrible writer. The essay was far too long and grotesque in its self-indulgent redundancy. Nevertheless, there was something undeniably endearing about his passion, even if it was poorly articulated. Of all the countless media resources and data Dr. Sagan and his team were monitoring upon the Earth, that megalomaniac blog at last proved to be something worthwhile. One small ray of hope, that might spare the bald monkeys from annihilation. He had been looking for anything. The slightest flicker. The smallest promise. At last, he found it, in the blog of Grandpa Steiner. Something that would prove at least some humans might be worth sparing.

Their invasion fleet didn’t operate so selectively, of course. Exterminating a species was an all-or-nothing vendetta. There was no sparing a few and leaving them behind.

Wiping out a sentient race was never a matter to be taken lightly. There were times when it took several centuries to reach such decisions. However, considering the rate at which this species was spreading over the planet, there was no time for that. Chances were good, these bald monkeys would need to be eradicated.

Nonetheless, there was at least one bald monkey, the noble Grandpa Steiner, who possessed a true sense of harmony for both genders of his breed. Were there more like him, perhaps his species wasn’t beyond hope.

Although the good Dr. Sagan knew the vital importance of eradicating the bald monkeys if need be, he also liked their race and had come to develop a true affinity for them. Their humor was far more developed than most creatures at this evolutionary juncture. It was just a shame they didn’t use it more often.

He immediately contacted the fleet with an updated report.

The suggestion was quickly relayed to every ship.

Ω

Recommend further sociological analysis before extermination.

Ω

Grandpa Steiner’s blog was forwarded to Tau Ceti.

From there, word went all the way to The Intergalactic Counsel.

They concurred with the findings of the well-respected doctor.

Ω

Genocide of bald monkeys on Earth, halted for further study.

Ω

The painting crews were not happy. The fleet approached with half-smiley-faces and half-skull-and-crossbones insignias after all. Orders were given to cease the repainting efforts until a final decision was reached.

Ω

Thus, unbeknownst to any human being, at least for now, Grandpa Steiner’s blog, ranting about the inhumane prejudices and sexism behind feminism, had just inadvertently saved every living soul on planet Earth from annihilation.

Chapter Seven

“Dad! What did you do!?” Sophie yelled into the phone.

She wasn’t the type to ever raise her voice to her own father, but this was really too much. His blog post on feminism was all over the news the next day. If it hadn’t been for those stupid punks of kids and yahoos recording her dad’s entire arrest and posting it on the Internet, no one would have ever noticed that stupid blog post.

But now?

Now even the cable news channels were running stories about his blog. This was unbelievable! People write blogs for years and no one reads them! Her father creates a blog, writes one entry, and now it’s all over the news. Simply because he was the latest viral video sensation, his blog was an instant success.

The fact it was such a controversial subject made it all the more volatile and popular of course.

“I said yes.” Grandpa Steiner answered.

“Yes to what?” Sophie asked the phone. “You know that blog you posted yesterday is all over the news? Last night, I even heard them making jokes about it on The Tonight Show! That’s how I find out my dad has written some sexist blog?”

Grandpa Steiner carefully worked on spindles for the front porch of the birdhouse he was carving. “That’s why I told them I’d do it.”

“Told who you’d do what? Dad, are you even listening to me? What are you talking about?”

“And it’s not sexist.”

“No, it’s not. But to all the idiots out there, it will sound like it’s sexist. You know people are too stupid to understand half of what they read! Now what are you saying you agreed to?”

“That Viewpoints show. When they called this morning.”

“The Viewpoint?”

“Yeah. Said something about wanting me on their TV show. I don’t know nothing about it. Your mother watches that crap. So, I said I’d do it. She likes that stuff. She was beside herself. You know your mother likes that kooky colored woman on there. Makes her laugh. I forget her name.”

“Winnie Goldstein? Wait a minute. Dad, you’re telling me you got a phonecall to be on The Viewpoint!?” Sophie was shaking her head, praying she somehow misunderstood.

“Yeah.”

“No. No, dad. You can’t go on TV about this!”

“Well, why not?”

Sophie shoved the phone into a couch pillow and screamed at the top of her lungs.

“Sweetie? Hello? You still there?”

Taking a big sigh, Sophie cleared her throat and calmly replied, “Yes. I’m still here. Dad, you know those talkshows always make the guests look like fools. They edit your words and ask people like you to be on there just to humiliate you. You can’t do this!”

“No one is making me a fool.”

“Does mom know you’re going on The Viewpoint?”

“I think it’s The Viewpoints.”

“Dad, it’s The Viewpoint. No ‘s’. You said you didn’t even know what the show was and now you’re trying to correct me.”

“It says Viewpoints here on the paper I wrote down.”

“You wrote it down wrong! Look, does mom know?”

“Of course. That’s what I just said. I told you that. She can’t wait to go and meet all those broads on the program.”

“Has mom even read your blog?”

“Oh, honey, you know your mother doesn’t like anything on the computer.”

Sophie’s face grinned with a sassy disgust only exasperated housewives can muster. “Of course. Can I talk to her, please?”

“Sure. Hang on just a minute.” Grandpa Steiner put the phone down and called for his wife.

Twenty seconds into speaking with her mother, Sophie wondered why she was bothering. Her mother wouldn’t try to stop her dad from being on television. She just wanted to meet “those broads on the show” as her father said.

It was useless.

The whole country was thinking her dad was a sexist dirty old man and now he was going to appear on national TV and inadvertently reinforce everything they were thinking.

Great.

Just great.

Ω

Grandpa Steiner was nervous.

Being accustomed to dealing with stage-frightened guests, the production assistant for The Viewpoint could see it on his face.

“Mr. Steiner?” The young girl whispered affectionately, “Are you okay?”

On set, he could hear the hosts of the show were introducing him. Straightening his shirt, he smiled at the production assistant and said, “Yes, honey. I’m good.”

But he wasn’t.

Unbeknownst to her, the cute little production assistant was wrong. Grandpa Steiner wasn’t nervous about being on national television. He didn’t give a crap about that. He was nervous because he had been introduced to the five women hosts of The Viewpoint three times, but he still couldn’t recall their names. There was the colored one, the jap one, the dyke one, the spic one, and the hot blonde broad. That was the only way he could remember the ladies.

Colored.

Jap.

Dyke.

Spic.

Blondie.

He didn’t think any of those terms were inappropriate or insulting, but is was certainly rude to not call someone by their name after you’ve been introduced. Especially after three introductions. So, he was hoping he could avoid having to address them by name, and just stick to the labels in his head.

The muffled voice of Blondie seeped around the stage wall.

“Video of his arrest has gone viral on the Internet and now, his blog on feminism has caused an even greater controversy. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome today’s guest, mister Hank Steiner!”

The crowd began to cheer and the production assistant smiled at Grandpa Steiner and gave him a thumbs up.

He smiled back and returned the gesture.

That was his cue.

Ω

After handshakes were exchanged, Grandpa Steiner settled into his chair and gave a few awkward smiles and waves to the audience.

As he sat, the Colored one spoke first, “Well, Mr. Steiner! This has been quite a ride for you!”

“Yes. Yes, ma’am. It certainly has.”

The Jap asked, “Were you ever expecting all of this?”

“All of what?” Grandpa Steiner leaned in.

“This notoriety.” Blondie clarified.

“Notoriety?” Grandpa Steiner questioned.

“Yes!” The Jap replied.

Shaking his head, Grandpa Steiner said, “Oh, no. No. Of course not. I made an idle comment in a drugstore and next thing I know, I’m on your fine national TV show. No one would expect that.”

Motioning to the audience and the hosts, he laughed, “I never expected such an innocent comment would lead to me being on national television!”

“You’re quite a brave man, too.” The Spic said playfully, “Facing a panel of five independent women on national television, considering the reasons you started getting this attention.”

The crowd chuckled but Grandpa Steiner didn’t get the joke. After all, he loved broads. He was always trying to flirt and make them laugh. Even that colored broad at the drugstore who started this whole thing - he was just going for some laughs with her too. Grandpa Steiner winked at the Spic and told her, “Well, I’ve always been brave with the ladies.”

The Spic had to admit, despite how bigoted she thought he was, Grandpa Steiner had a certain charm about him and she couldn’t help but blush.

“And you are married, correct?” Blondie asked.

“Yes, ma’am. Happily with the same fine lady for 45 years.”

The audience clapped.

Grandpa Steiner explained, “In fact, she’s a big fan of your show. She was thrilled that you wanted me on here.”

“Were you a fan too?” The Spic asked.

“No, I have to confess I never watched it. I’ll watch this one though!”

The crowd laughed.

“Now, I have to ask you,” said the Dyke. “Did you think people would react so strongly to the things you wrote on your blog? I’m referring, of course, to all your feminism opinions.”

Grandpa Steiner shook his head, “No, no. Not at all. I just said what I thought. Nothing more.”

Blondie grinned, “That’s exactly why we have decided to have you on the show today. You’re clearly an opinionated person.”

Grandpa Steiner rolled his shoulders side to side and said, “Well, I’m no more qualified to speak on social issues than anyone else.”

“That’s for sure.” The Dyke insulted.

The audience laughed along with the Jap.

The Spic, Colored and Blondie didn’t find it so amusing.

“Before we get started with our interview and questions, can we take a few questions from our audience?” Blondie politely asked Grandpa Steiner.

“Absolutely.”

Blondie motioned to the audience where a microphone was set up in the aisle and the first audience member approached. A bespectacled and wiry older woman lightly grabbed ahold of the stand and spoke to the panel. “Hello. Hi.”

“What’s your name?” The Colored woman asked.

“Tammy.”

“What’s your question, Tammy?”

Looking at Grandpa Steiner, she said, “Uh, hi, I just wanted to say I read your essay on feminism -”

“- Thank you. -”

“- You’re welcome. And you acknowledged that women are victims of sexual assault more than men. I was just wondering your opinion on how girls can avoid such situations and protect themselves?”

The moment the question came out of her mouth, Grandpa Steiner knew it was a setup. This woman had clearly been planted in the audience by the producers. Why on earth would anyone jump up and start by asking such a controversial and inflammatory question? Maybe his daughter was right. This was just a way to rile him up and get him to rant some more. He tried to choose his words carefully. “Well, every situation is different, obviously. I’m not exactly an expert on self-defense. Sometimes it can’t be avoided. Being attacked, that is. You can’t avoid it. There are rare cases where the psycho really does jump out of the bushes. But, you know, statistically those types of attacks are a rarity. Usually, women are assaulted by someone they know. When someone jumps out from the bushes, handguns or martial arts are clearly the best protection in that situation.” That went well, and the audience clapped a little, until he added, “Women who are raped by acquaintances need to be careful of the kind of men they are around and who they choose to associate with.”

“Careful who they associate with?” Tammy turned very defensive and her tone dropped into an accusatory octave.

Uh, oh. Grandpa Steiner tried to smooth things over by clarifying, “Well, don’t go to the frat party dressed like a slut and accept drinks from strangers. That’s all I’m saying.”

The crowd started to murmur deep and grumbling sounds of dissent.

Tammy raised her voice, “That blames the victim. Are you another one of those men who blame the victim when women are raped? Women should be able to go anywhere they want and feel safe!”

Grandpa Steiner didn’t get the least bit emotional or ruffled. He calmly said, “No. That is not blaming the victim. That is teaching people to be responsible for their actions. If you cover yourself in lamb blood and walk naked into a lions den, you shouldn’t be shocked when you get your face ripped off.”

“Girls going to a frat party are going to the lion den?”

“Absolutely. Women need to drop this ignorant feminist empowerment bullshit of thinking they are always free to go anywhere they want, and do anything they want, at any time they want, without facing any consequences. No one has that kind of freedom. Not men. Not women. Not children. We all have to behave appropriately for a given situation. Instead of lying to girls by making them think they can do anything they want without any repercussions, you need to teach them the truth of when and where to exercise caution. To recognize dangerous people and unsafe situations. Make sure these girls learn that frat parties are perilous, because frat boys are not human beings, they are demonic rapist scumbags incarnate.”

“Sounds to me like you’re defending rapists!” Tammy was clutching the microphone as if wringing his neck.

Perplexed, Grandpa Steiner looked around the room. “Excuse me, ma’am? I just called rapists demons incarnate! Where did it sound like I was defending them?”

“No girl should have her whole life ruined because some boys can’t control themselves.”

Grandpa Steiner shook his head disapprovingly, “Don’t say that. A girl who gets raped never has ‘her whole life ruined’. What a horrible thing to say. Not only are you implying she is weak and a lifelong victim, but you are defining her entire life by one event. Rape does not encapsulate the entirety of what a person experiences in life nor who they are as a person. To presume that one event will forever ‘ruin’ her life is an insulting condemnation of everything she is as an individual and all the potential she has for being happy and healthy. What you are doing is far worse than ‘blaming the victim’ as you put it. You’re branding her a victim forever and doing her a horrible injustice by painting a permanent cloud over the light of her soul.”

At that comment, the audience turned around and cheered him on. Even the Jap and Blondie looked impressed. Slightly humiliated by that retort, Tammy whined, “Well, I’m saying that instead of mothers teaching daughters to be afraid, maybe fathers should be teaching boys to not be rapists!”

“Hey, lady, I agree with you 1000% on that one. The simple fact that so many boys think they can treat girls that way, and not face any kind of punishment for their actions, is absolutely repugnant. All the more so because they are typically correct! Most rapists do get away with the crime. What makes me the most sick to my stomach is knowing if 33% of women get raped in their lifetime, that must mean 33% of men are rapists. Makes me ashamed of my own gender if you want to know the truth.”

At that, the ladies and gentlemen in the audience erupted in cheering.

“Finally we agree on something.” The Dyke laughed.

Grandpa Steiner didn’t find it the least bit amusing. Mocking the darkest sides of mankind hardly seemed like a notion to clap and cheer about.

“Thank you, Tammy.” The Colored woman said, indicating the audience member needed to step away from the microphone.

“We can take another question.” Blondie nodded towards the audience.

A blonde overweight woman approached the microphone wearing a pink shirt with the words BIG IS BEAUTIFUL across the front. “Hello, ladies. My name is Rebecca. My question is about the sort -”

“ - Whoa. Stop. Stop. Hang on, lady.” Grandpa Steiner interrupted, shaking his head. “I’m not interested.”

“Excuse me?” The overweight woman asked.

“I’m not interested in your question.”

An uncomfortable murmur and gasps and chuckles arose from the confused crowd.

“Not interested in my question?”

Grandpa Steiner motioned at her shirt, “Absolutely not. That shirt is awful. I already know if you agree with that kind of attitude, you aren’t the kind of person worth speaking to.”

Gasps erupted from the audience. Even the hosts on the panel were shocked that he’d say something that rude.

Rebecca glanced at the audience for support and stiffened, “Well, that’s the most rude thing I’ve ever been told!”

“Good. Someone needs to tell you. Look, I have nothing against a person who is fat and making an effort to improve your life. That’s fine. I can respect that. But that dumb shirt tells me you like being what you are.”

The audience booed and groaned and were clearly against Grandpa Steiner completely on this one.

“I do like what I am! What right do you have to judge - ”

“ - There we go again with this stupid ‘right to judge’ comeback. I’m not the one judging you. You are. Why would you feel a need to wear a shirt that says BIG IS BEAUTIFUL? You don’t see shirts proclaiming BLONDE IS BEAUTIFUL or IRISH IS BEAUTIFUL or BLUE EYES ARE BEAUTIFUL. You know why? Because there is no stigma associated with those things. You know that being overweight is harmful to your health and well-being and the longevity of your life. And instead of trying to overcome your problem, you are wearing this shirt as weak attempt to revel in it. You are pretending to announce to the world that you love what you are. That’s a lie. The truth is that you hate who you are and that shirt is your feeble attempt to justify your self-consciousness behind a false bravado. Do you have children?”

Taken aback by his response, Rebecca didn’t have time to even process his question and quickly stammered, “Yes. A 5 year old son.”

“Did it ever occur to you that your little boy needs you in his life? He needs his mom. Did you ever stop to think that maybe you shouldn’t have a body ready to drop dead from a heart attack any second? If you truly love and care for your child, you would be keeping yourself healthy, to assure you can provide for his future. But you’re not. Instead, your shirt is bragging about being a fatass. The mentality that teaches people the lie of alcoholism being a disease is the same mentality that started this moronic idea of praising fat people as being big and beautiful. These attitudes are fucking idiotic and corrosive. I can never feel remotely supportive of affirmations celebrating self-destructive behavior. Obesity is detrimental to ones overall health and well-being. Why would anyone choose to celebrate that or seek to justify it? Glorifying gluttony is akin to praising smoking or alcoholism. Those decisions aren’t admirable lifestyle choices. Having the self-esteem to improve your life is admirable. Having the complacency to accept something caustic to your life is the ultimate weakness. Most fatasses would rather cry on talkshows to shame society into accepting their obesity, instead of putting down the fucking donuts and exercising. So, Rebecca, until you respect yourself enough to care about who you are, I’m not interested in your questions. Next!”

Trembling, the woman stepped away from from the microphone in tears. She was nodding in agreement, saying, “Yes. Yes. I know. You’re right. That’s true.” Her hand fluttered and motioned Grandpa Steiner to come up to her.

Grandpa Steiner got up off the couch, smiling warmly, and approached Rebecca in the crowd. She hugged him affectionately and kept on saying, “Thank you. Thank you.”

The audience was cheering and shouting. Grandpa Steiner, still wearing his microphone, could be heard saying, “You going to get on an exercise program for your son? Promise me that.”

“Yes. Yes, I promise. I will. Thank you.” The woman rubbed her eyes as she and Grandpa Steiner walked back to their respective seats.

As she went back to sit down, she pulled off the BIG IS BEAUTIFUL shirt, revealing a plain blouse underneath. Tearing the BIG IS BEAUTIFUL shirt in half, the audience let out a louder cheer. Grandpa Steiner blew her a kiss and gave her a fist of solidarity.

“Well, that’s what you call ‘tough love’.” Said the Jap as she wiped tears from her cheek.

“We’ll be right back on The Viewpoint.” Sobbed Blondie.

Ω

“I have a few things I’d be curious to know your stance on. Since you clearly know so much about women and feminists, we don’t need to explore that.” The Dyke bitterly spat. She was ready to tear into him. Her ass kept wriggling in the chair, unable to contain her venom.

“Now, now.” Blondie said, patting at the table in front of the Dyke.

“No. Now hear me out. The Boy Scouts.” The Dyke nodded at the other women and motioned to Grandpa Steiner. “Recently, there was a lot of talk about the Boy Scouts of America not allowing gay men into the organization.”

“I agree, that’s a pretty offensive topic.” Grandpa Steiner chuckled.

“See? So you do support gay rights?”

“Gay rights? What are those?” Grandpa Steiner laughed. “No one is entitled to extra rights because of who they want to fuck.”

The audience moaned in shock and the words were bleeped out for the television viewers. Many of them cheered and clapped. However, there were armed members of the Gay Mafia Militia stationed at checkpoints all around the studio and it was made clear that if anyone in the audience appeared overly bemused by any jokes against the gay community, they would be executed. At the very least, they would likely be fired from their jobs on the grounds of violating the We Have No Sense of Humor Law: The Queer Bullying Act legislature recently passed as a secret Federal regulation.

“Not extra rights, but equal ones. No one should be denied rights because of their sexual partner either. Don’t you agree?”

Grandpa Steiner shook his head. “I don’t understand why homosexuals are constantly looking for heterosexual cheerleaders to join their goddamn bandwagon. The way you people choose to fuck doesn’t require our endorsement.”

Again, the audience laughed. In fact, more of them laughed than would be expected. The Gay Military Mafia stood down, but was on guard. The Dyke was not amused. She was taking this seriously and trying to stay on topic. “Doesn’t our United States Constitution say that all men are created equal?”

Grandpa Steiner shrugged at the Dyke, “Despite your choice in clothes, you’re not a man, sweetheart.”

The Blondie fell a little in love with Grandpa Steiner in that moment. Although she’d never admit so in public, she always hated that snobby Dyke bitch.

The audience gasped and Blondie and the Spic laughed harder than they should have allowed themselves to.

“Pardon me!?” The Dyke angrily protested.

Grandpa Steiner motioned to her to relax. “Let me answer your question. Yes, they should. People should be denied their rights because of their sexual partners. Absolutely. We don’t allow rapists or pedophiles or people practicing bestiality to do their disgusting behavior. Right? Our culture does deny and curtail the sexual freedoms and deviance of those people. You want them to have equal rights too? You think all sexual preferences should be deemed acceptable? Then why not set rapists free?”

“You dare compare homosexuals to rapists? That’s not the same!”

“Yes it is. A convicted rapist is denied his freedom because of his choice in sexual partner. You just said no one should be denied rights because of their partner.”

“I mean between consenting adults! Rape is not consent. Pedophilia is not consensual. Neither is bestiality.”

“The dogs seem to like it.” Grandpa Steiner joked. Everyone laughed along, but the Dyke was getting livid.

Now the Colored woman spoke up, admonishing Grandpa Steiner, “I can’t believe you would compare homosexuality to being the same as the actions of a rapist.”

Grandpa Steiner spoke very calmly and articulated himself quite clearly. “I never said they were the same. You ladies are growing emotional and as a result you are failing to understand me. I was just pointing out that her argument is flawed. Claiming that everyone deserves equal treatment, regardless of their sexual preferences, is simply not true. Some sexual acts are clearly harmful and violent and a danger to society. Those acts must never be permitted by a civilized culture.”

“You’re talking about perversions.” The Dyke crossed her arms.

“You think pedophiles are perverts?” Grandpa Steiner asked.

“Of course!”

“Why are you allowed to say a pedophile is a pervert, but you get angry when someone says your homosexuality is perverted? What gives you the right to judge others, but others are not allowed to judge you? What devil made you goddamn queers so fucking high and mighty?”

The Gay Mafia Militia cocked their guns, ready to shoot anyone in the audience dead in the head if they clapped. A dozen audience members died in the next round of applause.

“That’s not the same as discriminating against homosexual boys.”

“There’s no such thing as homosexual boys.” Grandpa Steiner said.

“No such thing!?” The Dyke nearly screamed.

“No such thing?” The Jap repeated.

The Dyke growled, “Then where do homosexual men come from?”

“You think homosexuality is taught? Right? You think it’s learned? You’re one of those people who think it’s a choice?” The Jap asked.

Grandpa Steiner sniffed. “No. I never said that. If you wish to debate me, it’s important that you listen to what I say and not get emotional over what you presume I’m saying. Learn to hear what I’m actually saying. My point is that all boys and all girls are asexual until they hit puberty. There’s no such thing as ‘gay’ or ‘straight’ when you’re a child, because sexuality isn’t something children even fully understand. You said yourself that pedophilia is immoral because it’s not consensual. The reason it is not consensual is because we know children don’t comprehend sexuality enough to consent. If you think that prepubescent children can label themselves as gay or straight, then you would also need to concede they have the maturity to consent to sexual activity.”

“That’s a far leap!” The Dyke thumbed her hair.

“No. It’s not. Claiming underage kids are knowledgeable enough to label their sexuality means you are also giving them the capacity to explore it. Hence, I reiterate, there is no such thing as a homosexual child.”

“I knew I was gay from a very young age. Before puberty.” The Dyke said, plainly and matter-of-fact.

Grandpa Steiner disregarded her. “No, you didn’t. That’s bullshit. You may have suspected, but you didn’t know until you were old enough to have legitimate sexual interests and attractions. You simply couldn’t have known your sexuality before you were sexually developed.”

“I think I see your point.” Blondie agreed. She was really coming around to his side and understood a lot of what he was feeling. Although, knowing his opinions were not popular ones, she was careful not to publicly agree with him too much.

The Dyke wasn’t going to argue on a tangent. She instead tried to veer things back the Boy Scouts, “Still, like I said, no one should be denied rights because of their sexual partner. Our United States Constitution says that all men are created equal.”

Grandpa Steiner explained, “Actually, that’s the Declaration of Independence, not the Constitution. But nice try. Letting fags in The Boy Scouts has absolutely nothing to do with equality.”

The audience gasped at the word “fags” just as they had been trained to do. The Dyke chortled, “I can’t have this conversation with you if you are going to use that language.”

“What language?”

“The f-word.” Explained the Dyke.

“Fuck? I didn’t say fuck.”

The audience was laughing, as were the other hosts. Even the Colored lady thought it was funny. The Dyke was the only one who wasn’t laughing.

Blondie leaned over and whispered in Grandpa Steiner’s ear, “She meant ‘fag’ is the f-word.”

Grandpa Steiner leaned away. He didn’t whisper at all. “Fag!? Since when is fag called the f-word? No. Faggots are faggots. You don’t need some stupid little euphemism for it. First the fags took the word ‘gay’ and now they want to claim ‘the f-word’ too? Fuck them!”

The Spic came to Grandpa Steiner’s defense, “Listen, ladies, that’s just the way he talks. We knew starting the show he’d use language that’s not always politically correct and may be offensive. If we take him to task for every little remark, we’ll never get through the hour. So, can we just stick to the topics and not get sidetracked by Mr. Steiner throwing out an occasionally colorful term?”

The other ladies grumbled.

The audience clapped.

“Sorry,” Blondie said to Grandpa Steiner. “Please continue.”

“Thank you ladies. But, no, hold on a minute. Where does this crap come from about offensive words? Why do gay men think it’s okay to call each other ‘bitches’ but they get offended if someone says, ‘That’s gay.’ The word ‘bitches’ is derogatory and insulting to women. Why can the fags use ‘bitch’ in a disparaging manner but others can’t use ‘gay’ in a disparaging manner? The truth is, gay men are just as selfish as everyone else - they don’t give a fuck about equal rights. They just care about their own rights. Their own feelings. Fuck it if women are insulted. Just don’t insult a cocksmoking pretty boy because he might cry and become a cutter.”

The women were shocked not only by his words, but by how fast he rattled them off. Surprised he knew the word “cutter” too. Even the audience was a bit stunned to silence before a few people clapped.

Before they could get their bearings and reply, Grandpa Steiner carried on back to the Boy Scouts, saying, “As I was saying, letting fags in The Boy Scouts has absolutely nothing to do with equality. It has to do with sexuality. I said The Boy Scouts issue was offensive. Very offensive. But I’m afraid you misunderstood why I find it so offensive. I never said I approved of gay men in the Boy Scouts. I never said I disapproved either. What I said was, the very topic was offensive. The reason it’s offensive is because I’m revolted that anyone, homosexual or heterosexual, was discussing such a topic in the first place. Why are they talking about preferences for sexual partners in an organization for underage boys? Huh? That’s what I’d like to know!”

The audience clapped again.

Grandpa Steiner shifted in his chair and continued. “Since hearing of it, I found the whole debate pretty shocking and repugnant, because I don’t understand the relevance of endorsing or prohibiting sexual preferences in an organization dedicated to underage children. Why is the issue of ‘who adults want to have intercourse with’ even a topic of conversation in a group created for little kids? Whomever made that an issue of debate is kind of a sick pedophile. These are the ‘Boy’ Scouts, not the ‘Men’ Scouts. Young boys. Underage boys. So, why is sexuality even an issue? Why is it being discussed at all? Isn’t that proof enough that the people behind these issues are vile perverts? But, hey, where’s the harm with a few paederastic queers supervising catamites alone in the woods? Right?”

Grandpa Steiner knew the hosts and the audience would have no idea what “paederastic” or “catamites” meant, and sure enough, no one really reacted to the comment, because they didn’t understand it.

“Boys can still have sexual attractions, Mr. Steiner.” The Dyke stated. “Despite what you said earlier, sexual feelings do exist in children before puberty. Look at the case of Corey Mathias from Colorado. She was a 6 year old transgendered girl who was forbidden to use the girls bathroom in her school, just because she was born a boy.”

Grandpa Steiner stared at the Dyke as if her hair had just burst into a fountain of green slime. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

“Corey clearly hadn’t hit puberty, and she saw herself as a girl.”

“You just said the kid was born as a boy.”

“She was transgendered.”

“What the holy hell is transgendered? There are only two genders. Men and women. That’s all. Did you miss a few days in biology class? Jesus, he’s 6 years old! You think the world has to accept a 6 year old boy thinking he’s a girl!? Are you fucking crazy!? Most 6 year old kids still believe in the Tooth Faerie and Santa Claus. What the fuck do they know about their own identity? When my son was 6, he told us he was a koala bear. But we didn’t make him live in the tree in our front yard and eat eucalyptus leaves.”

Most of the audience burst into uproarious laughter. Some people groaned, clearly not siding with Grandpa Steiner this time.

“Mr. Steiner, it is you who are uneducated. She was born a boy, but identifies herself as a girl. Being transgendered is widely known and understood and accepted in our culture.”

Grandpa Steiner guffawed. “Maybe in your depraved culture. Not in mine. There is a reason that transgendered people are said to have gender dysphoria or gender identity disorder. It is a disorder. A genetic flaw. A problem. An abnormality.” Grandpa Steiner explained smoothly.

The crowd and the Dyke went silent.

Pretending to be ignorant of the term “transgendered”, then spouting scientific terminology threw everyone off. Grandpa Steiner was just toying with them at this point.

Being on this television show was a fun idea after all!

He knew the Dyke would be shocked at his knowing the clinical terms for the disorder. She was, but she was already growing so angry with him, she didn’t want to acknowledge his awareness of the subject. However, she decided it would be wise not to take low blows against his wits, since he was clearly smarter than she realized.

“Who are you to judge what is normal?” The Dyke snapped. “California has decided to allow transgendered high school students play on sports teams based upon their gender identity as opposed to their sex. That’s wonderful progressive thinking.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Grandpa Steiner chortled. “California used to be brilliant, but it’s become insane. You know the original California Constitution actually banned Chinamen from holding jobs or political office? California was a lot smarter then. They used to do things right. Now it’s government is overrun by a bunch of damn faggots and communists and fucking foreigners. Gender identity? What kind of bullshit term is that? You’re telling me in California, now high school boys just need to claim they’re girls and they can start showering with female students!? What the fuck? Well, hey, I guess I was born too soon! I would have lied and claimed I was a chick too, if it meant I’d get to hang out in the girls locker room. I guess if they start claiming they’re yard furniture, they can lay on the football field all day instead of attending class? If they want to identify as lockers, can they just stand out in the hallways? How many sexual harassment cases and rape victims are you queer freaks trying to create by pretending this shit is ‘normal’ behavior?”

“You have no right to judge what is normal!” The Dyke reiterated.

Grandpa Steiner smirked at the Dyke, “Oh, fuck that. I have more right than you. And neither you, nor anyone else on the face of this earth, will ever have the authority to bestow or relinquish my human rights. There is nothing wrong with judging people. We all do it. You are judging me right now! Aren’t you? So what makes your judgments justified and mine flawed? Just because you have the media and some deranged celebrities supporting your gay mafia bullshit you think yourself to be justified in spreading your diseased philosophies?” Grandpa Steiner spoke the word “diseased” with true disgust. “Judgment stems from possessing a sense of morality and righteousness. When people fail to comply with our personal standards of right and wrong, we pass judgment on them. We all judge others, because we believe in our own convictions.”

The Jap spoke up, her voice sparking, “Learning to stop judging people is what frees us to love one another.”

Grandpa Steiner groaned like a man who has just stubbed his toe on an ottoman. “Oh, that is just another lie our society likes to perpetuate. Being free of judgment is not love. Being free of judgment is apathy. When people get upset over being judged, it is not because they are less evolved or enlightened. The truth is, people hate being judged because it means someone has morals which differ from their own. Those who become offended, because someone judged them, are really saying, ‘I don’t like you, because you don’t see the world the same way I see it.’”

Once again, the audience cheered and clapped for Grandpa Steiner. This was not going the way the hosts had expected.

“I’m getting sick and tired of our society teaching people that we can’t judge each other for anything anymore. That’s a lie! The world is full of people who are cruel and viscous to others, who are degrading and hurtful to themselves. We are just supposed to sit back and accept this? Never judge such wrongs and injustices? Fuck that! If anything, we need to judge a lot more people!”

Cheers erupted louder than ever. Grandpa Steiner shouted the anger everyone feels, but no one dares to say.

“Now, for a 6 year old boy to claim he’s a girl? That’s not his fault. That’s his parents using him for a warped political agenda. They are the ones who put those thoughts in his head. You insist that if a boy wants to be a girl, we have to accept that? Let him wear dresses? Let him use the girls bathroom? That’s insane! You can’t arbitrarily change your gender by changing your wardrobe and expect society to honor your request! I’ve decided to identify as a unicorn. Does that make me one? Hey, everyone! From now on, I’m a unicorn! As far as I’m concerned, if people fail to accept me as a unicorn, they are bigoted and hateful and closed-minded! I demand my own unicorn bathroom in all public buildings and if I don’t get a unicorn bathroom, I’m suing the building owners! Affirmative action! We want unicorn bathrooms now!” Grandpa Steiner pounded his thigh for emphasis.

Everyone laughed except the Dyke. The audience cheered him on.

“You can’t identify as a unicorn, because unicorns aren’t real.” The Dyke answered smugly, thinking she really put him in his place.

“Oh, I see!” Grandpa Steiner mocked. “Of course. They aren’t real! Well, guess what?; a unicorn is just as much a fantasy as a boy thinking he’s a broad! Fine! I won’t be a unicorn. I’m a giraffe. Those are real. From now on, I’m a giraffe! If I call myself a giraffe, why doesn’t the world have to accept that and support it? Would you accept me as a giraffe?”

“Of course not!” The Dyke said.

Grandpa Steiner argued, “What’s the difference? Biologically speaking, a little boy is not a little girl. Just like I’m not biologically a giraffe. If a man claims he’s a unicorn, or a sofa, or a blade of grass, or a giraffe, he’s crazy. If a man claims he’s a woman, that’s fine? What the fuck is wrong with you, lady? That proves you queers have some flawed biochemistry. You’re all fucking insane!”

“He does make a good point.” The Colored woman said.

“I have to agree with Mr. Steiner on that one.” Blondie said.

The Spic replied, “So, it’s a disorder.”

Nodding, Grandpa Steiner turned to the Spic, a desperate man who had found a voice of reason, “That’s all I’m saying. Being transgendered is a mental disorder. Boys thinking they are giraffes, are crazy. Boys thinking they are milkshakes, are crazy. Boys thinking they are girls, are crazy. Just like a Capgras delusion means you’re nuts. Those people need help. They don’t need some hippie liberal culture of queer-lovers enabling them and encouraging their delusional behavior. They have a mental disorder and they need psychological assistance. Being transgender is not a condition to empower. It’s a problem to cure.”

The Dyke shook her head, “Again, who are you to judge?”

“Let me see if I understand you. If a woman thinks she’s a dog, she needs mental help. Right?”

“Obviously.”

“If a woman thinks she’s a clone, she needs mental help. Right?”

“Yes.”

“If a woman thinks she’s a jar of spaghetti sauce, she needs mental help. Right?”

“Absolutely.”

“If a woman thinks she’s a dude, she needs mental help. Right?”

“Not at all.”

“What!? Why not!?”

“Because the gay community supports transgendered individuals.”

“Oh, I see. So, all the spaghetti sauce lady needs is a community to support her insanity, then it’s not insanity anymore?” Grandpa Steiner questioned.

The audience laughed at the Dyke and Grandpa Steiner shook his head smugly, “Lady, you are truly insane.”

“You have no right to judge that.”

Grandpa Steiner groaned. “You just keep spouting that same brainless response. ‘You have no right to judge.’ ‘You have no right to judge.’ You sound like an automaton. That’s your default rhetoric when you have no logical way to argue against me. Are you even capable of critical thought? Apparently the mental disorder of being homosexual has tarnished your reasoning capabilities as well. Stop spouting the same mindless bullshit they teach you to say at your stupid pride rallies. Okay? The judgment comes from the majority in a culture. Again, you are judging me, because I disagree with you.”

Even one or two the armed members of the Gay Mafia Militia began to wonder if they should kill anyone else in the audience. The queers questioned that maybe they did need help more than placating.

Grandpa Steiner looked at the other women. Addressing Blondie, because he liked her the most, he told her, “Like when I was working on my blog, I came across a blog of this total jerk of a fag. Some queer posted a blog about his homo friends and he was clearly kind of a scumbag. His article was all about an older gentleman who was uncomfortable with homosexuality, but he became more accepting when he found out his daughter was a dyke and she was getting hitched to some other queer broad. So, this article the fag wrote, he called it, How 2 Lesbians Changed A Stubborn Old Man’s Mind Forever. What kind of a title is that? What a disgusting thing to say about his elders! In other words, if a father is uncomfortable with his little girl being homosexual, he is ‘old’ and ‘stubborn’? Right? So, it’s perfectly okay to insult the fathers morality and ideals and throw around ageist slurs while making propaganda for a faggot viewpoint? Could it just have been titled, How A Daughter Changed Her Father’s Mind Forever? What is wrong with that? Wouldn’t that be a good title? No. Better to insult and denigrate the father’s opinions! The faggot used belittling insults against the father and that was perfectly acceptable. What if it had been called How 2 Heterosexual Men Changed A Stubborn Old Dyke’s Mind Forever? That author would be crucified for insulting gays if he wrote an article with such a title. But since this little faggot’s article insulted heterosexuals, it was absolutely fine. After all, that’s the passive-aggressive agenda of the ‘politically correct’ and the militant queers these days. Humiliate people into supporting your causes! Shame people into backing you! Well, that’s bullshit! I’m not buying it.”

The audience cheered once more.

They didn’t spend too much time thinking for themselves. They just got rallied by those who speak passionately.

Unseen by most of the crowd, the Gay Mafia Militia dragged a few peripheral members of the audience (mainly who cheered too much) into the soundproof execution chambers and fired bullets into their heads. The dirty queer perverts then began to skullfuck the corpses.

“Don’t you think tolerance is a good thing? Isn’t it beneficial to society to not be fighting and bickering over trivial issues and to tolerate the differences we have, instead of trying to change them?” The Jap woman asked.

“Of course. That would be great!” Grandpa Steiner agreed. He sincerely meant it, but he also doubted it could happen. “I would love a society which tolerated menial things and ceased to make issues out of trivial topics. Absolutely. Tolerating trivial issues is fine, but tolerating important issues is not. But these queers today are preaching a double standard. They have gotten their agenda so entrenched into the culture that no one can criticize anything they do. Like I saw this video with that chink fag from Star Journies.”

“Chink fag!?” The Jap and the Dyke said in incredulous unision.

“George Takanei?” Asked the Spic.

“Whatever. Some creepy old androphiliac made this video mocking heterosexuals for what he called homophobia. What I find repulsive and offensive about their queer attitude is the simple fact that these faggots find it perfectly okay to belittle and condemn and ridicule people who do not agree with them, and they get away with it! When I call him a faggot, everyone gets offended. If he calls me an asshole, it’s totally fine. Why the double-standard? Why is it acceptable for one group of people to have militant and offensive and unwavering viewpoints, but it’s not okay for another? Where is the so-called ‘tolerance’ there?”

Once more, the audience was cheering for Grandpa Steiner.

“People demanding ‘tolerance’ are really saying, ‘I won’t tolerate your opinions, but you must tolerate mine.’”

Perhaps his ideas were not as uncommon as some of the media had lead the society to believe. Maybe there were a lot of silent Grandpa Steiners’ in the world.

Grandpa Steiner let it roll, knowing how much the crowd was loving everything he said, “There was a time when Americans were able to openly disagree with one another. It was acceptable, and even expected, for people to have conflicting viewpoints. But all that has changed. These days, if you don’t agree with the status quo, you are instantly condemned. Your opinions, all of your opinions, on any topic, become automatically disregarded. You are persecuted. By the media. By your peers. By employers. And I find that disgusting. I think that is sick and wrong and deranged. It’s perverted and revolting. America used to be a place where it was okay to respectfully disagree. In fact, it was even encouraged. These days, you are vilified if you fail to conform. These days, Americans have become weak and complacent. Scared to rock the boat. And fellow Americans expect that everyone should think and act and behave the same way. That’s not right. And I won’t stand for it anymore.”

Grandpa shuffled in his chair, “I’m sick and tired of a culture where every psychotic whim has to be regarded as ‘normal’ and ‘acceptable’ and ‘tolerated’. Tired of hearing people say ‘don’t judge anyone’, when they really mean ‘don’t disagree with the status quo’. Tired of these vicious fucking hippies, pretending to be magnanimous, while being perfectly willing to take away the freedom of anyone who hurts their precious hippie feelings.”

The Dyke wouldn’t let it go and asked, “What’s wrong with being tolerant? So, you think it’s perfectly okay to crucify a guy because he likes to wear dresses?”

“Tolerant? Let me tell you something sweetcheeks; tolerance is the word a depraved society uses to demand individuals abandon their morality. Tolerance isn’t a good thing. Tolerance is conforming to that which you find unscrupulous.”

Unable to understand Grandpa Steiner, The Dyke stayed on her topic, “People like you are the ones who beat transgendered and gay men to death. You think beating a person to death is okay, just because she won’t conform to your conservative, antiquated morality?”

With all the tender tones of a mountain breeze, Grandpa Steiner refused to get upset and play into her hands of anger. Gently, he exclaimed, “See? That’s why it’s impossible to have a serious conversation with you. You don’t stay on the topic and you twist things around into unreasonable bullshit. Since when does morality have a timeframe upon it? You ignorantly use the word ‘antiquated’ as an insult, just because you think morality has an expiration date?”

Now the Colored women chimed in, “So, you do think it’s okay? You think a bunch of rednecks are justified for beating a transgender woman to death, like Claire Prinze back in Ohio?”

Grandpa Steiner didn’t hesitate to reply, “No. Of course not! When are you going to understand that being transgendered is not ‘normal’ or ‘okay’ or ‘acceptable’ and it’s a mental disorder? Beating a man to death because he has mental problems is obviously an immoral and heinous crime. A transgender man is just as mentally retarded and damaged as a man with cerebral palsy or Down Syndrome, and he deserves the same respect and kindness. But stop calling him a woman! He’s a man in a fucking dress.”

The audience howled and the Dyke kept right on talking, “If a man feels he’s a woman, people need to respect that. Gender is not about genitalia.”

The audience booed her ignorance. Grandpa Steiner sneered at the Gay Mafia Militia and verbally ripped into the Dyke. “Bullshit! Since when did a deranged psychosis earn the right to demand respect? Did you ever see the movie Fight Club? Remember what Tyler Durden said - ‘Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken.’ Well, wearing a fucking dress doesn’t suddenly turn a man into a woman. He’s not a woman. He’s a man in heels. Have you ever taken a biology course? Gender is not about genitalia? Did you actually say something that idiotic? And you dare to call me ignorant?”

“Gender is not about genitalia! We can change how we feel inside. We can be different. We can choose what we are.” The Dyke was adamant and forceful in her conviction.

Grandpa Steiner just laughed in her face, “Wow. You are one insane bitch. I’m sure pedophiles are going to love living in your whacko society. Next time a 35 year old man has sex with an 11 year old girl, he can just claim that he’s a little girl too! Right?”

“No!”

“Yes! You just said genitalia doesn’t determine gender. You also clearly stated, apparently you think people can change what they are on a whim. So, if he can change his gender, what’s to stop him from changing his age too? A 35 year old pedophile can just claim he’s an 11 year old girl as well! He’s not a rapist. He’s not a pervert. He’s just a fellow young girl, playing doctor at a sleepover!”

The audience was completely on Grandpa Steiner’s side by that point and cheered him on even more. Clearly the Dyke woman was absolutely demented and lacked any comprehension of physics or biology. Everything she was saying was utterly insane. The Dyke threw back her hands, as if she might be entirely done with the conversation, saying, “You are so disrespectful.”

“No.” Grandpa Steiner shook his head. “I’m not disrespectful at all. You know what’s disrespectful? A man who thinks that being female just takes a little makeup and a bra. If anything, this transvestite that you are so busy defending is being disrespectful to you, and to all women. You are the one being disrespectful. You are disrespectful to all women by supporting this guy. You really think that a bra and panties encapsulates womanhood? As soon as a man puts on a dress, you truly think he deserves to be treated as a woman? You think being a woman requires nothing more than a fucking wardrobe change?”

The Dyke nodded, “Absolutely. Why not? If that’s how he feels. ”

The audience moaned in disagreement.

The Dyke was losing the crowd fast.

Every lady in that studio, and every woman on the panel, knew her womanhood was tied to more than a fashion statement.

Grandpa Steiner continued to defend the women, “Why not?! Do you hear what you’re saying? Are you insane? Feeling like a woman means he is a woman? What if he feels like a child? Does that mean he should be allowed to be in the girls locker room? You honestly think that emotional wants, stemming from a clinically proven mental disorder, have the power to trump physically and biologically established traits? Wanting to be a woman, can make a man become a woman? Do you hear how crazy that is? Are you listening to yourself talk? We went over this before. So, if a man decides he’s a horse, society has to respect that too? We have to allow him to live in a horse stable and mate with horses? Biologically, he will never be a horse. No matter if he calls himself one or not. Biologically, a man will never be a woman. No matter what hormones he takes, or what high heels he wears, or what surgery he gets, he’s still male. He might chose to make himself a fucked up and mutilated version of a male, but he’s still male. He is still a man, no matter how many dresses he puts on.”

Blondie downright flirted and said, “I would think you’d take his manhood into question.”

Grandpa Steiner didn’t miss a beat. “His masculinity is certainly forfeit. But he’s still male.”

The Jap now chimed in. “His masculinity is forfeit? See? You are like those rednecks. You say he’s not a man anymore, so you can beat the shit out of him?”

The Jap gasped at her own slip up of profanity and the audience laughed.

“I’m sorry.” The Jap apologized. “I’m sorry. I’m just very emotional right now!”

Grandpa Steiner retorted, “What!? I never said anything of the sort. I said the exact opposite! Beating the hell out of a man for such a thing is never justified. Why would you even jump to such a stupid and irrational conclusion? That’s why I called your friend there unreasonable. The moment someone has a viewpoint which fails to conform to your own, you slap all kinds of irrational labels upon them. Just because I don’t find it acceptable for men to be walking around in dresses, you presume that means I want to lynch them in the streets!? What is wrong with you!? Just because men wearing dresses is unacceptable doesn’t mean a justifiable punishment for them is to be brutally murdered. I’m not condoning harming them! You’re not making any sense.”

Belittling in her tone, the Dyke pointed at Grandpa Steiner. “See? You just admitted it! You think they deserve a punishment because they don’t fit into your vision of the world!”

The audience groaned in defiance of her. Grandpa Steiner stared with irritation and replied, “I never said that either! You’re back to arguing what you think I’m saying, never hearing what I’m actually saying. Pay attention to the actual conversation.”

“Oh?” The Dyke asked. “What am I missing? What are you actually saying? You said it was unacceptable and that killing them was not a justifiable punishment. Which insinuates that they deserve some form of punishment. Right?”

“No. Once again, you’re twisting things around. I said murder is not a justifiable punishment. I never said they deserve to be punished - neither physically nor sociologically. Nevertheless, men dressing like women is unacceptable!”

“Why? Because you say so? You are the judge of all humanity now? What gives you the right to decide what is acceptable or not? You think just because you say people are only allowed to behave a certain way that they have to obey your rules? That’s bullshit. People are free to do anything they want.” The Dyke argued.

That really set the audience in an uproar.

Even the other members of the panel disagreed.

“You can’t do anything you want.” The Colored woman said. “Slave-owners wanted to keep their slaves. Just because a group of people wants something don’t mean it’s right to give it to them.”

“There are limits.” The Jap acknowledged.

“Obviously.” Blondie nodded, on the same page with the others.

Grandpa Steiner corrected the Dyke eloquently by saying, “No. People are not free to do anything they want. What kind of fantasyland do you live in? People have never been free to do anything they want. That’s where your entire attitude of ‘tolerance’ has things utterly wrong. You’re only free to do anything you want when you live on a desert island. So long as you chose to live within a culture, you must conform to the established rules of that culture. If you fail to do so, you should expect to be outcast. That doesn’t just apply to our society today. That is true of every single culture, ever established, by all people, throughout every second of human history! I’m not merely talking about legal rules and laws, but about social edicts as well. Citizens and individuals have always had to answer for their decisions and pay the price for defiance.”

The Dyke was sticking to her guns. She still thought she was free to do anything she wanted and didn’t understand the concept that there are always consequences for actions. She lived under the delusion that the world was out to get her, because she foolishly thought the only thing people care about is the fact she likes to eat pussy. “See? So, you don’t want anyone to think or chose for themselves. All you care about is conformity!”

“I don’t want anyone to think?” Grandpa Steiner wondered. “How did you determine that? Because I don’t support what you think? And let me tell you, there is nothing inherently wrong with conformity. I’m not remotely impressed with you misguided youth rallying around senseless rebellion. No. You don’t rebel against the world, just for the thrill of being a rebel. That’s pointless. You rebel against cruelty, against stupidity, against injustice. You don’t rebel just to be a rebel without a clue. Conformity is not a bad thing, so long as you’re conforming to good and humane aspects of a culture. Most edicts in society must be followed.”

The Dyke had heard enough of that. All her life, she had been told what she should do, and must do, and nothing disgusted her more than the notion of conformity. She didn’t think any conformity was acceptable. “Even if those edicts are totally wrong and unfair? So your whole argument is just based upon fear and conformity. You don’t care if it’s unjust or cruel, so long as it doesn’t rock the boat. Right?”

“No. Not at all. What did I just say? Are you listening at all? I just clearly stated that injustices should be resisted. People should stand up for what they believe in and feel passionate about. But at the same time, they should pick their fights wisely and not fight for things that are trivial.” Grandpa Steiner again elicited claps from the audience. Women who walked into the studio hating him for what they thought were outdated views were starting to support the man.

The Spic surprisingly gave a more confrontational question. But, she really did so just to keep the debate rolling, not because she held anything against Grandpa Steiner. “Who are you to decide what’s trivial? What you think is trivial may be vitally important to someone else.”

Turning to the Spic he said, “You think men dressing like women is vitally important?”

“Yes, if it makes them feel better about who they are.”

Grandpa Steiner laughed in a way that dripped his disgust and frustration across his lips and trickled off his chin like butter. “I’m sorry. I thought our liberties were important. I thought making sure people have jobs and clean air and water were important. I thought protecting the world from rapists and killers was important. I thought keeping a healthy food supply was important. But, if you think it’s important for men to wear dresses, clearly, you and I have vastly different values. Just like I said about the feminists - maybe if these men truly cared about women’s issues, they’d be doing volunteer work at a battered woman’s shelter or an abortion clinic, instead of wearing a dress and going out for drinks at queer bars. But, you’re right. Maybe what I think are important issues for women are not as important as these queers going out and getting drunk with a bunch of other faggots. Now that’s a social statement! Oh, they’re making a real difference in the world! Thank God for them! These faggots are contributing so much to humanity by getting fucked up the ass in a dirty bathroom while wearing a skirt.”

The audience erupted in shouts and laughter and cheers.

More were shot with tranquilizers and would get fired at work the next day for being seen laughing on television.

No one even heard the Dyke respond.

She had to repeat herself three times before anyone heard her say, “Stop using that language! There’s nothing wrong with people dressing up and going out with friends.”

“Even when it’s unacceptable?” Grandpa Steiner asked.

The Spic wondered, “There you go back to that. What gives you the right to say their clothing styles are unacceptable? Why is it unacceptable? Just because you say so?”

“No. Not because I say so. Because our society says so! There are gender roles in a culture for reasons.”

The Dyke nodded, “Oh, here we go. That’s my whole point. Society needs to evolve. Society needs to be more accepting of everyone who lives in it. We don’t need gender roles.”

Grandpa Steiner was baffled by her ignorance. “We have gender roles. They are present in our culture whether you want them or not. The choice isn’t yours to make. We are discussing the real world where these things exist, not your fantasy world where they vanish just because you disapprove.”

“But that’s my point!” The Dyke complained. “If people stop playing into gender roles, they would vanish! Old people like you are keeping them alive. Young people like me are trying to get rid of them. My generation is trying to change things. Your generation is trying to keep everything frozen in 1950 forever. That’s what I’m saying - we don’t need gender roles. If men want to wear dresses, they shouldn’t be judged for it.”

“You love telling yourself that, don’t you?” Grandpa Steiner laughed. “The world is changing? Really? Let me tell you something you already know, but you don’t want to admit: there isn’t a straight person alive who doesn’t still call you a dyke behind closed doors. No matter how many rainbow fucking flags they stick on their cars, when they know they can get away with it, everyone still calls your fudgepacking buddies queers and faggots. And every black person knows the chinks and wetbacks and honkies still call them niggers when no one will hear them say it. Progressing? Evolving? You’re just lying to yourself. Your delusions of a great social change are a fucking joke. All the prejudice is still there, sweetheart. People are just getting better at keeping it secret. And the worst part of all is that you know the courtesy is all a lie, you know I’m right, but you are so desperate to pretend this pipe dream is real that you talk yourself into believing things have changed. But you go right ahead. Keep feeding yourself that steamy pile of bullshit and pretending it’s ice cream.”

The audience murmured, unable to clap or boo. They had no idea how to respond to something so brutally honest.

For the first time, the Dyke stammered, “I... I... Well...”

Grandpa Steiner knew she had no clue how to formulate an argument when everything she said simply reinforced his point. “Tell me something, missy; If we don’t need gender roles, if these men are truly defiant of gender roles, why are trannies so compelled to dress like women in the first place?”

Mustering new courage, she yelled, “They are bucking the system! They are defying the conventions of society. They are making a statement that gender roles are bullshit.” The Dyke didn’t apologize for her profanity like the other women. She let it fly. Grandpa Steiner noted that she may have just been too upset to notice what she had said.

Grandpa Steiner frowned and disagreed, saying, “Really? I think they would completely disagree with you. I think men who wear women’s clothing aren’t rebelling against gender roles. Clearly, they are quite the opposite. Clearly they have bought into gender roles so deeply, they are seeking some sort of psychological solace by attempting to change their role. If they didn’t care about gender, why not just dress in jeans and T-shirts? That’s a truly gender-neutral outfit. Men or women can wear jeans and a T-shirt. There is no gender identity associated with that wardrobe. If they are truly into equality, why not wear clothing which is not gender based? Why go out of their way to specifically choose clothes with a gender implication behind it? You really think that’s a sign of solidarity? No. The truth is, they don’t wear genderless clothing, because they clearly conform to gender roles. They are dressing like women, because they identify with something feminine in themselves, in a very abnormal way.”

“Abnormal? Oh, right. There you go. Judging again. Total prejudice. Now they are all abnormal deviants! You just label them as freaks.” The Dyke scoffed, disgusted.

“Yes. They are.” Grandpa Steiner said plainly.

The Colored woman spoke up this time, “Oh, what is wrong with you? Don’t you hear yourself? How obsolete and outdated your thinking is? There is nothing wrong with them being that way.”

“Yes, there is. It’s not normal.” Grandpa Steiner shrugged it off.

The Colored woman said, “There you go with normal again. Now you’re just spouting rhetoric. What defines normal? Can you even back up what you’re saying? Why isn’t it normal?”

Grandpa Steiner looked at the women with genuine pity. “Look, I’m sorry that you have a warped misconception about language. I can see your handicap makes it difficult for you to articulate your emotions in a conversation. Whether you approve of it or not, whether it happens to be in conflict with your opinions or not, there do happen to be immutable definitions for words. That’s how language works - it exists to have consistent meaning behind the words. Like it or not, there is a definition for ‘normal’ and that definition can’t be changed arbitrarily, simply because you disapprove of the meaning. ‘Normal’ is whatever is predominant in a culture. Again, I don’t decide what is normal. You don’t decide. Society does. As a majority. Since only 3% of the population identifies as homosexual, they are clearly not normal.”

Shrugging, Grandpa Steiner asked, “The question becomes, where does it stop? Thirty years ago, it was unacceptable to be homosexual, it was unacceptable to be a pedophile, it was unacceptable to be a polygamist, it was unacceptable to practice incest, it was unacceptable to engage in bestiality. Today, suddenly you’re telling me being homosexual is fine? If such deviant sexual behavior is considered acceptable today, will pedophilia become acceptable in another thirty years? Will the idea of rape slowly become accepted? Will bestiality be seen as normal behavior? Will incest no longer be perverted? Will pedophiles be called normal in your future utopia? Where does it stop? What is the limit of licentiousness and sexual perversion which a civilized society will permit? Will our society eventually degrade into a world where rape and pedophilia and bestiality are no longer considered illegal or immoral? Will pedophiles demand equal rights so they can fuck children without repercussions? Will rapists be allowed to abuse their victims with no fear of any consequences, because rapists are just doing what is natural and normal to them? Where does it stop? What is the limit?”

Blondie agreed and said, “That which is preposterous today can easily become commonplace in another generation.”

Grandpa Steiner patter her knee. “That’s exactly right, honey. If you allow dykes and faggots to be ‘normal’ today, will pedophiles and rapists be ‘normal’ tomorrow?”

“Many people think it’s time to be more inclusive of homosexuality.” Blondie revealed.

“True,” said the Colored woman, “After the Disney movie with the black princess, people have asked why not gay relationships in Disney films?”

Grandpa Steiner nearly gagged on the notion of such a sacrilege against childhood and family values. “Are you fucking kidding? How about because gays comprise 3% of the population and 12% are black. Gays are irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant!?” The Dyke screamed with an indignation rarely displayed by a television personality.

“In the grand scheme of population percentages, yes. Totally irrelevant. But you know what? You’re absolutely right. In fact, why not make a Disney movie about every sexual deviance? What about the people who are into bestiality? They have feelings too. They have equal rights. They shouldn’t be discriminated against. They shouldn’t be treated with hate or bigotry. Let’s make a movie about a princess who fucks her dog. Right? That’s true equality. And what about pedophiles and necrophiliacs? Why not make a lovestory about them too? They’re just misunderstood. Why does society condemn them as freaks? You want to be the first to make a movie where a 50 year old man gets married to his 12 year old daughter? After all, that is the basis of a Grimm’s Faerie Tale. Right? Why not celebrate pedophile incest? That’s the kind of ‘equality’ you want to establish.”

“That’s a far leap.” The Dyke said.

“Is it?” Grandpa Steiner asked. “I don’t think so at all. Thirty years ago, showing gay couples on television would have been unfathomable. Now it’s commonplace. Immoral in one generation has become tame in the next.”

Now the Jap chimed in and said, “And you simply can’t accept that society is changing. What you call ‘normal’ isn’t what it used to be.”

Grandpa Steiner chuckled affectionately. “A minority of tens of thousands of people making a bunch of noise in society doesn’t constitute a global shift in a culture. It may feel like it, inside your little bubble of like-minded friends, but it’s not an indicator of where a society of millions is headed. Your little community of gay bacon lettuce and tomato people don’t represent the whole world.”

Blondie laughed, “You mean LGBT?”

Grandpa Steiner wasn’t trying to be funny.

He really thought it was “gay BLT”, like a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich. He had no idea what the letters stood for, he just knew queers called themselves that. Maybe they liked sandwiches. He wasn’t sure. What difference did it make?

“GBLT. LGBT. Whatever it is. Who cares?” Grandpa Steiner jeered.

The Dyke was not amused, “It means Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender. Okay?”

“Sure. Whatever you say.” Grandpa Steiner replied, not really caring.

Blondie asked, “But if a society does change, you’d accept it?”

“Not necessarily. There are other factors. Society changed in Nazi Germany. Just because a majority of people start to conform to a new way of thinking doesn’t make that thinking justified.” Grandpa Steiner was just hoping they wouldn’t pull his German heritage into the conversation. Easiest way to stop listening to a German is to falsely accuse him of being a Nazi. Luckily they didn’t. The Jewish snipers were up in the control room, not around the perimeter like the Gay Mafia.

The Dyke spoke up, “Now you think liberals are Nazis? Ha! Typical conservative argument. Why does everyone use Nazis as a comparison for radical social change they disagree with?”

Rolling his eyes, Grandpa Steiner grew weary of the circular argument. “There you go again, twisting my words around. I never said liberals were Nazis. You said that. And please don’t use those trite political labels like liberal and conservative because they don’t exist. They don’t mean anything. That’s as meaningless as Democrats and Republicans. They’re all the same crooks. There is no such thing as liberals or conservatives. That’s just more bullshit lies to divide humanity. There are only human beings. Nothing more. The minute you start categorizing and labeling people is when people stop listening to each other. Intelligent people weigh political and sociological issues on individual merits and base their decisions and opinions accordingly. Conservative on some issues. Liberal on others. To categorize oneself as a ‘liberal’ or ‘conservative’ is ignorant and lazy, because it simply places an overarching stamp on issues and you never have to think about your stance. My point with the Nazis was that just because society changes doesn’t always mean it’s changing for the better.”

The Dyke actually defended herself rather well by saying, “You just labeled transgender men as freaks, then when I use liberal and conservative, you belittle my choice of words. You say labels only serve to divide people. You’re being a total hypocrite. Why can you call transgender women freaks, but I can’t call you conservative? They are not freaks and accepting differences among people should never be considered abnormal. I think my generation being accepting is helping by making things better.”

“Why do they do it then?”

“Because we want the world to be a kinder place.”

“No, not you. I didn’t mean your generation. I meant the queers in womens’ clothes. Why do they dress that way? Why do they do it?”

The Dyke was tired of the way he was talking. “Queer is a derogatory word. If you keep talking that way, we can’t continue this conversation.”

“How convenient for you.” Grandpa Steiner muttered.

“And besides, not all transgender women or crossdressers are homosexual.”

“Right. Sure. You just keep believing that.” Grandpa Steiner laughed and the audience laughed with him.

The Dyke was appalled that so many people found his homophobia amusing. “I’m serious!”

Grandpa Steiner leaned forward and reiterated, “I say men in dresses are queer. Men who wear womens’ clothes and claim to be heterosexual are obviously liars. Any man who wants to be a woman is clearly a faggot. You never did answer my question about why they do it.”

“You are so obnoxious. Stop calling homosexual men by the q-word and the f-word.” The Dyke demanded.

Squinting at her, Grandpa Steiner questioned, “Now you’re telling me how to speak? Dictating what I can and can not say? Who is attempting an oppressive control over people now? I can say queer or faggot all I want. Especially when I’m talking about queers and faggots!”

The Dyke was revolted. “You’ll never be tolerant. You’re just crass and rude. You’re one of the most homophobic men I’ve ever met!”

“Oh, please. Homophobia. Do you even know what that word means? You queers love tossing that word around too, don’t you? The minute anyone disagrees with your agenda, they’re homophobic. No, I’m not. The suffix phobic comes from phobia, meaning a fear of something. I do not fear homosexuals. You people never even use the word homophobia in the correct context.” Grandpa Steiner laughed.

“You’re a gay-basher though! You hate gay people. You’re totally homophobic.” The Dyke was livid again, her anger constantly boiling and calming over the course of this entire conversation.

“There’s nothing wrong with hating people.” Grandpa Steiner chuckled at the obviousness of his words. “There are a lot of people in this world who deserve to be hated. Just make sure you are hating people for justifiable reasons. You don’t hate people because of their skin color or because they happened to be born better looking than you. You don’t hate people because of their gender or their physical handicaps or because they were born retarded. You need to hate people because of their choices and their actions. You need to hate people for being rapists or murderers or for destroying lives. You need to hate people for outsourcing jobs to foreign nations. You need to hate people for stealing the rights and freedoms of decent citizens.”

The audience cheered and stomped their feet, so grateful to hear this man speak out.

“So, you do hate gays!” The Dyke protested. She only understood people as being “liberal” or “conservative” and therefore, Grandpa Steiner confused her, because he didn’t seem to fit either description. The Dyke didn’t understand that her labels were flawed, even after he explained it. Instead, she presumed Grandpa Steiner was inconsistent and hypocritical.

“No.” Grandpa Steiner shook his head with closed eyes. “I do not hate gay people. Not at all. I am not a gay-basher. I do not think homosexuals should be beaten or murdered. They just have a problem. A mental illness. Physical violence won’t cure them. Gays should not be assaulted for being gay, just like a handicapped person shouldn’t be beaten for being retarded.” Then he quickly added, “Being gay shouldn’t be any excuse to not beat someone up either. There are assholes among gays and heterosexuals alike. Assholes deserve to have their asses kicked, and their sexual preference should never offer any solace from a justifiable beatdown. Gay or straight, anyone can be an asshole who deserves a punch in the mouth.”

Blondie joked, “Careful or some transvestite might take you up on that.”

Grumbling over the laughter of the crowd, Grandpa Steiner said, “Ah, I’m not afraid of some faerie in a prom dress. And, allow me to repeat myself - homophobic means a fear of homosexuality, not a hatred. You’re not even using the word in the correct context. The truth is, those of you who support homosexuality are too ignorant to understand the meaning of the rhetoric you spout. Hating all people is misanthropy, hating men is misandry, and hating women is misogyny. There’s no word for hating homosexuality.”

“I know what those words mean. And no matter how you chose to twist things around to defend yourself, your words and actions prove that you hate homosexuals.” The Dyke didn’t believe that, even as she said it, but she was so angry at the fact that Grandpa Steiner had contradicted her so eloquently with the same kind of talk, she wanted to turn it back on him. The audience didn’t buy it and booed her.

“I do not hate them. I disapprove of the way they live.”

“That’s the same thing!”

“No, it’s not. Would you approve of your son dating a hooker?”

“Now you’re saying homosexuals are prostitutes?”

“I never said that. Stop hearing what you want to hear and listen to what I’m actually saying. I asked if you would approve of your son dating a hooker. It’s a simply question. Yes or no.”

“My son isn’t gay.” The Dyke replied, thinking she found a way out of answering his question.

Grandpa Steiner didn’t know she actually had a son and didn’t want to bother asking how that was possible. Clearly she didn’t fuck a dude like nature intended. He wondered, do they let people with mental disorders adopt kids now? Sheesh. What was the world coming to? Instead, he simply asked, “Would you stop changing my question around? It’s a simple question. Has nothing to do with being gay. Would you approve of your son dating some meth-addict, street-corner hooker? Yes? Or no?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t want my son to date a drug-addicted prostitute. I don’t see what that has - ”

“ - Does that mean you hate hookers?” Grandpa Steiner asked.

Much of the crowd clapped, understanding his point right away.

“No. I don’t hate anyone. Unlike you.”

“I don’t hate anyone who doesn’t deserve it. That’s my point. You can disapprove of a person without hating the person. You would disapprove of your son dating a hooker, but that doesn’t mean you are full of hatred for hookers. You simply disapprove of the lifestyle a hooker is leading. I feel the exact same way about homosexuality and transvestites and transgender weirdos. I don’t fear homosexuals. I don’t hate homosexuals. I simply disapprove of their lifestyle. Just as you do not approve of a hooker as a good woman for your son.” Grandpa Steiner spread his hands, knowing he had just explained himself in a way she couldn’t contend.

The Dyke even had to concede, that was well put. “Fine. That may be the only good point you’ve made.”

The audience clapped for the Dyke. She looked at the crowd, as if realizing they were there for the first time.

Grandpa Steiner said, “This isn’t about me. We got off the original topic, so I’ll ask you a third time - why do those people, the transvestites, behave that way?”

“I don’t know why men choose to wear dresses. You’ll have to ask them.” The Dyke said, her voice a little smaller and ashamed, as if she felt she should know the answer, but embarrassed that she didn’t.

Grandpa Steiner pointed an index finger at her. “My point exactly. You never ask. See, by just preaching tolerance and acceptance, you never take the time to gain understanding.”

“I’m very understanding!” The Dyke put her palm to her chest. “At least I’m part of that community. You’re the one who isn’t understanding!”

“No. You’re accepting. Not understanding. There is a big difference. Huge difference. You accept transgender men and women. Meaning you condone their behavior without question. Without inquiring anything of them. It’s none of your business how they behave. Right? It’s none of your business why they dress like women. Right? Live and let live? You never ask them ‘why’ they choose to live that way, because you don’t want to offend them or insult anyone.” Grandpa Steiner observed.

The Dyke nodded. “Exactly. Unlike you, I don’t expect the world to answer to me.”

“I know. That’s my point. You blindly embrace their behavior. Without judgment. Without question. That’s acceptance. That is far from understanding. Do you see the difference? You accept them. You don’t understand them. You tolerate their actions. You don’t understand their actions. So, I ask you - what is their motive? Have you ever tried to understand that?”

The Dyke realized he was right. She didn’t try to understand things. Only to accept things without question. She was mortified to think this homophobic, sexist, old geezer had pointed out a true shortcoming in her personality. “Well, I don’t know. How should I know? None of my business. I guess maybe they are trying to buck the system and defy those gender roles, like we said before. Maybe they are making a statement.”

It was a weak response and she knew it.

She refused to show it though. She tried to play it off like she was sure of herself, even though he was leaving her confused.

Grandpa Steiner dove right back into the verbal melee. “Really? You think transgendered men are living that lifestyle and taking on that mantle as a sociological statement? You honestly think they are voluntarily making a choice which alienates them and carries the repercussions of that sort of persecution, just to make a social commentary?”

The Dyke had no answer. “Well... No. I doubt it. But it’s none of my business anyway, like you said. I mean, that’s my point. To stop judging people like you do.”

“Who is judging? This is a hypothetical exercise for comprehending motives. No judgments. No condemnation. I’m just pointing out that if you wish to be truly, genuinely supportive and empathetic to their plight, you need to make some effort to try and put yourself in their shoes. Even if they are pumps.”

Blondie laughed. “Funny.”

The Spic and the audience were amused too.

Grandpa Steiner asked the entire panel, “So I ask again, what drives them to live that lifestyle? You already concluded it’s not political.”

The Jap said, “Well, it might be.”

“Honestly? You still want to stay on that argument? You honestly believe men are dressing like women in order to make a social statement about the evils of gender roles?”

The Colored woman spoke up, “Okay, no. That’s probably not their reason.”

“So, what else? What other motive might they have?” Grandpa Steiner was now the grandfather asking the grandchildren a question they couldn’t answer.

Who broke the China plate?

How did the ink get on the tablecloth?

Did you do your homework? All of it?

The Dyke was afraid to talk by that point without digging herself deeper. The Jap spoke up, “Um... Maybe they just identify with women more. Maybe they feel more comfortable in that role. But that’s what we’re trying to say. It’s not for us to put those limitations of gender - ”

“ - Wait. Wait. Wait. Stop right there. This isn’t about you.” Grandpa Steiner shook his head, interrupting her. “Don’t make this about your feelings and your issues and what changes you want in society. We’re talking about them right now. Their feelings. What they think. Set your own feelings and opinions aside for 2 minutes. We’re talking about the feelings of other people now.”

Defensively, the Jap woman defended her stance and said, “Well, I don’t know what a transgender woman thinks. I’ve never had to live her life. I can’t possibly understand all the issues she’s had to deal with.”

“Oh, see? You accuse me of spouting rhetoric and now you’re doing the same thing. Why do the hippies always start in with that ‘if you aren’t one of them you can’t possibly understand’ bullshit?” Grandpa Steiner looked at all of the women very seriously. He paused briefly, so they would really pay attention to his next words. “Like I said before, we are all human beings. We all know pain, rejection, abandonment, fear, ridicule, oppression, anger, fear, subservience. The real insult, the real offensive attitude, are those who think you need to be a member of a particular group of people in order to relate to their plight. Only homosexuals can understand what it’s like to be homosexual. Only coloreds can understand what it’s like to be colored. Only women can understand what it’s like to be women. Only the handicapped can understand what it’s like to be handicapped. That’s bullshit. All human beings can empathize with one another. First-hand experience is not a prerequisite for compassion. Don’t you see? Our society has spent so much time making everyone think they’re so goddamn special that people have honestly bought into this crap that we’re different from each other. We’re not different. We’re all the same. We’re all human! We all live with the same emotions! I guarantee whatever heartache a dress-wearing-man has endured in his life, you’ve felt the same kind of hurt and grief. You may not be able to relate to the same specific details of his life, you may never have had his same experiences, but all human beings relate to the same anguish.”

Finally, the Dyke spoke up again, “So, if we are all the same, that means you’re the same as a transgendered woman? That means you should be more tolerant and accepting.”

Grandpa Steiner surprised her by saying, “I’ll get to that. You still didn’t answer my question - what other motive do they have?”

“I don’t know. I guess they just identify with women more.”

“Exactly.” Grandpa Steiner chuckled. He was so pleased with himself and no one seemed to follow his train of thought.

“Yeah? So? I don’t see your point.”

“My point is that your reasons for being supportive of transgender freaks is based upon an argument which is the polar opposite of their motives!” Grandpa Steiner explained, as if it was perfectly obvious. The audience and the panel of women didn’t follow him at all.

“Why do you call them freaks!? They’re not freaks!” was all the Dyke managed to say.

“Whatever. Don’t you see that your support and enabling is doing them more harm than good?” Grandpa Steiner asked.

“What the hell do you mean?”

“You think they should be accepted and tolerated, because our culture puts too much emphasis on gender roles. Right? When the truth is, these poor souls are suffering from some sort of emotional trauma, a distorted brain chemistry, which makes them identify with the wrong gender role.” Grandpa Steiner knew this answer all along. He was just trying to lead the panel to say it.

They were still confused. The Dyke asked, “Emotional trauma? Where do you get that from? How can you possibly jump to that conclusion? That’s ridiculous!”

Grandpa Steiner challenged her with wise old eyes, “Is it? Why would a member of a society deliberately go out of his way to change his gender appearance, even in the light of knowing all the negative repercussions such a shift could spell for him in society? If not to make a political or sociological commentary, why would he do it? What would drive him to be more comfortable in a dress than in jeans?”

“I don’t know. Ask one of them.”

“You’re right back at it. Claiming you can’t understand their mindset, so you toss the question out the window. It’s a convenient cop-out so you don’t have to actually think and use your brain and face the argument. Like I said, they are human, just like you. Don’t say you can’t know their mindset. Think about it. Imagine. Put yourself in their place. Why would you do it? Why would you be more comfortable in a dress, even knowing you’d be shunned by your society?”

The Dyke wasn’t sure where he was going with this, she just knew she was playing into his hands. “Well, isn’t that the point? That we need to change our culture to not shun them.”

“And as I said before, that still skirts the issue - no pun intended. Tolerance and acceptance are bullshit excuses to not have to face understanding. Accepting their behavior won’t stop them from doing it in the first place. If it would, if a massive paradigm shift occurred in the culture, so being transgendered was universally acceptable and the men living that life were only doing it for political reasons, then the social shift itself would change their behavior. Right? If their motive was to make a social statement, and society changed, then they could cease making the statement. But we already established their motives are not sociological. So, what is their motive?”

“I already told you - I don’t know and I guess maybe they just identify with women more.”

“Meaning they do buy into gender roles. They are not making a defiant political statement against gender roles. Quite the opposite - they have gender roles ingrained so deeply into their psyche, that there is something in their psychological makeup which they can only satisfy by wearing the mantle of their opposite gender. That sounds like some deep seeded emotional issues to me. Obviously a flaw in their biochemistry. Something in their brains is not functioning correctly. That is why I say they are not normal. That’s why I say what they are doing is wrong. Because they aren’t helping resolve anything by conforming to their misguided perception of themselves. And your tolerance and acceptance isn’t really compassion at all. It’s apathy. You think you’re being kind, simply because you aren’t being mean or ridiculing them. The truth is that apathy is far more vicious. You don’t care to learn their motives. You don’t care to question their behavior. You are just content to sit back and remain willfully ignorant and apathetic. Just accept them, because that way, you don’t have to deal with them.”

The audience clapped and murmured and was utterly dumbfounded.

Even the hosts of the show were kind of blown away by his statements. The notion that tolerance and acceptance were actually a passive-aggressive form of apathy was something none of them had ever considered before. And the way he so eloquently phrased it, they couldn’t deny he was right.

Even the Dyke felt compelled to defend herself against what was an undeniably smooth decimation of her perspective. “That’s so untrue. I’m not apathetic! I have plenty of transgender and gay friends. I care about them! I’m not apathetic. If I didn’t care about their feelings I wouldn’t even be having this discussion. That proves I care!”

“Sure you care, but you never question their choices. You never ask. That makes you apathetic. You’re indifferent to their motives. You don’t care to bring up the topic.” Grandpa Steiner told her, still working to educate her about who she happened to be.

“No. I’m accepting! They don’t need to justify their behavior to me. They aren’t hurting anyone. That’s really what it comes down to. So long as people aren’t hurting anyone else, what they choose to do is none of my business.” The Dyke stood firm in that retort, thinking he’d have no comeback.

“Even if it hurts themselves?”

“How are they hurting themselves by embracing something about themselves and owning it?” The Dyke asked.

“Are they embracing and accepting something, or are they hiding and suppressing something?” Wondered Grandpa Steiner.

“No. They are hiding when they pretend to be something they aren’t. The fact they can come out of the closet is now empowering for them.” The Dyke explained.

Some of the Gay Mafia Militia members began to cry, knowing Grandpa Steiner, this bigoted old man, was the only person who ever understood them and articulated how they felt. One of the Gay Mafia Militia men shot himself in the head.

Grandpa Steiner said, “You don’t think a man who dresses like a woman is running from something? You don’t think he’s exhibiting such behavior because something isn’t functioning correctly in his mind?”

The Dyke became defensive again, not because her heart was in it anymore, but because she wanted to make it seems like she was winning the argument she already lost. “Oh my God. You’re really saying this? Something not functioning in his mind? Seriously?”

“Gender dysphoria is a medically recognized disorder. I told you that earlier. Isn’t defying the conventions of a society without any motive of social reform the very definition of disorderly behavior?”

“Disorderly? You make it sound like these people are criminals. You think that they should be locked up?” The Dyke asked angrily. Part of her anger was from knowing he didn’t think that way and she no longer had anything to attack him with. She was grasping for nothing at this point.

“Again, you jump to conclusions I never stated.” Grandpa Steiner remarked, staring at the floor in frustration.

“There was recently a woman in Texas, named Priscilla Page, who was forced to leave her home, her partner, and their children, just because she was gay.” The Dyke fumed. “You think that’s criminal? You think she deserved that?”

“You’re lying.” Grandpa Steiner barked, angry at her for deceiving the audience.

“Lying? You don’t believe Ms. Page was - ”

“ - Stop. Stop. I actually know the story you are talking about and you’re lying. The fact Ms. Page was ordered by the court to leave her home had absolutely nothing to do with her being gay. There is a law in Texas which forbids unmarried couples from cohabiting in a home when there are children present in the house. The woman you referred to, her lesbian lover’s ex-husband insisted the law be upheld during a messy custody battle in their divorce. The judge simply enforced a law that applies to heterosexual couples.” Grandpa Steiner growled angrily.

The Dyke stammered. “Well, that may be the case, but - ”

“ - That is the case. You queers are all alike. You just tried to tell a half-truth in order to force your selfish gay agenda. Homosexuals want to be treated equally in marriage rights? Then they have to abide by all the marriage laws, not just the ones which suit them. You’re lying by trying to make that issue into some stupid fucking queer agenda. Her eviction had nothing to do with her being a gynophiliac broad.”

The crowd clapped and the other hosts looked at the Dyke like she was an idiot. Grandpa Steiner had utterly humiliated the Dyke with that one. She had nothing left to defend her position.

“You want to bring up more lies from you homos? How about Diana Morales? Remember her? Lying dyke bitch who was dishonorably discharged from the military and claimed she was cheated out of a tip while waitressing because she was a queer. She was given nearly $3000 in donations from all around the country, then it tuned out the clamlapper was a lowdown pathological liar who fabricated the whole story!”

“I remember that.” Blondie nodded at the other women.

“Let me ask you plainly.” The Dyke said. “Do you hate us? Do you hate homosexuals?”

“Hate you?” Grandpa Steiner didn’t remotely hate gays and was therefore shocked to even be asked such a question. He already explained he didn’t hate gays. He said it multiple times. Was this Dyke so scared of being hated that she couldn’t stop thinking about it? He was disappointed in himself that he may have failed to notice how frail she was and that was giving her such an impression. He never felt anything so strong as hate. He never wished any harm or cruelty or pain or hardship upon any of these people. Not remotely. He was never a hateful man.

“Yes. Did you know there is a law in Uganda in Africa which condemns homosexuals to death, just for being gay? Is that how you see us? You think we all deserve to die?”

“Of course not! Not at all!” Grandpa Steiner frowned at her, his palm over his heart.

“Or what about Major Andrew Craibe, a Salvation Army Media Relations Director, interviewed on Australian radio who said homosexual parents should be put to death, because the bible says so.”

Grandpa Steiner nodded, “I’m familiar with that story. I find it offensive that you think gays deserve special treatment.”

“Special treatment?”

“Yes! Gays are not special. No one earns any kind of privilege just because of who they like to fuck. People should find all Messianic religions offensive, because without exception, every single one of them condemn to death those who not conform to their beliefs. I find it perverted that any religion encourages followers to murder anyone. I don’t give a flying fuck if the intended victims are queers or not. Who cares?”

The Dyke was taken aback. “So you don’t - ”

“Hold on. I’m not done. Romans, Chapter 1, versus 27 and 32. You know what that is?”

“No.” The Dyke said.

“No. Of course you don’t. That’s the bible passage you are referring to - In the same way the men also abandoned natural relations with women and were inflamed with lust for one another. Men committed shameful acts with other men, and received in themselves the due penalty for their error... Although they know God’s righteous decree that those who do such things deserve death, they not only continue to do these very things but also approve of those who practice them.”

The Blonde was impressed. “Wow. You knew that whole thing?”

Grandpa Steiner flirted, “I keep up with the times, honey.” Turning to the Dyke he said, “That kind of hate is offensive, but not because it’s against homosexuality. It’s offensive because it’s against anyone who disagrees with the self-professed righteous.”

The audience clapped again as Grandpa Steiner clarified his stance. “I genuinely believe that homosexuality is a birth defect, the same as missing a limb or being born mentally retarded. I don’t hate people who are afflicted with those defects. I pity them. That’s what I think of homosexuality too. I pity those who are afflicted with it. I pity anyone who is so psychologically delusional, they think their gender is the opposite of the one they were born with. These are all mental problems. Biochemical birth defects. These people shouldn’t be told they are normal. Your acceptance and tolerance isn’t doing them any favors. Deep inside, these people know there is something wrong with them. They know their brains are wired differently. By telling them there is nothing wrong with them, you are doing them a great disservice. These people that are gay or lesbians or transdressing whatchacallits, are sick and need help. Your tolerance is doing nothing more than enabling their flaws and does them far more harm than good.”

“None of us in the gay community want your damn pity.” The Dyke spat the last word.

“Who made you the spokeswoman for everyone who shares your sexual preference? Your rejection or your acceptance of my pity isn’t relevant. Doesn’t matter what you want. Pity is what you’re getting from me, whether you want it or not.” Grandpa Steiner grinned, although not maliciously.

Research beginning with the studies of Dean Hamer had shown homosexuals had abnormalities in their brain chemistry, but the Dyke wasn’t going to admit that. “Who are you to say their biochemical makeup is wrong? Or deviant? Or abnormal? Maybe such deviations are a natural part of evolution. Maybe anomalies and mutations are required to advance the species.”

“A mutation which results in the end of procreation is not beneficial to the species. So, now you acknowledge they are mutations?” Grandpa Steiner asked.

“No. I didn’t mean it like that. What I mean is, if I accept that our personalities are determined by biochemistry and homosexuals are pursuing a lifestyle which puts them in the minority, it stands to reason that their biochemical makeup is going to consist of variations which are not as common.” The Dyke reinforced exactly what she didn’t want to reinforce. She was so flustered, she couldn’t construct a simple defense anymore.

“Exactly. Hence the term ‘normal’ - as I said before, I don’t define it. The word is defined by whatever makes up the majority of the species. In this case, most human beings are not inclined to identify with opposite gender roles. Therefore, when a human does identify with opposite gender roles, they likely possess an abnormal biochemical deviation from the majority of other humans.”

Blondie chimed in and joked with Grandpa Steiner, “So, I guess this means you won’t be attending the Gay Pride parade this weekend?”

The audience laughed and Grandpa Steiner chuckled. “No, honey. I’ve seen the way people behave at those things. They are awful human beings.”

“Excuse me!?” The Dyke shouted, “Celebrating who we are makes us awful!? You are the most bigoted, closed-minded, old - ”

“ - Now, now. Calm down there, little mister.” Grandpa Steiner pointed at her. “Everybody loves a parade. Being gay, however, does not give you a free pass to be a fucking asshole. People have become so frightened of being labeled ‘homophobic’ or ‘prejudice’ or ‘bigoted’ that queers think they have free reign to do anything they want, because no one will dare to criticize them for it.”

Grandpa Steiner looked out at the audience for the first time. “Just look at those Gay Pride Parades. Give me a break. Gay Pride Parades? There’s no such thing as gay pride! Why does anyone need to feel proud of where they like rubbing their genitals? That’s idiotic. Gay pride, my ass. It’s nothing but a Gays Being Obnoxious Douchebag Parades. Gay Pride Parades are nothing more than fucking reprehensible drunken frat boy parties for queer dudes. That’s all they are! Frat boy parties for queer dudes.”

The audience laughed and groaned and only a few people clapped. Clearly, this time, Grandpa Steiner had tread into territory that was a little too politically incorrect and the audience wasn’t sure how to react.

The Gay Mafia Militia rounded up a few more audience members with those cheers.

Grandpa Steiner looked back at the panel and said, “You know why everyone hates frat boys? Because they are detestable Neanderthals who just go around saying, ‘Ugh! Show me your tits! Beer! Pussy!’ The faggots at your gay pride rallies do the same thing, ‘Ugh! I want dick in my ass! Beer! Cocks!’ They’re the same goddamn people! I don’t need to hear faggots running around being ‘proud’ of how much they want to suck dick, anymore than I need to hear braindead frat boys running around hollering about pussy. No one ever needs to have a party designed to announce to the world where they like to put their junk.”

This time, the audience did light up.

Laughter. Clapping. Once again, Grandpa Steiner helped people to see things in a new way. The chauvinistic attitudes of frat boys were universally loathed and now that Grandpa Steiner pointed it out, lots of homosexuals truly possess nothing more than the identical mentality.

“You say you aren’t hateful, but that sounds hateful to me.” The Dyke said, slightly sparked by the hope she might have a valid argument again.

Grandpa Steiner further clarified, “I’m not picking on anyone for being gay. I’m picking on people for being belligerent assholes. I don’t hate people for being gay. I hate people for being uncivilized morons. And believe me, queers can be just as uncivilized as any drunken college bro. You don’t get a free pass for being a faggot. People still need to call you out on your shit when you’re being a jackass.”

“I still think we should be more tolerant.”

“And I still think men who wear dresses are goddamn sissies.”

Both of them sat back in their chairs.

“Stay tuned. We’ll be right back with more audience questions on The Viewpoint.”

Ω

“Hey.” The redheaded sorority girl said to the microphone. “My name is Heidi and I’m a freshman at Turner University.”

“Hello, Heidi. What’s your question?”

Shrill and indignant, Heidi had a bitchy swagger about her that only college girls can possess. Her grating voice squawked, “I just wanted to say that your comments on sluts in your essay were offensive. You have no right to make women feel bad for exploring their sexuality. Women are allowed to be sluts, just as much as men are! You wouldn’t belittle your son if he went around sleeping with a ton of women! Why would you try make your daughter feel ashamed to behave the same way?”

Grandpa Steiner was astounded at her ignorance and he instantly knew it would be unfair to be too harsh on her. She was bringing a butterknife to a gunfight. “For your information, yes, I would be ashamed of my son if he went around like a Neanderthal screwing as many women as he could. That kind of behavior is never a point of pride for a gentleman, just as being a slut is never a point of pride for a classy lady. Furthermore, running around and sleeping with anyone you want, whenever you want, is dangerous and stupid. Whether you are male or female is irrelevant. The fact is, sexually transmitted diseases and pregnancy can happen to you no matter how careful you are and no matter what kind of contraceptives you use.”

“You’re just slut-shaming! You don’t have the right to make girls feel bad for being sluts!”

“Everyone should be made to feel bad about being an irresponsible idiot. Yes. Yes, I do have the right to do that. Morons like you think that dangerous sex is somehow the equivalent of empowerment. Driving at 90MPH on a mountain road doesn’t empower you to call yourself a free-spirited driver. It makes you a fucking irresponsible shithead who might kill yourself or hurt someone else. It’s not cool and it’s not brave and it’s not living life to the fullest. It’s being a fucking douchebag. Sleeping around with as many people as possible is the exact same thing. It’s reckless and dangerous and irresponsible. Sure, you might not get hurt at all. Just like you might not drive that car off a cliff. But if you survive, I’m still not impressed. I don’t think you are some daring person living a passionate and bold life. I think you’re a shithead with a deathwish and you are lucky to have survived unscathed.”

Standing akimbo, Heidi rolled her eyes with the same cockiness and arrogance she had exhibited from the start. “Whatever. Your type of morals are outdated, old man.”

“Morals? Who said anything about morals? Do you even know how to debate or do you just spout senseless rhetoric at every turn because you’re incapable of critical thinking? Obeying the speed limit isn’t something you do because it’s trendy, you fuckwit. This has nothing to do with morality. I’m talking about being sensible and responsible. You don’t gamble your life on mountain roads and if you do, you’re not immoral as much as you’re a fool. You don’t gamble your health and your future parenthood by fucking everything that moves, and if you do roll those dice, it’s not about morality as much as it’s about being an imbecile.”

“You just don’t understand sexual freedom because you’re so repressed.”

“And you think a lack of repression somehow makes you superior? What I call restraint, you call repression. You think you should be proud of being a slut? You want to teach boys and girls that risking disease and pregnancy, just so they can have a few orgasms, is fun? If I’m slut-shaming, then what are you? Priss-shaming? You’re presuming that anyone who isn’t a slut is somehow repressed and failing to live their life fully. Right? You’re no better than me. You’re exactly the same as I am - looking down on those who disagree with your lifestyle. Now I’m ‘whore-shaming’ and ‘slut-shaming’ and therefore you get to disregard me. You people love to do that these days, don’t you? You’re just making up nonsense words to stand behind. The minute someone disagrees with your opinions, the moment you feel your own sensibilities are being contradicted or slighted, you come up with some sort of bullshit label for the opposing attitude. No one disagrees with people anymore. No one debates or argues anymore. No. Because debates mean you respect your opponent. These days, no one needs to respect different opinions because if someone isn’t on your side, they automatically become a ‘bully’ or a ‘terrorist’ or ‘racist’ or ‘discriminating’ or ‘bigots’ or ‘sexist’ or ‘slut-shamers’ don’t they? The moment anyone fails to agree with you, they are branded with an outlandish label, completely disproportionate to their crime of offending you! That way, you don’t need to argue. You don’t need to stand up for yourself. No. Now, you can look down on them. Belittle them with a condescending stamp. Convince yourself that everyone who is not like-minded is small-minded, and thereby you feel justified, even smug, in disregarding them. How many venereal diseases have you had?”

For the first time, Heidi began to look uncomfortable and started to realize she may have started a fight she was going to lose. “I beg your pardon! That’s none of your business!”

“So you’ve had a few?”

“No!”

“How about your friends? All those sexually empowered girlfriends of yours that you look up to so much? Have they gotten their coochies all crudded up?”

The audience gasped and laughed, uncomfortable and squirming in their seats.

Heidi stammered, “That’s so... I can’t believe...”

“What? You’re the one bragging about sexual freedom and your right to be a whore. You want to walk the walk then you shouldn’t be embarrassed to talk the talk. I thought you were a sexually mature and free woman. Why would candidly discussing a health issue suddenly be inappropriate?”

Called out on her hypocrisy, Heidi relented, “A few of my girlfriends have had gonorrhea and chlamydia.”

“Lovely. I’m sure they’re respectable ladies of fine decorum. Tell me, miss, who would impress you more? What life would you rather live? Would you rather be 40 years old, having had fifteen sexual partners and be disease free and not have any unwanted children in the world? Or do you want to be the 20 year old with fifty sexual partners, three diseases, an abortion, and an unwanted toddler? Which life do you find more admirable? Are you truly so immature that sex is just a numbers game to you? The consequences are irrelevant, so long as you fuck as many people as possible? Whoever has the highest number wins! Sex isn’t a contest, you dumbass bitch.”

Heidi quivered and ran from the microphone stand faster than a stripper running off stage after her first dance on the pole.

Grandpa Steiner turned to his hosts and commented, “Not her fault. I think most human beings tend to be total idiots between the ages of about 11 and 80. I don’t consider adulthood to even begin until about 30. Before the age of 30, everyone is a clueless fucking moron. I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t. Including myself! I don’t care how much money you have made. I don’t care if you are married, or divorced, or a parent, or you were abused, or you did time in jail, or you’ve seen loved ones die. Doesn’t matter. No matter what hardships and what sort of life-experiences anyone has; No matter what weight and wisdom and insight into living you possess, you’re still a clueless child if you are under the age of 30. You don’t know anything. You haven’t gone through anything. Every tragedy and heartache in your life is only the tip of the iceberg. Meaningless. Your life has only begun. You’re just a kid.”

Blondie, the first of the women to recover from the shock of what he was saying, asked, “You don’t really believe that?”

“Of course, I do. The scariest part of all is that people are allowed to get drunk at 21, vote at 18, and drive cars at 16. This is proof that our society is insane. Those ages are way too young to do any of that shit. Heck, there’s a reason most places won’t let you rent a car until you’re 25. Somewhere, someone was smart enough to know that no one under 25 should ever be trusted with a vehicle! Think about it - have you ever met one, single, solitary, 21 year old in your entire life who was mature enough to handle alcohol? Have you ever met any 21 year old who wasn’t a selfish, juvenile, snotty, know-it-all little brat? Just one? Ever? Why do you think most political rallies and marches start on college campuses? It’s because these spoiled little dipshits read half a newspaper in a coffeeshop and suddenly they have all the answers to the problems of the world! Time to rally together and force their opinions on others! There is only one appropriate response to all the passion and fire and vitality and speeches of such college children and it was said by W.C. Fields, ‘Go away, kid. Ya bother me.’”

With trepidation, the next audience member approached the microphone. Seeming slightly skittish after the latest rant from Grandpa Steiner, the boy gave an awkward wave.

“Heyyy! My name is Shawn!” The boy who stood before the microphone was a flaming twink. Grandpa Steiner had a what-is-this-shit? look on his face that he was desperately attempting to mask. After all, just because the boy seems like a gay doesn’t mean anyone should presume he was gay.

“So, I’m gay. Right?” The audience cheered and clapped. Again, Grandpa Steiner was confused by why his preference for one set of genitals over another would be something to admire, but that was how bizarre society had become. “And I just want to say that I totally support everything your guest Grandpa Steiner has been saying.”

Unprepared to hear such a statement, the audience wasn’t sure how to respond. People hushed. Some laughed. Many clapped. The reaction was muddled in confusion. No one had ever called him “Grandpa Steiner” before and that make people chuckle as well.

“Well, thank you, Shawn.” Grandpa Steiner placed a hand to his hip, a bit perplexed. Chuckling, he added, “Grandpa Steiner. I like that!”

“You’re welcooome. See, I go to Dukes State University. And they started this aaaawful censorship campaign at my school called You Don’t Say and -”

“ - I’m sorry.” The Dyke interrupted, angry that a fellow homosexual could agree with this old bigot. “Do you have a question?”

“Honey, I have a comment. Is that okay? Can I talk to this lovely old man?”

The audience whooped and hollered. Flustered and not wanting to incite the audience against herself, the Dyke backed down as Shawn continued, “So, anyway, this campaign was all about promoting censorship and telling students that we don’t say certain words. They put up these terrible posters all over my campus with slogans on them. We don’t say ‘man-up’ because strength is not determined by gender. We don’t say ‘don’t be a pussy’ because no gender is inferior. We don’t say ‘bitch’ because it insists femininity is inherently negative. We don’t say ‘no homo’ because it means that showing any affection towards someone of the same sex is bad. We don’t say ‘that’s so gay’ because the words gay and stupid are not interchangeable. We don’t say ‘tranny’ because it’s insulting to transgender and genderqueer communities and people who don’t fit traditional labels.”

Mortified by this knowledge, Grandpa Steiner asked, “Are you serious? This is what they are teaching on college campuses? Now they are indoctrinating children in how to speak? College campuses used to be bastions of free speech! Now they are spawning the seeds of fascist suppression?”

“Yes!” Shawn screamed. “Let me tell you something, I find it offensive that these self-appointed activists think they can speak for me! Who are they to post giant posters in public telling the world that ‘tranny’ is an insult to transgender communities? They don’t speak for me or my feelings or my community. And what the fuck is ‘genderqueer’ anyway? My gay friends and I have never even heard that word before! These liberals are just making up bullshit to sound supportive now.”

“So, you think these hateful words are acceptable?” The Dyke asked, clearly in shock.

Shawn wriggled his thin hips. “Honey, I am far more fearful of restrictive speech than I am of someone who says, ‘homo’, ‘queer’, ‘faggot’, or whatever. Yeah, I’ve always been able to ‘man up’ and not even bat an eye.”

The audience erupted in clapping and Shawn spoke louder, “I do not see myself as a victim - because I am not - and I’m quite tired of others speaking for me and telling the rest of the world what they can and cannot say. As for the transgendered folks? I’m close friends - I mean very close friends - with three, and you know what? ‘Tranny’ is fine with all of them, and if I may be so bold to speak for all three, they resent being lumped in with gay men and lesbians, as they have nothing in common with gays and, they’re strong individuals who do not want spokespeople running around representing them.”

Mulling it over for a moment, Grandpa Steiner wisely observed, “The need for people to make others feel victimized does not trump free speech.”

This time, Shawn clapped for Grandpa Steiner.

The audience joined in.

Even the women on the panel clapped. Except the Dyke, of course.

Grandpa Steiner told Shawn. “All of these labels we put on others are complete bullshit. Racist. Sexist. Homophobic. They are all meaningless. What these labels are truly saying is, ‘I disagree with the way you view the world, therefore I’m going to label you with a brand that society regards as demeaning, in order to humiliate and ostracize you for your opinion.’”

Again the audience cheered as Shawn said, “I know! There is absolutely nothing wrong with disliking people because of their skin tone or sexual preferences or religious beliefs or their favorite food or their clothes or hairstyle or whatever else we want to dislike people for. People shouldn’t be denied their basic human rights because of these dislikes, but it’s fine if you do not want to invite them to your birthday party. People seem to have forgotten that we don’t have to like everybody and accept everything.”

“No, son.” Grandpa Steiner announced over crossed arms. “We absolutely do not.”

Shawn continued, “One of my dear friends is a straight man. He’s come right out and told me that he thinks gay sex is disgusting. He doesn’t want to think about two men doing what we do. But I was never offended by that. I didn’t get mad at him or stop being his friend. I didn’t start telling people he was homophobic. He’s not! He’s allowed to think whatever he wants! Just like a little child is grossed out by a man and woman kissing, there’s nothing wrong with my friend disapproving of my sexuality. He doesn’t have the right to put a noose around my neck and hang me from the nearest tree, but I don’t have the right to vilify him for his opinion. We don’t have to like everything about people.”

The audience cheered so loud, it was difficult for anyone else to speak for a few moments.

“Absolutely. That is why the campaign at your school is bullshit.” Grandpa Steiner finally reiterated when the audience calmed down.

“Completely! They are trying to make people social pariahs for the way they think. That is wrong and goes against everything I believe in.”

Grandpa Steiner crossed his arms and pointed out the approach of the campaign. “Notice how they phrased things? All designed to program you. Tell you how to think. Condemn you if you don’t agree. Propaganda through humiliation. Nice try. That may work on the impressionable children you’re attempting to indoctrinate, but those kind of juvenile brainwashing Jedi mind tricks won’t work on me, boy.”

Shawn added, “And I want to know, why did they include the word ‘pussy’ as a word you don’t say, but they didn’t include the word ‘dick’? Oh! I know why! Because feminists don’t care if people use disparaging words about male genitalia. Only women need to be protected from that kind of talk.”

Grandpa Steiner leaned forward and told Shawn, “I love how, to the politically correct activists and the feminists, everyone is an individual who should be able to stand on their own and not be stereotyped. Unless you’re a white male, then you were obviously born into hate-free, loving communities with unlimited resources. All of your ancestors were bigoted slave owners and capitalist pigs who were probably related to British imperialists who murdered indigenous populations for sport. But remember, stereotypes are bad and we shouldn’t judge people by the color of their skin! This campaign at your school may be heralded as a movement of ‘compassion’ and ‘kindness’ but, it is these things that end up becoming a new fascist thought control movement. We’re already seeing it play out, as this is exactly how Orwell’s 1984 comes about. In the end, this is not about being good to other people, it becomes about control.”

By this point, even the audience was surprised that they allowed Shawn to continue speaking, but the realtime viewership statistics being monitored in the control room showed #CrazyGayOnTheViewpoint was trending on social media and driving up the numbers like mad. The producers indicated to the floor staff to allow Shawn to keep talking.

Shawn noted, “This censorship campaign at my school epitomizes the pussification of our society. Don’t offend anyone, because if you do they’ll get super butthurt and make a poster campaign. We need more bullies in our society, so people will grow thicker skin and be all the better for it. Grow a fucking spine, stand up for yourself, and stop being a whiny little bitch who tells me to think before I speak and gets offended by everything in this world.”

The audience cheered and at that point, it was gestured to Shawn to wrap it up.

“Thanks for your comments, Shawn.” The little Jap host said.

As Shawn smiled and waved and thanked everyone and blew kisses, the Dyke looked at Grandpa Steiner and noted, “Clearly you are not a person who cares enough about the feelings of others to think before you speak.”

“I do think before I speak. And what I think is, I don’t give a damn! So I say whatever I want! I wasn’t put on this planet to avoid saying things that others go around looking to be offended by. Sticks and stone, man.” Grandpa Steiner scoffed at yet another moronic comment.

“How old is that line? Sticks and stones? We have come a long way in trying to understand the human condition. Emotional abuse can be way more destructive than physical abuse. The words used by others towards us and toward others shape who we are as an individual.” The Dyke folder her arms, thinking she had just educated Grandpa Steiner on things he couldn’t possibly understand.

Frowning with a nod, Grandpa Steiner acknowledged what she said by saying, “Sure. You want to use that same old argument, go right ahead. Next time you show how much you care about oppressed women by volunteering at a battered woman’s shelter, you be sure to remind those ladies that emotional abuse is more destructive than physical abuse. I’m sure your great show of compassion will help make those bruises and broken arms heal faster while you continue to support the destruction of free speech.”

The Dyke, obviously supportive of the censorship and brainwashing set forth by the university, growled at Grandpa Steiner, “Oh, there you go! Free speech! Free speech! You self-appointed patriots are all the same. You think the First Amendment applies to everything. Don’t you understand that the free speech guaranteed in the Constitution only applies to the government? The government can’t makes laws against you speaking your mind. But private businesses and colleges and have every right to do that!”

“Wrong. No, ma’am. They do not have that right. You are the one who is misinformed about the First Amendment. The Bill of Rights does not apply only to government. The principal behind the Bill of Rights is that these are fundamental human rights. They have always existed, even outside the confines of law and government. They apply all the time. To everyone. In every situation. Even before they were written down, all human beings were still entitled to all of these rights. The Bill of Rights simply reminds the government that they will never have the authority to abolish or infringe upon any of those rights. So, you’re wrong. Freedom of speech applies to everything. Not just government.”

Next up for the audience questions was a youthful blond woman with short hair and a bandanna. Not sure if she should keep her hands at her sides or touch the stand, she touched the metal lightly. “Hello.”

“Hello.” Blondie and the Jap replied.

“Hello.” The blond repeated. “My name is Liz and I’m a writer and I have a modern family and I wanted to know how Grandpa Steiner can justify his feelings towards children of our community.”

Grandpa Steiner was perplexed and it showed in the crinkles of his brow. Before he could ask what on earth she was talking about, the Colored woman spoke up and wondered, “What kind of family dynamic do you have?”

Flashing a proud grin, Liz declared, “Well, I’m currently the mother of a lovely 4 year old girl and I’m raising her with my partner, who is the biological mother and her ex-husband and his boyfriend.”

Clapping, the audience glowed with support for the bizarre description that Grandpa Steiner could barely keep track of in his head. Simpering with pride, Liz gave slight nods of gratitude to the hosts and the crowd. Liz then cupped her arms around a massive womb and added, “I’m also expecting with our first child.”

As more clapping filled the studio, Grandpa Steiner spoke up, “How did a broad like you get knocked up?”

“Excuse me?” Liz laughed, clearly very offended by the phrasing of the question. “Uh, first of all, that’s none of your business. Second, I thought I was asking the questions.”

Ripples of laughing and murmurs went through the crowd.

Grandpa Steiner, levelheaded as always, explained, “You asked my opinion about children in your life. Therefore, inquiring about how a dyke became pregnant in the first place is very relevant to my answer.”

Put in her place, Liz snapped, “Artificial insemination.”

“And do you know the father?”

“Of course! The boyfriend of my partner’s ex-husband. He’s the father. That way we can add to our family in the most intimate way.”

The audience shifted uncomfortably and muttered their revulsion. They didn’t think it right to raise children in an family which would bring kids so much scorn and ridicule. However, instead of revealing their disapproving response, the producers of the show broadcast footage of the audience groaning with supportive sighs of “Awwww!” and “That’s beautiful!”

Grandpa Steiner rubbed his face, bemused by the fact that Liz had such a long and complicated label for the man instead of “husband” or “fiancée” or “boyfriend”. Rubbing the bemusement and agitation from his face with a rough swipe of his palm, Grandpa Steiner asked, “And I presume this was done under medical supervision? You had a doctor who - ”

“ - No. We wanted it to be intimate and our family. My impregnation was homeopathic.”

“Ah! Homeopathic. And how, pray tell, did you perform artificial insemination via a homeopathic method?”

“There are techniques involving a syringe. I watched a lot of videos on the Internet explaining how it was done.”

Grandpa Steiner merely growled like there were thornbushes under his seat. “Beautiful. The goddamn Internet. That was your source of education for a medical procedure that results in a human life? Hey, if you can watch videos telling you how to fix a car, why not teach yourself how to shoot a load of jizz in your cunt? Right?”

Gasps and laughter exploded among the crowd as Grandpa Steiner paused for a moment. “You’re another one. Where do you people come from? You’re the ultimate personification of misopedia. You people make me sick.”

“Pardon me?” Liz exclaimed, confused by his sudden turn of tone and response.

“You want to know how I feel about your ‘modern family’, as you call it? You don’t have a ‘modern family’ you have a ‘misopedia family’ where you use children to justify your indecency. You do not own your children. They are not property. They are not toys or playthings. They certainly don’t exit to use as armor and shields in your agendas. You pervert the very nature of parenthood so you can use children as justification for every selfish perversion and degenerate behavior you practice.”

“How dare you! You’re just encouraging heteronormativity!”

“What the hell is that?”

“Get a dictionary! Learn something, you old fart!”

“Thank you for sharing your vast knowledge. Are you hesitant to educate me because you are ignorant of the definition yourself or because you’re not interested in sharing your wisdom with the world?”

“It means that you believe you deserve special privileges because you consider heterosexuality as normal and natural.”

“That’s because heterosexuality is normal and natural. In fact, if heterosexuality wasn’t normal and natural, you would have never been born in the first place. Being stupid enough to argue against the natural course of heterosexuality undermines your entire existence and therefore renders your arguments entirely ignorant and without merit! Again, your ‘lifestyle’, as you call it, is a genetic disorder that afflicts only 3% of the population. You are not normal. You are the exception to the rule.”

“And because of that you think my family is immoral? That’s disgusting! My children have four parents! They are raised in a household with twice the love of any ‘normal’ child.”

“Twice the love?” Grandpa Steiner laughed at her ignorance. “You dumb bitch. You think ‘love’ is a measurable thing, like a pile of shit? You get to spread more of your gay manure on your children, so you think they’ll be better off? No, honey. You don’t love your children. You love using them. This isn’t about family. This is about two dykes and two faggots, a group of deviants, who are breeding and using your offspring as a way to force your philosophy upon the world. The only thing you love about your children is using them as an excuse to justify your actions. You love to take issues and hide behind children as your defense. You honestly believe you are bringing children into a loving home?”

“Yes! My children are raised in an environment abundant with love!” Liz was starting to quiver.

“An abundance of love? What do you know about love? Your child wasn’t even conceived in love. You jammed a turkey baster in your fucking snatch. You didn’t have a man hold you and look into your eyes. You didn’t feel the joy of his body pressed against yours. You used a syringe. Cold. Mechanical. Emotionless. Your impregnation didn’t even share a human connection. It was selfish and self-administered. You preach about love when you know nothing about it.”

“You don’t have the right to define love. My family is completely natural and moral. We are good people!” Liz was starting to sweat and wipe her brow. “You don’t think of the children! This is normal! Think of the children!”

Slowly, her knees began to buckle and Liz collapsed next to the microphone. As people rushed to her aid, Grandpa Steiner kept on railing at her. “You have the audacity to say that your family is natural? You used a hunk of plastic to impregnate yourself like some kind of backwater science experiment and you have the nerve to claim that’s normal? Bullshit!”

Liz was balled up on the floor muttering in pain as people feared to touch her.

Grandpa Steiner pointed at her slumped body and said. “You are living in a family that goes against nature and decency, but you twist around words and language and warp perspectives, so if anyone dares disagree with your agenda, you claim they are against love or against family or against children. Lady, you are viciously attempting to obliterate everything you claim to be crusading to preserve. You’re a disgustingly selfish human being and the only reason you want to be a mother is so you can push your politics on the world through a child you crush underfoot as your podium.”

As medical emergency staff gathered Liz onto a gurney, she screamed one last time, “Fuck you!” Blood spattered from her lips. “Think of the children!”

Her water broke and when her dress lifted, the crowd saw a gray and lizard-scaled arm burst out of her labia.

“The childrennnnnn!”

Smiling at the camera with absolute poise and composure, Blondie announced, “Well, that’s all the time we have for today’s show. Grandpa Steiner, thank you so much for being our guest today. You certainly made a lot of people think about things in new ways.”

Grandpa Steiner was shocked at the abrupt ending. “So soon?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. The controversy of our topics have caused the execution deaths of a number of audience members by the Gay Mafia Militia and as a result, we have to end our show early in order to televise the funeral services of the transgressors.”

“Those lousy skullfuckers. Fuck you and your brain-scented dicks!” Grandpa Steiner flipped off the men in fatigues. Guests could be assassinated by the Gay Mafia Militia off camera, but they were afforded sanctuary so long as they were onscreen.

“Thank you for having me as your guest. I appreciate it. I don’t expect to change anyone’s views, but looking at things in a different way is always a good thing.” Grandpa Steiner declared.

Grandpa Steiner regretted the decision to be a guest on The Viewpoint the moment he stepped off the stage.

The world needs more people who are unafraid to be hated for the right reasons, but in his mind, these were important social issues and an important sociological debate and discussion. Unfortunately, the ladies who were hosts of the show didn’t take a single topic seriously.

Even the Dyke woman was congratulating him after the program. She was thanking him for a great “performance”.

Here was a woman who became so livid with him on camera, he thought she’d jump off the couch and strangle him. The moment the cameras stopped rolling, all her conviction vanished.

Just a job.

Just an act.

Just a payday.

The truth was, these women were only passionate about the money. The paycheck. The ratings. The show. The glitz. Nothing else mattered. The topics which they spoke so vehemently about were all an act. Meaningless to these women the second the lights went dark.

Their greed and ambition were as ruthless as any man.

When he got home, Grandpa Steiner started on another blog. He was so invigorated by the conversation on the show and wanted to keep discussing the subject, so he wrote...

Ω

“Queer Weddings & Those Who Hate Them”

by Grandpa Steiner

Years ago, Miss Hollywood, Carrie Prejeanski, was once robbed of her title in the Miss Americana pageant, after being asked by Perez Hitlon, a prominent member of the Gay Mafia’s militant homosexual media, about her stance on gay marriage, and voicing her honest opinion. She answered with class, integrity, poise and candor. She stated, “Well I think it’s great that Americans are able to choose one way or the other. We live in a land where you can choose same sex marriage or opposite marriage. And, you know what, in my country, in my family, I think that, I believe that marriage should be between a man and a woman. No offense to anybody out there. But that’s how I was raised and I believe that it should be between a man and a woman.”

She didn’t belittle anyone.

She didn’t insult anyone.

She didn’t say anything hateful or cruel.

She simply stated what she believed.

She even affirmed that she thought gays had the right to choose.

Respectfully. Kindly.

For that, she was vilified.

Clearly, the world was changing, just as the dyke woman on The Viewpoints said to me, when I was on their television program. Or maybe the chink said it. I don’t recall.

Anyhow...

All I could think about while I was speaking on that Viewpoints panel with these women, with all those homosexual questions they asked, was that beautiful Miss Hollywood, and how horribly and unfairly she was ostracized and condemned for being truthful.

But the difference was, I wasn’t running for Miss Americana.

Poor Carrie Prejeanski was set up to fail.

She had plenty to lose by being honest.

I, on the other hand, had nothing to lose.

The lovely Carrie Prejeanski was in a vulnerable position.

I was in an untouchable one.

Because I don’t give a fuck who I offend.

The answer Miss Prejeanski should have given was, “Does my opinion truly matter to you? Will you feel vindicated or ostracized by my beliefs? Do you truly care what I think?”

Because the homo vulture Perez Hitlon obviously didn’t care.

That faggot didn’t care at all.

If she supported it, he wouldn’t feel better about being gay.

If she was against it, he wouldn’t feel worse about being gay.

He didn’t care what she thought.

His only motive was to crucify her, by asking a loaded question.

Cruel, heartless, cocksmoking bastard, pushing his own agenda.

Perez Hitlon is not even a person. He’s a demon. Any person who pushes their own agenda, knowing it will ruin the life of an innocent bystander, is a devil. Carrie Prejeanski was a victim, not of a great conspiracy, but of one individual who was a worthless monster.

What Carrie Prejeanski thought, cost her the pageant.

What I think, costs me nothing.

If people hate my opinion on queer weddings, fuck them!

I’m not gay.

I’m not religious.

Therefore, the whole issue of gay marriage really has absolutely no bearing whatsoever on my life. I don’t really care about the topic either way. Ban gay marriage. Permit gay marriage. Makes no difference to me.

But as an American who defends our Constitution, it does matter.

From a purely detached sociological standpoint, I do however find the vehement stance taken by both camps to be fascinating.

I have known a few gays and lesbians.

I have known a few religious people.

Perhaps I am intrigued by the topic because I care about the rights and opinions of both groups and both groups seem to be foolishly belittling the beliefs of the other - not a way to effectively sway an opposing opinion.

Both sides mock and ridicule each other like spoiled children.

Gays and lesbians claim it is a simple issue of civil rights.

They’re wrong.

Religious people claim it is a simple issue of religious morality.

They’re wrong.

The issue is indeed simple, but it is not about civil rights or religious freedom. The issue is about “the definition of marriage” and “the separation of church and state”. Period.

The forefathers of the United States believed in the separation of church and state. This is why they created the First Amendment - so the state couldn’t interfere with the church. They were very wise folks and that is a darned good idea.

If you research the history of marriage, no one really knows when or where it began. For centuries humanity has practiced both civil marriages and religious marriages and there is no solid record of how they all got started.

Going back as far as the Greeks, there were same-sex marriages. So, people who think that “gay marriage” is some sort of “new issue” in the world are completely mistaken and ignorant of history. These debates have lasted for thousands of years in endless human cultures. Some cultures are okay with it. Some cultures aren’t. It changes throughout the millennia. What is acceptable and moral for hundreds of years can become taboo and then change again. People need to keep things in perspective and remember how humanity works. Gay rights. Slavery. Women’s rights. Religious persecution. Racial intolerance. These are not issues which become permanently “solved” in the world. They are in constant flux over the ages. They are an intrinsic part of the fabric of humankind.

This perspective on history is a vital thing to remember for two reasons.

First, it shows that no faction can get too much of an ego or congratulate themselves too much for what they have “achieved” in regards to human rights. No matter what human rights any group attains, they were not the first. Some other culture centuries ago attained the exact same thing. You are not advancing the evolution of human compassion. You are simply repeating the cycle of what has already been done by others. Over and over.

Nothing you accomplish among social issues is groundbreaking.

Ever.

Any “rights” you celebrate gaining have been gained and lost in past centuries and they will continue to be gained and lost in centuries to come. No social agendas you help to alter will ever endure for the entire future of humanity.

Never have.

Never will.

Second, and more importantly, it should serve as a reminder to not become complacent with the human rights which are attained. Just because slavery is abolished in one nation, in one era, doesn’t mean it’s gone from the world forever. Just because women have the right to vote doesn’t mean they always will. Just because you have the right to bear arms doesn’t mean they will never try to steal your guns. People need to remember that any rights they are fighting to have are ones which other cultures have already granted at one time or another, and lost. People must remain diligent to maintain the rights they have, not to simply gain the ones they do not.

The topic of “gay marriage” again became a big deal in places like California in the early 21st century. The same old arguments prevail. Homosexuals do not want religious institutions denying their rights. Religious institutions do not want their beliefs undermined.

Both factions are 100% correct. Neither group should be forcing their beliefs on the other. Religion has no business butting their nose into civil rights. Religion has no right to condemn same-sex civil marriages. Government should not be butting their nose into church sacraments. Government has no right to dictate religious dogmas.

Having said that, the biggest problem with marriage in our current culture is that good old “separation of church and state” - an ideal which we have disobeyed in this regard. This means we are not suffering from a “homosexual” or “religious” issue but a “society” issue. Both the religious community and the gay community are equally to blame for this mess. Everyone in those groups of culture are at fault. There are no “good guys” and there is no “right side” because everyone shares the responsibility of the mistake. Our society has joined civil marriage and religious marriage into a singular notion of “matrimony” and therein lies the issue.

“You’re either married or you’re not.”

How did that happen? Why did that happen?

This was a horrible idea.

Think about it - are there any other religious ceremonies which have legal rights tied to them? Do people gain any civil liberties through baptisms, or confessions, or bar mitzvahs, or confirmations? No. These are purely religious rituals, which have no legal bearing whatsoever. Yet somehow, our society took religious marriage and mixed it with governmental legality.

Why?

Why did we connect civil marriage and religious marriage into a single thing?

We should have two distinct and separate types of marriage in our culture - civil and religious. Instead, we have forced everyone, including religious people, to have a “marriage license” thereby making marriage a legal and civil act for everybody. Is it any wonder that religious groups therefore consider all marriages to be a religious issue, since our culture is forcing them to treat their marriages as civil rights?

The separation of church and state is a great idea.

How about we look at this issue in a new way?

Instead of forcing religious people to get marriage certificates and making them become a part of the legal system - why not allow them to get married without government intervention? No forms. No paperwork. Just a holy sacrament. We already permit civil marriages which are not religious ceremonies - why not return the favor? Why not offer it the other way around?

Let’s do away with the singularity of “matrimony” and have clear and distinct divisions of “civil marriage” and “religious marriage” and stop muddling them together. Mixing them together was our mistake. We should redefine “marriage” and the requirements we have associated with it. Centuries ago, other cultures had clearcut and distinctly different forms of marriage, and it worked out fine for them. We should do the same.

Then the issue of gay marriage is solved automatically! Gay couples would be allowed to get married in a civil marriage or under any religion which permits it in their belief system.

Simple.

Personally, I find homosexuality disgusting. The idea of two men doing what they do is nauseating. But, my personal opinion on that is irrelevant, because so long as they are both consenting adults and there are no children or animals involved, society has no right to tell those men what kind of sexual acts they can engage in within their private homes. I may not approve. I may find it perverse and revolting. Nevertheless, as an American citizen, I must uphold and defend their personal freedoms. I took an oath to uphold and defend the Constitution and I must continue to do so.

The first section of The Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution clearly states:

No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.

Those last words, “equal protection of the laws” allows for homosexuals to be married. Some people may not like that, but as Americans we need to respect the Constitution. As citizens, we are not allowed to give legal rights to some Americans and deny those rights to others. America was founded on the idea that all of our citizens have equal privileges. No law-abiding citizen can have more or less rights than another.

Religious institutions have the right to permit or deny marriage between anyone they choose. The Fourteenth Amendment prevents our country from making any laws that only apply to certain members of society. So, there is no controversy over gay marriage. There is nothing to discuss or debate. The decision was already made in 1868.

You have people debating both sides of the fence - supporting and opposing gay marriage. Both sides are missing the true issue at hand - if we had kept church and state separate, as they should be, the debate wouldn’t exist in the first place, and everyone is to blame for allowing this to happen.

Religion needs to keep it’s hands off the Constitution.

Government needs to keep it’s hands off the church.

Problem solved.

Allow me to close with another little history lesson and a reminder - issues like these are always resolved through peace and harmony and understanding and sympathy. Shakespeare said it centuries ago - “I hear a fury in your words, but not your words.”

Nobody listens when you’re screaming your viewpoint in anger.

I see too many people getting “fired up” over these issues. Too much rage. Too many people “preaching to the choir” with their protests and never addressing people with opposing views through rational and reasonable debates.

Stop waving your crosses and rainbow flags in each others faces.

Seriously.

That’s not getting you anywhere.

Once our culture again advances to the point where both sides treat one another with respect and dignity, they will find peaceful solutions to their differences. So long as there are unwavering and militant individuals on both sides, the fight will never cease. Both sides need to show those with venomous dissent they are undermining their stance, not substantiating it. Those waves of hatred and animosity are not the catalyst for positive changes, but rather are the very source of all the disharmony in the first place.

We live in a nation where only half a dozen generations ago, black people were property and slaves. Then, we elected a colored man as the President of our country. He did not reach that office through fury or hate or violence. He did so through intelligence and a message of unity. History may show he wasn’t a very good President, but he was undeniably historic. With time and patience and gentle perseverance, he did what many thought would never be possible in their lifetime. We have proven that any dream can come true in our culture.

The world is changing. Hope prevails. And all the rights of mankind can be granted, and the wishes of humanity can prevail, when we come together with benevolence and cease to protest one another in antagonism. By redefining who and what we are, we can truly make the world a better place.

We’ve done it before.

We can do it again.

“When I despair, I remember that all through history the ways of truth and love have always won. There have been tyrants, and murderers, and for a time they can seem invincible, but in the end, they always fall. Think of it. Always.”

- Mahatma Gandhi

Ω

Satisfied with his latest essay, Grandpa Steiner stared proudly at his computer screen, feeling particularly fond of ending with the Gandhi quote because it made him feel more scholarly.

Ω

TAU CETI REPORT ON BALD MONKEY OBSERVATIONS #254:

Possessing two distinct genders for procreation, bald monkeys created a mating ritual in which pair bonds of opposite genders are joined for life. On occasion, a physiological anomaly in bald monkey genetics causes some individuals to be abnormally attracted to their own gender. Since those who possess this anomalous gene are in the minority among the bald monkey population, and their desires deviate from biologically effective propagation of their species, these genetically defective individuals are ostracized by the dominant population. [Side Note: Due to environmental strains of overpopulation, abnormal reproductive practices may, in fact, be a necessary, although temporary, biological mutation designed to reduce populations and bring stabilization to the ecosystem. This methodology of biological population diminishing is a very well-established phenomenon among various species on other planets and may be an evolutionary phase among bald monkeys as well. Further research is required for this hypothesis.] Consequently, many members of the dominant population seek to exclude these individuals from participating in the traditional pair bond mating rituals. Such rituals often alter the status of mated individuals by theological or sociological means and thus carry legal and moral implications to members of said pair. Although the origins of these mating rituals are lost in the history of bald monkeys, the emotional connection associated with the rituals has given rise to many monkeys who maintain these rituals possess a divine origin - a sacred ceremony deemed holy by their many Gods. None of the bald monkeys recorded history supports this insistence, but those monkeys who follow theistic cults ignore this simple and irrefutable fact. Obviously idiotic behavior to more advanced species, the monkeys actually think this shit is important... But what do you expect from a bunch of monkeys?

END REPORT

Chapter Eight

The ignorance Grandpa Steiner encountered on the Internet after appearing on television was truly mortifying. Views on his blog had skyrocketed and now every braindead zombie with a computer was typing broken English and unpunctuated nonsense that civilized people couldn’t even read.

Grandpa Steiner wasn’t much for conspiracy theories, but he imagined, if you were part of an elite group of people, bent on the destruction of humanity under the moral ethics of population control, the best way to weed out the ignorant masses would be to collect data from their endless posts on the Internet.

People were stupid beyond belief.

Grandpa Steiner didn’t understand them.

They open accounts on Facebook, YouTube, Twitter, LinkedIn, Instagram, Tumblr, Foursquare, Vine, Amazon and Blogger and willingly take the time to publicly disclose and post everything about who their friends are, how they are related to various family members, their political opinions and affiliations, what food they ate last night, wishlists of gifts and merchandise they want, which schools they graduated from, their current and past employers, the coffeeshop they went to for lunch and who they were there with, pictures and full names of their kids, their heritage and nationality, where they went drinking last weekend, what cellphone carrier they use, who they are sleeping with, the address of the bed and breakfast they stayed at, the name of their hometown, photographs of all their pets, the city they currently live in, what weddings they attended, the concert they are going to see tonight, dates and activities at their children’s gradeschool, photos and exact hours of their vacation, their mobile phone number, their personal email address, their birthday, who they voted for in the last election, images of their plane tickets, the make and model of their car, their health issues, rants about their religious beliefs, woes about their financial problems, stances and thoughts on sociological debates, what books they read, what sports they play, what music they listen to, lists of hobbies they participate in, what movies and television shows they watch, and after all of that, they get paranoid about their “privacy” being violated, because they think the government might have recorded a phonecall they made to their grandmother!?

Who the fuck cares!?

They honestly think the government is “spying” on people!? The government doesn’t need to “spy” on anyone! Ignorant citizens already tell the whole fucking planet every little thing they do! Thanks to online networking, people willingly take the time to publicly disclose all the “private” information the government could ever want. What information could the authorities possibly need to glean “secretly” when citizens openly share more data in the 21st century than a private investigator could have discovered in 1998?

How could that information be used against you? Could a video you posted get you imprisoned or killed for being a “dissenter” against the ruling body? Might a forgotten blog become the one message that gets you arrested?

Grandpa Steiner knew, if a tyrannical regime ever took control and started locking citizens away, they will not collect any data on people using “secret” surveillance. They won’t need to collect anything secretive about anybody. They will just look at various online profiles and lock people up based on all the voluntary information citizens publicly shared with the world. People won’t be incriminated because someone eavesdropped on a private phonecall. People will become an enemy of the state because of the stupid social issues or political candidate they supported on their networking profile 8 years ago.

The country is full of idiots who are worried about “Big Brother” listening to their phonecalls. The fact of the matter is, the imagined “surveillance” makes no difference. Stalin didn’t have a surveillance network or Facebook or Twitter and he had no problem rounding up and executing millions of people he didn’t like.

Grandpa Steiner knew, if the bad guys want you, they will get you.

Thanks to the Internet, everyone voluntarily makes it far easier for them to find you.

There is no threat to your “privacy” from the government. The only threat to your privacy is you.

Personally, Grandpa Steiner welcomed our New World Order Overlords and hoped they start gassing people who use shitty Instagram filters. Kill those fuckers first.

“Hey, dad. You okay?” David asked.

Grandpa Steiner didn’t reply.

“Dad!”

Grandpa Steiner startled and stopped staring out the window at the auto mechanics. “Huh?”

“I said, you okay? Looks like you’re lost in thought over there.”

“Oh. Sorry, butch. It’s all your fault!”

“My fault?”

“You and that dumb computer. Getting me on there.”

David rolled his eyes at the floor. Here we go again. He didn’t want to hear it. He’d already heard it from his mom and his sister - why did he show dad how to get on the Internet?

David wanted to drop it, but he also knew there were going to be sitting in that auto shop for a long time. So, he decided to defend himself, rather than sit there in silence. “Dad, you know, the Internet is just a tool. People can use it for good or bad, but it’s not inherently good or bad in itself.”

“Bah. I know. I know. In fact, I agree with you. I’m just teasing you. There is no doubt the Internet is one of the greatest, if not the single greatest, communications tool ever created in the history of humanity.”

David was glad his father conceded. He smirked to himself, thinking his dad was talking like a television commercial. David decided to go along with it. “Absolutely! Books and language itself may be the only inventions of communication that have ever been more powerful than the Internet. For the first time in human history, we can combine all media of writing, music, photography and motion pictures, into a single resource which can be readily accessed from anywhere in the civilized world. And what’s more, the technology to achieve this has become ubiquitous in less than one generation. Truly, the mere creation of the Internet is a remarkable feat!”

Grandpa Steiner chuckled. He loved his son, but goddamn if the kid didn’t talk like a fucking narrator on an episode of National Geographic. One thing Grandpa Steiner learned over the years was the diplomacy of language. When talking to the intellectually inferior, use smaller words. When talking to someone with a brain, speak more freely. He loved talking with his son and having the chance to articulate his thoughts like a grown up. God knows he couldn’t do that with Grandma Steiner, bless her heart.

Adjusting his butt in the uncomfortable plastic seat, Grandpa Steiner said, “You’re right, butch. But here’s what gets me. One of the great disadvantages to this new form of communication, many people have argued, is the anonymity of the Internet. People are free to voice any opinion they will, and do so in relative secrecy. This results in people commenting on news articles and blogs and video channels with very cruel and heartless statements. As folks so often point out, mean-spirited statements most people would never dare to say in person are now rattled off carelessly. Now, although many folks over the years have cited the anonymity of the Internet as being the worst aspect of the Internet, I respectfully disagree.”

“Wait. What? You lost me. You just said how awful it was, now you say it’s not so awful?” David wavered his hands back and forth.

Grandpa Steiner shut his eyes momentarily. “No, I said many people think the mean-spirited anonymity is the worst thing, but I realized it’s not the worst. I finally realized one of the great problems of the Internet. It’s not anonymity. It’s the death of debate.”

“The death of debate?”

“Think about it. One may argue that the Internet has sparked more debate than ever. While I wholeheartedly agree the Internet has caused us to have more opportunities to argue, it has killed debate.”

“Dad, come on. What’s the difference?”

“There’s a huge difference. Arguing is when you don’t give a shit what other people say and just want to tell everyone your own opinion. Debate is when you carefully think about the opposing viewpoint and refute it only after careful and thoughtful consideration.”

David thought about it and rubbed his stubble. “I think I see your point. These days, thanks to the Internet, it’s so incredibly easy to share your opinions with the world. Don’t like the opinion of another? It’s even easier to block, delete and shut down anyone who disagrees with you.”

For his insight, Grandpa Steiner awarded his son with a eureka finger pointed to the heavens. “Precisely. Therein lies the problem. I see people, some of whom are very articulate and otherwise very intelligent, incapable of debating anyone. The moment someone disagrees with them, that opposing view is instantly squashed. Ignored. Banished. Right? Delete. Block.”

David elaborated, “No one has to confront anything. Debating in person, you have no choice but to deal with the opposing viewpoint. On the Internet, you’re free to ignore it. I see your point. I’m with you on that.”

“People also claim the Internet is contributing to the ‘dumbing down’ of society, but I disagree with this too.”

“You disagree? But what about all the fools out there? The ones who post ignorant things on your websites for example?”

“No. No. That’s what I’m trying to say. The Internet didn’t cause that stupidity. All the Internet did was shine a light onto those human cockroaches and forced them to scatter into the daylight where we could see them. They were always there. Hiding in the walls.”

David chuckled, and his face crinkled up in a grimace that was both bemused by his father’s description and revolted by the poignancy of it.

Grandpa Steiner got up and walked to the water cooler, pouring himself a Dixie cup. As he sipped and shuffled back to his chair, he told his son, “In actual fact, the Internet is truly ‘The Great Equalizer’ and it puts everyone on the same playing field. In our day-to-day lives, everyone tends to gravitate to circles of similar people. Right? Similar intellect. Similar income levels. Similar ethnic backgrounds. We are all guilty of doing this. The Internet breaks down all of those barriers of race, gender, economics and ethnicity. As a result, people possessing vastly different educations, from all around the world, can instantly communicate with one another. I contend that the imbeciles have always been out there. The Internet has simply exposed them to the intelligent members of society. The Internet isn’t creating idiots like some sort of mechanized factory, shilling out a load of morons. No. The Internet is merely revealing the morons who have been out there all along, but used to be confined to ghettos, their parent’s basements, and trailer parks.”

“Shitting out morons.” David laughed.

“Huh? No. Shilling. I said shilling.”

“Oh! I thought you said, well, shitting works too.”

“It’s a shame. People argue just to argue.”

“Especially on forums.”

“I haven’t been on those much. I just stick to my blog and videos.”

David rolled his eyes, “Oh, forums are the worst. Under blue and cloudless skies, a person could exclaim, ‘Ah. What a lovely day. Not a drop of rain in sight.’ Annoyed, another observer points out, ‘Yeah, but if there are stormclouds, it’s going to rain! You’re an idiot! You have no idea what you are talking about!’ Confused, the first person says, ‘Ummm... Yeah. Of course. But I never mentioned stormclouds.’ That is what Internet forums are like. People will change what you have said, then argue against your point, even though you never mentioned anything they are arguing with you about.”

Grandpa Steiner chuckled, “Well, son, truth be told, some folks are just argumentative. You can research quotes. You can pull in statistics. You can show math formulas. You can cite actual laws and policies. Doesn’t matter. Regardless of the topic or your evidence, people will still tell you that you are ‘wrong’ and you have no clue what you are talking about. You can’t ‘win’ an argument with these people. They are not there seeking knowledge or insight. They are seeking conflict.”

David agreed and sounded like a television script again, “Their belittling attitude and condescending statements make them easy to identify - sociopathic not scholarly.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Grandpa Steiner chuckled to his Dixie cup as he got up to toss it in the trash.

David explained one of his experiences and told his father, “Once, I was on a forum and a debate arose regarding population statistics.”

“Population statistics?”

“Yes, like demographics of people in a given state. Percentages of languages spoken. That kind of thing.”

“Ah, I see.”

“So, in this debate, I went to the U.S. Census website to find documented proof to support my statements. You know what the other person responded with? He wrote, ‘Well, I worked a job 3 months ago where I talked with the head of the U.S. Census and he told me those statistics weren’t correct on the site and they’re working to fix them.’”

Grandpa Steiner’s neck jostled and locked forward. “Wow. He actually said that?”

“Yeah! This fool expected me to believe that he coincidentally had a casual meeting with a top government official about this exact topic and the government official informed him that the information being shared with the public was inaccurate!? First of all, I find it hard to believe that he just met the head of the Census Bureau. Second, even if that was true, why one earth would any government official nonchalantly volunteer that information to a brand new business acquaintance!? You really think a government official is going to admit, to a total stranger, that his organization is knowingly giving false information to the public?”

“He must have taken you for an idiot.”

David shrugged. “Needless to say, I didn’t bother to reply. I realized in that moment, there was no point. Like you said, clearly he just liked to argue. Didn’t matter who had the correct evidence. No matter what anyone said, he would lie and twist things around so he would be correct. If need be, he could just fabricate his own reality to support his hypothesis.”

“People have an amazing ability to lie to themselves. No doubt.”

David continued, “There was another instance where I proved my point in an argument on a forum, using a simple mathematical formula.”

“What happened then?”

“Oh, someone replied with, ‘This would be accurate, that is if the math is accurate, which I’m not checking.’”

Grandpa Steiner laughed a belly laugh. “Nice! So, in other words, they are actually saying you are correct, but they are still going to argue with you, just in case you’re wrong. Because they don’t want to take the time to find out if you’re wrong or not.”

“Exactly!”

“Astounding.”

David was laughing too, the sound echoing off the cheap linoleum and fake wooden paneling of the auto mechanics l lobby. “I know. Isn’t it? People will actually admit their ignorance and take pride in it, then only concede that a person might be correct, but they won’t bother to confirm it for themselves.”

“Well, I taught you better than that.”

David patted his father’s knee. “You did, dad. I have no aversion to being wrong. I’m never fearful of admitting I’m incorrect or misinformed. Admitting my lack of knowledge is the only way for me to learn more and gain a greater intelligence.”

“Before you learn anything, you have to first admit that you have more to learn.” Grandpa Steiner repeated the line he had told his son a thousand times growing up.

David acknowledged the memory of being bequeathed that wisdom. “I remember. Many people are not like that though, dad. Many people, those unwashed masses, they take pride in ignorance. They become defensive and belittling to those they perceive as more intelligent than themselves. One may speculate that such insecurity stems from a lack of confidence in their own intellect. But I doubt that. I think, as I mentioned earlier, it stems from a desire many people possess of being contradictory and argumentative. They simply enjoy bickering so much that they will warp reality and twist words around, simply to have an excuse to berate someone. They will use any means at their disposal to justify being ‘right’ and others being ‘wrong’ regarding any topic under the sun.”

Grandpa Steiner grinned and spoke from a crooked corner of his lips, “Of course, you know the old saying. ‘Arguing on the Internet is like competing in the Special Olympics.’”

David and Grandpa Steiner finished the thought in unison, “‘Even if you win, you’re still retarded.’”

“Dag nabbit! Eh!” The accent of a backwater Alabama swampland called over the counter from beneath a red trucker hat. “Eh! You boys wanna be keepin’ up all that fancy talkin’, you best take that outside. Can’t hardly heard a dang word on mah fishin’ show wit all yer jibber jabbin’.”

“Sorry.” David clenched his teeth. “Didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Ya’ll ain’t offendin’. I dunno nuthin’ ‘bout all yer Internets and geeky shit. I just wanna see mah shows!”

“The universe works in mysterious ways.” Grandpa Steiner observed as he and his son headed out the door to chat.

“Don’t she just?” David concurred.

“Stupid fancy pants. Talkin’ ‘bout nuthin’.”

Ω

TAU CETI REPORT ON BALD MONKEY OBSERVATIONS #645:

Bestowed with “sentience” and “language”, the bald monkey illustrates no greater devolution stemming from these traits than in their communications network they have called the “Internet”. Intellectually stunted behavior is frequently lauded as insightful wisdom, and encouraged, by bald monkeys with even less brainpower than their objects of idolatry. Commonly valued aspects of monkeydom, such as “statistics” or “morality” are often ignored in favor of sensationalism and controversy. What they communicate is less important than the reaction which can be manipulated from other monkeys. Both “passing judgments” and “failing to take responsibility for ones actions” are predominant attitudes to be adopted. Obviously pointless behavior to more advanced species, the monkeys actually think this shit is important... But what do you expect from a bunch of monkeys?

END REPORT

Chapter Nine

Howard King adjusted his microphone and introduced his radio program, “Today on the Howard King Show, we have with us three guests. Dr. Jamie Smith, she is the founder of Recovering Alcoholics, an organization which has helped hundreds of thousands of addicts recover from the disease of alcoholism.”

Gesturing to his next guest, Howard said, “We also have Keith Wilson, a social activist who founded Tumbling Whistles to raise social awareness in the Congo and he has lead the charge demanding accountability from United Kingdom Petroleum for their part in the massive oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico.”

“Finally, we have Grandpa Steiner, whose viral video of his arrest at his local drugstore and his outspoken blog, have sparked outrage and controversy both in support of Mr. Steiner and in condemnation.”

Grandpa Steiner had no idea what he was doing there.

He had such an awful experience on that television show.

Why do a radio program?

“Welcome, all of you, and thanks for being here with us today.”

“Thank you, Howard.”

“Thanks for having us.”

“Thanks. We almost didn’t make it.” Grandpa Steiner said.

“Didn’t make it?”

Grandpa Steiner jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Yeah, those ignorant protestors outside the studio.”

“Who?”

“They were Occupy protestors.” Explained Keith.

“Oh? Do we still have those? They’re kind of like a swarm of gnats. Really irritating, but you also just ignore them after awhile.” Howard laughed.

“Well, I think they have some validity to their complaints.” Keith said.

Howard asked, “Validity? To what complaints?”

Dr. Smith hadn’t said a word.

Keith explained, “They are upset with the bailouts of banks, I think.”

“You think? Yeah, that’s exactly the problem. You think that is the issue. They never really stated one.” Howard’s voice cracked slightly, getting agitated.

“They’re a joke. Bunch of communist bastards.” Grandpa Steiner said.

“Why do you say they’re communists?”

Grandpa Steiner growled, “Because they expect an arbitrary redistribution of wealth. Economic equality may sound like a nice, just, fair ideal on paper. But it’s just a fancy way of rephrasing communism. They also condemn capitalism, which is the only way an economy can operate in a free market democracy, and they encourage the evils of socialism. Capitalism can unfortunately become corrupted, but socialism is tantamount to slavery.”

Howard was a little taken aback. He didn’t expect the old man to be so articulate. He smiled inside. This was going to be a good show.

“Capitalism is really being attacked in schools these days. They are desperately trying to indoctrinate the youth to fascist economic systems.” Howard announced. He wasn’t sure if that was true, but he knew people would get riled up with controversial statements like that.

The mere idea incensed Grandpa Steiner. “Since when has capitalism been a bad thing? Capitalism has been the only economic system in the history of the world which allow democratic cultures to prosper! And all of a sudden, as soon as there is economic disparity, these fascists and communists come crawling out of the woodwork like cockroaches to misguide the next generation and teach our children that capitalism is flawed? Capitalism is not flawed. Greed is the flaw and the poison of greed can infect and tarnish any economic paradigm. There is nothing wrong with capitalism. Capitalism is a wonderful tool that has lead to American prosperity for centuries and generations. Greed is what causes corruption. Not capitalism. Capitalism isn’t the source of the problem. That’s like blaming the manufacturer of axes for the existence of ax murderers. Or blaming car makers for drunk drivers. Or blaming gun manufacturers for armed robberies. Only insane people would do that. The tool isn’t the source of evil. The tool isn’t demonic, the person wielding the tool, is the devil.”

Howard took a jab, “Yeah. This may be shocking to the so-called 99%, but here’s a newsflash - millionaire bankers aren’t intimidated by a bunch of dirty hippie college kids sleeping in tents on the sidewalk.”

“You think redistribution of wealth is a bad thing? You would turn in Robin Hood?” Keith asked Grandpa Steiner.

“Robin Hood? First of all, Robin Hood was fighting against people who lived in castles while serfs were starving to death. The economic disparity in that culture was vastly different than it is today. Plus, there are no Robin Hoods out there.” Grandpa Steiner gestured toward the wall. “There are college students out there, protesting what they see as unfair interest rates on their college loans. Well, if you didn’t want to pay that interest rate, why did you get the loan in the first place? The money wasn’t stolen from them. They accepted those interest rates voluntarily.”

“You think it’s fine for the rich to get richer?” Keith asked. “You think it’s okay for companies to walk all over people? Like that recent story of a woman like Sharon Smiley who got fired from her job for not taking a lunch break?”

“I remember her. That was in Chicago.” Howard nodded. “Woman worked at a company for 10 years and they canned her for not taking lunch.”

“That’s bull.” Grandpa Steiner scoffed. “There’s more to that story.”

“What more do you think there is?” Keith wondered, annoyed that this old man seemed to be supporting the oppressive corporate machine.

“Look, no one gets fired for not taking lunch after working someplace for 10 years. Clearly, that woman pissed off some people and they didn’t want to fire her for whatever she did, so they made up a new excuse.”

Howard interjected, “She did take about 3 months off for stress.”

“See?” Grandpa Steiner motioned to Howard. “No company wants their employees to disappear for 3 months. But it would be illegal to fire her over a medical condition. So, they come up with a bullshit excuse. Chances are, something like that medical leave is what got her fired. Not skipping lunch.”

“So you agree that companies are just out for greed. There are no redeeming qualities there. They still fired her over the greed of having to pay her salary when she was on leave.” Keith said, inventing scenarios he didn’t know were true or not.

Grandpa Steiner called him out on it. “We don’t know that.”

“Well... - ”

“ - We don’t know. You just agreed with something I made up. I do believe in the redistribution of wealth. Hoarding wealth is never justifiable or moral, I agree with that, but I also think it’s fine for companies to earn a living.”

“That’s all the Occupy Protestors want. Fair practices.”

“Hey, I’m all for that. Corporations should hire American employees and create innovations which create new jobs and keeps the economy of our country moving. Absolutely. Outsourcing is wrong. Downsizing is immoral. But, you also have these idiots protesting the very existence of major corporations! You can’t have it both ways! These fools want jobs, then they protest the very corporations which create those jobs. So, which do you want? You want the jobs to be there? Or you want the corporations to go out of business? How do these idiots expect to have both? Where are you going to work if no corporations exist anymore?”

“They are protesting outsourcing. Not corporations.”

“Hey, outsourcing is evil. I just said that. I won’t deny that. Screwing over your neighbors so you can save a few bucks by hiring people halfway around the world is diabolical. I don’t contend that. But let me tell you something, there is no conspiracy. There is no enemy. There is no villain. There is no 99% versus a 1%. Society encourages an ‘us versus them’ mentality. But that’s a lie.”

Grandpa Steiner tapped his finger on the counter, “Everything that is ‘wrong’ in our culture is something ‘they’ did to ‘us’. Right? That is how those protesting morons see it. Us versus them. 99% versus 1%. The economy is bad because of what ‘they’ did. Politics are corrupt because of ‘them’. These are all lies. ‘They’ didn’t get us into this mess. We did.”

Pointing at the microphone, as if the listening audience could hear him better, he said, “You. Me. Us. No one else. You think everyone on Wall Street is a liar and a cheat who got themselves rich at the expense of the nation? No. You are the one who did this. No one forced you to buy a $300,000 house that you couldn’t afford. You are an idiot. Didn’t you ever do the math? Are you so fucking stupid that you couldn’t figure out paying a $400 per month mortgage would never pay off a $300,000 house in 20 years? These moronic douchebags blame ‘corporate greed’ for their financial ruin and they sit there and whine about ‘government bailouts’ while hypocritically insisting they are entitled to get their own bailouts, because they didn’t bother to learn how an interest rate works?”

Howard laughed. “That’s true.”

Grandpa Steiner shifted in his chair, “Look, we have had financial collapses plenty of times before. We had the Panic of 1797, the Panic of 1857, the Long Depression in 1873, the Panic of 1893, the Great Depression of 1929, and when the country was hit by the Great Recession due to the subprime mortgage crisis, people rush to the streets in protest and claim the financial system is failing. Well, that’s what it has always done. It fails. It rebuilds. It fails. It rebuilds. Ebb and flow. This is how the system was designed to function. These idiots know nothing about history. Those people protesting outside are morons. They aren’t activists. They’re uneducated fools who want handouts because they are too stupid to use a fucking calculator.”

Howard grinned.

They hadn’t even gotten to the days topics yet!

This was going to be a very good show.

Ω

TAU CETI REPORT ON BALD MONKEY OBSERVATIONS #532:

Bald monkeys have established societies based upon trade and barter systems - wherein items essential to monkey survival created by one monkey are exchanged for items constructed by other monkeys. These economic systems have grown increasingly complicated over the centuries and now dominate nearly every aspect of monkey culture in one form or another. Monkeys often engage in violent wars and battles to steal and secure the resources of other monkeys. Requiring justification for murdering fellow monkeys for trivial reasons, the leadership of monkeydom will often create lies and propaganda to rally the monkeys into thinking the atrocities are somehow noble and defensive acts to preserve freedoms or ways of life. Faking attacks from enemies is a simple, yet highly effective and common technique, used to sway public opinions. The bald monkeys all presume no one would lie to them and what they are told by authority figures is always true. Obviously idiotic behavior to more advanced species, the monkeys actually think this shit is important... But what do you expect from a bunch of monkeys?

END REPORT

Ω

Dr. Jamie Smith just finished talking about Recovering Alcoholics and how their twelve-step program has helped many addicts recover from their disease.

Grandpa Steiner rolled his eyes. “That’s horseshit, Jamie. No matter how many times you fancy doctors try to brainwash the public with this propaganda, we’re smart enough to know, ‘addictions’ are not a fucking disease.”

Dr. Smith was shocked at his reaction. “I beg your pardon! How do you know? Are you a licensed physician authorized to define these terms?”

“First of all, little-missy-with-a-God-complex, being a physician doesn’t give you the authority to redefine the language of a culture. And according to the existing definition, determined by the consensus of society, a ‘disease’ is an outside influence. Diseases come from germs and viruses and genetic disorders. Those are diseases. Shooting up heroin is a choice, not a disease. Snorting cocaine is a choice, not a disease. Being an antagonistic fuckwit who can’t stop drinking beers isn’t suffering from a disease. Drinking a shot of whiskey is a choice. Consuming alcohol is a decision you make.” Grandpa Steiner pointed at the doctor.

“Alcoholics can’t control that decision!” She corrected.

“Oh, bullshit! Story of your generation, isn’t it? You aren’t responsible for anything. Especially not your own actions. Everything is the fault of a disease, or a corporation, or a bully, or whatever other phantom you can pin things upon. Nothing is ever your fault. That’s the pathetic excuse you fuckers make for yourselves. You can’t control it? Going to your Recovering Alcoholics meetings suddenly gives people magic powers and the new-found ability to control that which they couldn’t control before? No one is putting a gun to your head and making you drink some brandy. You’re not being forced to shoot up heroin. You want to do it. You choose to do it.”

“It’s not always that simple.” Howard says, defending the doctor.

“Oh, yes it is!” Grandpa Steiner moaned. “It is that simple. Life is very simple. Not easy, but simple. But you addicts don’t want to admit your weaknesses, do you? Pass the buck, right? It’s not your fault. It’s not your responsibility. You can’t face up to the fact that your choices and decisions are fucking up your life. So what do you do? You label it as a disease instead. Pretend it’s like catching a cold. Something that was done to you by your genetics, not something you have the power to change. You can’t admit you are responsible. Instead, you lie to yourselves. Easier to tell yourself it’s an uncontrollable disease than to admit it’s a failure of your own will. By claiming that you suffer from a disease, you get to play the victim. Oh, poor me. You take an issue of your decisions, your choices, your free will and turn it into something beyond your control.”

“What gives you the right to judge the willpower of another? You don’t know what my life has been like. What my childhood was like. What I had to cope with. I had a lot of esteem issues growing up.” Dr. Smith pointed at her chest, which Howard noted was quite ample.

Howard was skeptical. “Pretty girls like you never have esteem issues.”

Dr. Smith jerked a head towards him, “Howard, even ‘pretty girls’ have self-esteem problems. I think everybody has some esteem issues. It could be a brain, body or social issue. When I was young I didn’t have much self-esteem either. As I got older, I grew more in love with who I was.”

Grandpa Steiner laughed, “Well, that explains it. No big shock there.”

Howard asked, “You think she loves herself plenty?”

Grandpa Steiner ignored Howard’s masturbation innuendo. He got the joke. He just ignored it. Grandpa Steiner squinted at everyone in the room. “It’s just more bullshit! People who are weak and have self-esteem issues are always the ones saying, ‘everyone has issues’. No. No we don’t. Not everyone has issues. Just because you have those problems, doesn’t mean everyone else does too. There is such a thing as healthy and well-adjusted people in the world. Weak people like you claim we all have issues, because you refuse to admit how weak you are.”

Looking directly at Dr. Smith, he said, “That’s what your organization is all about, isn’t it? In order to feel strong and confident, you decide to tear everyone else down. People like you project your own weakness onto everyone around them and say, ‘Well, everyone is like me. I’m not so different.’ And that’s a bullshit lie. You are different. Others are not as weak as you. Others are much stronger than you are. Others can cope with much worse hardships than you have endured without diluting their pain with drugs and alcohol.”

Dr. Smith thought about the little girl she was in gradeschool and was nearly in tears. Everything this old man said was right and true. But she couldn’t admit that. Not now. Everything she had built, everything she had stood for, was built upon these lies. She had to keep believing in them herself and she had to defend her position.

The beautiful and confident Dr. Smith, the sexy and voluptuous one who was pissed off at Howard King for his sexist masturbation comments and his remarks about her breasts, shoved the sniveling little girl inside her memories into the playground. She wanted to call Grandpa Steiner a bully. Lash out at him for being mean and cruel and insensitive.

Or was he?

Maybe he was just honest.

Maybe she just listened to her own horseshit for way too long.

“The world loves you alcoholics and stoners.” Grandpa Steiner chided and elaborated, “That’s why you’re successful. So-called ‘recovery’ is always admired as something heroic. Anytime a person is stupid enough and self-destructive enough to start throwing away their life, society regards them as some sort of champion when they choose to stop. They are like ignorant children with a family who claps for them when they get first place, too oblivious and naive to realize their dad let them win the race.

“But goodness knows, if you are a person who never had the desire to take drugs or alcohol in the first place, you are never given any credit. In fact, those who remain clean and sober, those who stay dry and straightedge, are regarded as some sort of villains. Surrounded by a society which can not function without medicating themselves, the addicts angrily accuse the sober people of having easy lives; of not understanding pain or hardship. Our culture of beer-drinkers and joint-smokers never regard those who abstain as admirable. Instead, those with enough fortitude and nobility and self-respect to face their problems and never drown their sorrows are crucified for not being one of the fallen.”

Grandpa Steiner paused, but no one else spoke, so he hastily continued. “Remaining pure is never praised, it is disregarded as some sort of abnormality. But soon as some self-destructive idiot releases a book or writes an article about overcoming their addictions, or brags about a sobriety anniversary, they are besieged with an outpouring of love and support. People compliment the junkies on being brave and courageous and strong. Which is an utter crock of bullshit. By definition, ‘courage’ and ‘bravery’ are sacrifices you make for other people. Discovering the good-sense to cease fucking up your own life is called ‘self-preservation’, not ‘bravery’. There’s nothing courageous about not poisoning yourself. When you decide to not throw yourself off a cliff, it’s not a sign of being strong; It just means you stopped being a suicidal douchewaffle. If drunks who find their self-worth are to be commended, those who have always valued themselves should be lauded as even greater heroes.”

“Is that what you want? Credit? For being sober?” Howard finally interjected.

“No.” Grandpa Steiner explained, “I want the world to stop placating the addicts like children who need positive reinforcement lest they fall off the wagon. I want the druggies and boozers to stop being cheered on by the doting parents on the sidelines. I want people to stop being given credit for achieving something they should have been practicing all along. Abstaining from self-destructive behavior should be construed as normal, not noble. Anyone who needs to learn that lesson isn’t admirable. They’re fucking retarded.”

Dr. Smith couldn’t believe what he was saying because she didn’t have the capacity for reason to fully understand him. He sure sounded mean though. But calling him out for bullying would play right into his hands. Instead, she went for a more positive response. Something that would allow her to remain classy in the eyes of her fans. This was a national radio program after all. He didn’t have a professional reputation to protect. She did.

She was still upset that Grandpa Steiner said she was weak in comparison to other people. Smiling gracefully, Dr. Smith said, “Time heals all wounds, Mr. Steiner. That may sound foolish, but it’s true. I’ll be 37 later this year and I have finally begun to understand life. But, as a teenager, I was so terribly confused, and always nervous that people might find out I wasn’t smart or similar to them in any way. I know I’m different. I’ve known that a long time.”

Grandpa Steiner stared at her strangely. Despite being a mean old bastard, she though, he really looked like he cared. Something in his eyes had genuine compassion. Then again, she was a terrible judge of compassion in men. She was convinced that was why she was still single. Grandpa Steiner, with those compassionate eyes, said, “No. You call yourself different because it makes you feel better about yourself. Not because you truly are different, but to convince yourself that you are somehow special.”

Dr. Smith smiled. Now she had him. “You just said I was different a moment ago. Now you’re completely contradicting yourself. I can’t debate you if you don’t stick to your position.”

“I’m not contradicting anything. What I said a moment ago was a topic in another context. The word ‘different’ is applicable to both subjects. You are different - in that you’re weaker than most people, while you pretend to be strong. You are not different - in that you tell yourself you’re special, when there’s really nothing unique about you at all.”

“She’s different in thinking she’s like everyone else. She’s not different in thinking she’s special? That’s a harsh condemnation, grandpa!” Howard chuckled, his deep radio voice melting into the microphone with the fluidity of warm maple syrup. His comment was purely observational. He was neither supporting or condemning Grandpa Steiner. After all, he didn’t care about these topics. He just wanted some controversial radio to keep his ratings up.

“It’s true.” Grandpa Steiner said to Howard. Looking back at Dr. Smith, he added, “You want to be different. You like seeing yourself that way. It empowers you to cease conforming. Right? Accept you’re like everyone else, and you must behave as such. Convince yourself that you are somehow special and suddenly, you have all the freedom you’ll need to defy the status quo. You use the word ‘different’ to reassure yourself that your disconnect from people is healthy and normal. But that’s not what makes you different at all. You’re only different in that you are weaker than most. The only problem with your psyche is that you’re a neurotypical mundane little girl with no comprehension of your true strength or value. The reason I know this is because no one who truly grasps their strength and value ever waste so much time proclaiming to everyone they have discovered it. Truly strong people never feel any need to announce their strength to the world.”

Dr. Smith was rattled. “Who are you to judge my strength? Like I told you before, you don’t know what I have endured in my life. I’ve had issues with personality disorders like manic depression and cutting. Same as many young girls. You can’t belittle those issues and turn around and act as if you’re a compassionate person. You know nothing about such problems.”

Grandpa Steiner looked deep into her eyes, with true concern. He spoke to her as if she were his own daughter and said, “I know enough to be sure that your idea of ‘personality disorders’ are bullshit. Being ecstatically happy and miserably sad in life is normal. There’s no such thing as having ‘manic-depression’ - it’s called living. These days, there’s a so-called ‘personality disorder’ for everything. Isn’t there? Look at those fucked up television commercials! Telling people they need to be drugged up for everything. If they’re sad. If they have a hard time sleeping. If they lose their appetite. If they have low energy. If they get stressed at work. All normal things, parts of life, which the medical community and pharmaceutical companies are now telling you are all disorders. All flaws. Things you need drugs to cope with. It’s bullshit!”

“I have terrible gas. There’s no pill for that one!” Howard King joked. A fart sound effect followed.

Grandpa Steiner and the other guests ignored him entirely. Continuing, Grandpa Steiner turned to everyone in the studio and said, “It used to be that they were called ‘personality traits’ but nowadays, the lemmings of our culture have been brainwashed into thinking every quirk in their personality is a goddamn ‘disorder’. Something that requires fixing. Something better managed with medication. Total load of crap. By definition, a ‘disorder’ is an abnormality. Well, since everyone has them, that means they are normal and natural, not abnormalities at all! Since there seems to be a ‘disorder’ for everyone, then by definition, they can’t be ‘disorders’ in the first place.”

“There are many drugs which have greatly helped a lot of people lead normal lives.” Dr. Smith defended. “Many children with disorders have benefited immensely from - ”

Grandpa Steiner would have none of it. “ - Ah, bullshit! That’s the worst evil of all! Getting our kids hooked on mood-altering chemicals just because their parents don’t know how to be parents? Tell me something, doctor, how can you claim a child, anyone, under the age of 18 as having a ‘disorder’? You can’t have a disorder while you’re still developing. Why are so many kids on psychotropic drugs these days? The past 500 generations of human beings seem to have evolved just fine without stuffing their children full of mind-altering drugs. What makes the current generations so different? Did the biochemistry and physiology of human beings suddenly change so much over the course of two generations that every child is somehow defective?”

“Amen to that.” Howard said.

Even the other people in the studio voiced their agreement.

Dr. Smith felt like she was surrounded by enemies. Right back on the playground. Only this time, she was wrong and they were all right. Too many kids were on bullshit drugs. Dr. Smith knew that. All doctors knew it. None of them would be stupid enough to commit professional suicide and admit it. Grandpa Steiner knew exactly what he was talking about. But she wasn’t about to acknowledge that.

“These disorders have been around for many generations. We are just developing the science to help people deal with them.” Dr. Smith gave the canned response she was taught to deliver.

Grandpa Steiner scoffed, “Let me tell you something - If ‘disorders’ were real, they wouldn’t have an age-limit. But they do, don’t they? Your imaginary ‘disorders’ have an age-limit, just like a case of beer - they can only sell poison to you after you’re old enough to buy it with your own money. ‘Personality Disorders’ are nonsense labels invented by one group of people to place on other people. Just a way to humiliate people for failing to conform. Categorize. Compartmentalize. Put people in little boxes. Define them. Tell people who they are. Tell people what they are. Tell people how to think. Make people feel bad about who they are. Make healthy people believe they have a ‘problem’. Convince people they have ‘issues’. Then capitalize on them - sell them therapy. Sell them drugs. Make people think they need to be ‘fixed’ by the latest ‘advances’ in medicine.”

Grandpa Steiner pointed at the console in front of him, “Life is hard. Life is rough. You know that? Not just for you. For everyone. Everyone has periods where it’s difficult to cope with day-to-day living. People want to believe they have ‘disorder’ and there is ‘something wrong with them’. People love that. People love to be ‘diseased’ and ‘dysfunctional’. It’s wonderful. Because if you think you are ‘sick’ in some way, then there can be a bottled cure. Right? A pill. A drug. A therapy session. A quick fix. Something to buy that will make you ‘normal’ again. Nothing but a bunch of evil lies created by manipulative people to prey upon the vulnerable. Wolves and sheep. Convince people they are ill and make as much money off them as you can.”

Howard spoke up, “So you think the medical community is just out to coerce people? You think it’s a conspiracy and most of these conditions are just a bunch of lies?”

Grandpa Steiner clarified, “I never called it a conspiracy. Conspiracy theorists are wackos and nutjobs. Conspiracies, by definition, are done in secret. This isn’t a secret conspiracy. There’s nothing clandestine about this. It’s blatantly out in the open! Tell people they are ill, just to sell them drugs and therapy. No conspiracy there! It’s an obvious sham to anyone with a brain. Behavioral drugs are snake oil.”

“So why do you think people fall for it?” Howard asked.

“Yes,” Dr. Smith asked. “If you are so convinced that no one has a disorder, why do so many people benefit from these medical advances?”

Grandpa Steiner shook his head. “No, no. I never said no one has disorders. I’m saying many healthy people are being convinced they have disorders, when they don’t. As for why people fall for it, they always have! Nothing but snake oil. Intelligent, well-meaning people fell for the charms of snake oil salesmen in the past. Those well-meaning people vehemently defended their snake oil salesmen in centuries past too. The tradition continues today - the snake oil salesmen have just gotten more clever. Nevertheless, wrapping the same old crap in a new package doesn’t make it smell any less foul. Still the same old snake piss, no matter what you call it.”

Dr. Smith attempted to speak, but Grandpa Steiner simply looked in her eyes and said with a soft concern, “You don’t have a disorder, Jamie. There is nothing wrong with you. Any hardships you have learned to overcome in life is called ‘living’. That’s wonderful and you should be very proud of yourself for it. If labeling yourself as possessing a ‘disorder’ makes it easier for you to face your hardships, then I say more power to you. Nevertheless, I’ve seen psychologically unhealthy people, and you aren’t one of them.”

His love and tenderness were so heartfelt, even Dr. Smith couldn’t stay angry at him. She still disagreed with him, but she knew he was trying to help her and he was coming from a place of true compassion.

Shocked her to see such a sudden change in his tone.

Dr. Smith smiled, realizing that many of her fans and followers would never understand that. They would attack and condemn him. But the truth is, he was a very insightful old man with a great deal of wisdom in him. Perhaps he wasn’t so obsolete after all. Maybe he knew a lot more than she did.

Howard broke the conversation for a commercial. “And speaking of psychologically unhealthy people,” Howard said, “Let’s heard a word from our sponsors!”

While the promotional spots ran, Howard proudly and silently congratulated himself for asking his producer to track down Grandpa Steiner. The old man was providing exactly the kind of articulate vitriol he was hoping for. Howard could just sit back and take it easy while he let things roll on the Grandpa Steiner Show. Bring in guests with controversial topics. Let Grandpa Steiner go off on them. This was beautiful! He’d have to give this man a recurring guest spot for all those days when he didn’t feel like working.

After the commercial break, Howard King moved to his next guest, Keith Wilson.

“My next guest, Keith Wilson is an activist in many ways. He is one of the founders and former members of Tumbling Whistles - ”

Grandpa Steiner interrupted, “ - Formerly of Tumbling Whistles? I’ve heard of you. You’re that organization that sold rave whistles in order to protest a war in Africa. Right?”

Howard loved the fact Grandpa Steiner interrupted him.

He was making Howard’s job easier by the minute!

Keith smiled at Grandpa Steiner, happy the old man had heard of his work. “Yes! We encouraged people to be whistleblowers for peace in the Congo.”

Chuckling with disgust, Grandpa Steiner said, “Whatever. My son showed me your crap on the Internet. Whistleblowers for peace? Lying sack of shit. The truth is you were a bunch of opportunistic hipster white kids in America, making videos encouraging vandalism as a way to advertise sales for your whistles.”

Defensive, Keith said, “Encouraging vandalism? We never did that!”

“Yes you did. I saw your videos, spraypainting your stencil logo all over the city. What the fuck do you call that? That’s vandalism. Just to sell worthless whistles. I also was quick to notice, there was nothing on your website explaining how buying a whistle is going to help end a war.”

“Now hold on - ” Keith protested.

“ - No, you hold on. As a lawful citizen, I’m the one schooling your illegal-graffiti-advertising, ignorant ass right now. Shut your mouth and listen. What your ‘Tumbling Whistles’ organization was actually doing was preying on the sympathies of lazy people by talking about protesting a war involving children, and using that emotional response to sell a product, which will in turn do nothing whatsoever to cease the hostilities. Your bullshit customers claim they ‘want to help cease atrocities in the world’, but all they really want to do is pay their $35 for a whistle, and head back to the coffeeshop on their fixie and pontificate about being a ‘voice of global consciousness’. Not sure if anyone realizes this, but selling whistles does not end a war! Tell me, how will drunken college kids buying fucking rave whistles stop an armed conflict halfway around the world? Huh? Explain that one to me. You lying sacks of shit are just looking to make money. Profit. Greed. You represent everything you claim to hate. The difference is, the corporations whom you feel so morally superior to and who work for profit, are at least honest about their motives. They promise to sell products and they deliver. You pretend to sell hope and you never come through. You lie to everyone. Worst of all, you lie to yourselves.”

Keith was taken aback.

This old man had attacked Dr. Smith, but he was a lot more compassionate to her. Keith was stunned by this outburst. He was not expecting this. He had never thrown a punch in his sheltered life of 27 years, but he felt like he had just gotten jumped.

Keith tried to respond, “Raising awareness does help to change things in the world. Simply by letting people know - ”

“ - Tell me, how many rave whistles do you Los Angeles hipsters need to sell before you managed to stop a brutal war in Africa? Or did you just sell them in order to feel good about yourselves and pretend you were raising ‘humanitarian awareness’ for all your fellow coffeehouse douchebags? I’m sure the brutal warlords of the Congo were trembling in fear at a bunch of college brats buying whistles in America.” Grandpa Steiner mocked.

Keith grew defensive, “Well, what we have done is more than you have done! Actually, the conflict still continues. That’s the reason Tumbling Whistles continues to be relevant and continues to strive to make people aware.”

Grandpa Steiner looked graven and dropped his voice two octaves, “More than I have done? Listen you punk little shitball, I earned a Purple Heart fighting the japs in World War II. I know for a fact a little shit like you has never even been in a fistfight. You want to talk to me about making a difference? Don’t you ever presume to tell me about how much I have sacrificed in order to make a difference in the world. In order to stop atrocities. I went overseas and gave blood, sweat and tears to change lives. To liberate the oppressed. You sit in Hollywood selling whistles to raver fuckwads and you dare to think you are doing something relevant? You dare compare yourself and act superior to me? Go home and fuck your mother.”

Even Howard was stunned by that one. “Whoa.”

That was all he managed to say.

That settled it. Grandpa Steiner was definitely getting booked again.

Keith was terrified he was about to get his ass kicked on national radio by a man twice his age. He stammered, “Well, I, um, I’m sorry. I didn’t - ”

“ - Well, don’t feel too bad.” Grandpa Steiner dripped with sarcasm. “I’m sure your little Tumbling Whistles helped. The best part about the whistles is that they allowed fixie riding trustfund hipsters to delude themselves into thinking they were voicing ‘protests’ for a neverending brutal conflict halfway around the planet where women and children are regularly raped by inhuman savages. You get a whistle and feel good about yourself while doing nothing to stop the monstrosities! Hooray! At least you looked cool at the rave! Yippie! Probably helped you get laid a few times by some four-eyed bitch as shallow and vapid as yourself.”

Howard was loving this. He laughed and applauded Grandpa Steiner. Sex jokes kept people tuned in after all.

“Well, Keith,” Howard said, knowing it would incite Grandpa Steiner all the more, “You have moved on from the efforts of Tumbling Whistles and you are now protesting the oil spill in the Gulf.”

Keith was so frazzled at that point, he was relieved for the save from Howard. He knew that if he were to defend Tumbling Whistles anymore, he was no longer even making any sense in his attempts to stick up for himself. “Yes, Howard. That is true. We, uh, we have a profile online with a petition to help make United Kingdom Petroleum answer for the environmental damage they did in the Gulf of Mexico.”

Howard asked, “You have a petition online? How’s that working out for you?”

Keith didn’t catch Howard’s sarcasm. “Great. We have over 10,000 ‘likes’ on our page already and now with this - ”

Grandpa Steiner chimed in again. “ - Ooh, boy. 10,000 likes? Do you think they give a damn? Huh? You honestly think a multibillion dollar corporation is going to change their entire business model because of a few thousand people clicking on a fucking website?”

Keith snapped back, foolishly thinking with a change of topic, he would have a stronger footing to back up his stance. “We are instigators of change. Everytime people share one of our posts on their Internet profile, it sends a message.”

“Instigators of change?” Grandpa Steiner laughed. “Another meaningless phrase of nonsense.”

“No. Not meaningless. We are influencing the operation of major corporations by our acts. It sends a very clear message.”

“A message to whom? A message of what? That you are morons?”

“You would just sit around and do nothing about this oil spill!” Keith was careful to specify “oil spill” after getting so berated by Grandpa Steiner for his war efforts. “But when people share these posts, they have done their duty as responsible citizens of - ”

Grandpa Steiner laughed a chirp so high pitched, he sounded like his wife. “Ha! Done their duty? Really!? That’s fantastic. Fucking idiot buttwads honestly think that posting on a fucking Internet page is an effort reflective of doing a ‘good deed for the day’. Nothing more needs to be done! Wash your hands of the problem, because now you’ve ‘done your duty’.”

Grandpa Steiner looked at Howard and told him, “Just last week, I saw the same thing with these dirtbags protesting Kansas Fried Chicken. Regurgitating a bullshit urban myth that they are not real chickens, but ‘genetically manipulated organisms’ - whatever that means. Even if that were true, which it’s not, it’s irrelevant. No one is disgusted or offended by this stuff. No one cares. Not truly. People pretend to care. But they don’t. It’s an Internet post. Which means people get upset and angry or offended for 5 minutes, then they forget about it, and go back to watching cat videos and porn websites. No one will stop eating chicken. No one will feel such deep remorse at the cruel treatment of animals, they will decide to volunteer at an animal shelter. No one will donate money to the SPCA. Even people who pretend to ‘care’ won’t lift a finger beyond bitching at their keyboards. Ultimately, no action will be taken. None. Because none of us ever bother to do anything which isn’t in our own self-interest. Do we? These issues are not things that will change your life one iota. It’s just another minor distraction in a complacent existence. It’s morbid entertainment. Nothing more.”

Keith argued, “That’s such a cynical outlook. If no one cared, I would have never founded such organizations to begin with.”

“You care.” Grandpa Steiner nodded. “I’m sure you do. I believe you. A few dozen people who work with you might care. But those 10,000 posts on your petition? Those people do not care. Everyone who was upset about the oil spill is a hilarious hypocrite. People showing up to ‘protests’ in their gas-guzzling SUV? Supply and demand, children. United Kingdom Petroleum wouldn’t have been drilling for oil in the Gulf of Mexico if everyone stopped buying petroleum products. You want to point fingers? You want someone to take the blame? Blame yourselves. You love the oil. You want the oil. You don’t care where it comes from. You don’t care if the environment is destroyed to get it. That’s why you filled your cars with gas this week. Because you don’t care about anything but your own life and your own comfort and your own convenience. The environment doesn’t matter to you at all. Not really.”

“You think they just forget all about it once they get off their computer?” Howard King asked.

Grandpa Steiner turned to him, “I bet they forget faster than that! Protesting against United Kingdom Petroleum is like a drug addict protesting against their drug dealer. He’s not to blame. He’s just giving you what you are asking for. You lack the strength to quit using it.”

Pointing at the microphone, addressing everyone listening to the radio, he said, “You want United Kingdom Petroleum in that Gulf. You need United Kingdom Petroleum in that Gulf. And you don’t give a crap what happens as a consequence. You are responsible for that oil spill. Everytime you buy your plastic-bottled water. Everytime you fill your gas tank. Everytime you purchase food wrapped in cellophane. You made the oil spill. You asked for this.”

“That’s hardly fair.” Keith said. “They are the ones who decided where to drill. The public didn’t make that choice. The public shouldn’t be asked to pay for the mistake of a corporation.”

“Yes, they should! Who runs a corporation? They are run by members of the public! Corporations don’t run themselves. Despite the scum-sucking lawyers creating the loophole that corporations are legally regarded as individuals, they are not. Corporations are run by people and thus all people who buy their products are equally to blame. United Kingdom Petroleum can raise prices all they want. Good for them. They should make consumers pay the tab. After all, no one is forcing us to buy gasoline or petroleum products. We are doing that voluntarily. We are responsible for the actions of United Kingdom Petroleum. They’re just doing what we tell them to do, through our decisions as consumers.” Grandpa Steiner observed.

“They caused the spill!” Keith shouted.

“I see. Environmental disasters were caused by ‘them’ in the oil companies? Right? The faceless ‘them’? The evil ‘them’?”

“Yes!”

“You blame the oil companies for causing devastating oil spills? No. It’s not their fault.”

“Who else is to blame!?”

“You. Obviously. Just like I said before. You caused the oil spill. You did it. Personally. You. Everyone out there listening to their radios. You made it happen. The oil company wouldn’t be in the ocean looking for oil if you weren’t asking for it. You gas up your car. You buy all your plastic gadgets. Where do you think that stuff comes from? Have you stopped driving as much since the oil spill? Have you cut down on the plastic products you purchase?”

“No.”

“No. You haven’t. Why? Because you don’t truly care about the oil spills, or the dead animals, or the long-term impact of your actions. You only care about you. You care about getting to work. You care about getting the latest plastic junk your kids want you to buy. As soon as the media feeds you your next distraction, that oil spill is forgotten. Old news. Irrelevant.”

Keith was ashamed to know Grandpa Steiner was right.

But he’d never admit it, of course.

Keith also had a product to sell. Just like the oil companies. Keith wasn’t about to confess that the horseshit he was selling came packaged in bullshit. His girlfriend, Natalie, honestly believed in the inane logic of their “cause”. Natalie was a classic “social justice warrior” who loved to post selfies from meaningless “protests” and share articles from “alternative news” sites. She had no clue. But Keith did. Keith knew his cause was a lie.

Grandpa Steiner continued, but Keith wasn’t listening. “You can’t think for yourself. You wait for the news to tell you what is important this week. You listen. You obey. You are conditioned. There is no sinister ‘them’ controlling the world. No one is holding the purse strings. There is only you. You and your failures. Shifting the blame. Denying responsibility. That is your greatest failure of all. You sincerely have yourself convinced that ‘they’ are to blame for all the problems of the world. Not you. Not your family. Not your coworkers. Not your friends. No one you know personally. Just the faceless ‘them’ are the ones you think have done you wrong. Well, I have news for you - ‘they’ never did you wrong. Because there is no ‘them’ and there never has been. You have done all of this to yourself.”

After a commercial break, Howard announced they were going to take calls from the listening audience.

Howard couldn’t wait.

He knew everyone would be calling for Grandpa Steiner.

This was going to get good.

Ω

“Our first caller is Chaunté from Elba, Alabama. Hello, Chaunté. You’re on the Howard King show.”

A black woman with a thick southern drawl began speaking, “Hello, Howid. Thank ya’ll for takin’ mah cawl.”

“Thank you for calling, ma’am. Do you have a comment for any of our guests today?”

Her toned became more stern. “Yeah, I needs to axe me a queshin to Mester Steinah.”

“For Mister Steiner, yes?” Howard repeated.

“Yeah, what’s up with ya’ll being a racis’ cracka? I done seen what ya’ll posting on yo’ bogs lass week! Callin’ colord folk niggas. Why ya’ll such a racis’ cracka?”

“Was that English?” Grandpa Steiner asked.

“Perhaps ghetto. Do you need a translator?”

“No, I think I got the gist of it. Thanks, Howard.” Grandpa Steiner joked. Apparently Chaunté didn’t even realize she was being ridiculed. She was still awaiting an answer. “Well, ma’am, I think you may be confusing me with someone else. While I have written opinions on many controversial topics, I haven’t written anything regarding racism. There’s nothing inherently offensive about language. When the lights go out, we’re all niggers.” Grandpa Steiner explained.

She didn’t seem to hear him say anything but the last sentence. “When da lights go out, we all niggas? Ya’ll can’t be using dat werd!”

“What about a word like ‘spic’ or ‘wetback’? Can I use those?”

“I be a black woman an proud. I ain’t no Mexicin. Dem words don’t mean no nothin’ ta me. Ain’t no how as racist as da n-werd.”

“Who are you to make that judgment? What gives you the right to dictate the degree to which others are permitted to be offended? By what divine edict can you tell me that ‘nigger’ is more offensive than ‘wetback’? By what authority do you feel so superior to Mexicans?”

“Mexicins ain’t be slaves for no 400 years like mah people wuz.”

“No. You’re absolutely right. They sure as hell weren’t. Instead, 5 million people from South American tribes died fighting the Spanish for 400 years. While ‘your people’ rolled over into slavery like cowering whipped dogs, the native Mexicans fought their oppressors like warriors. You want to start comparing numbers on the timeline of atrocities? You really want to go there? Blacks were not slaves in America for 400 years, you ignorant bitch. This country isn’t even 250 years old. You want to compare 600,000 Africans enslaved for 200 years with the 5 million South American tribes being murdered for twice as long? What about the tens of thousands of white Union soldiers who died in the Civil War to make sure the slaves got their freedom? You just going to blame all white people and disrespect the deaths of all those white men who gave their lives to free your ancestors? Cry me a fucking river for your ‘oppression’. Stupid nigger. 150 years after slavery is abolished and you’re still just proving how your ignorance got your dumbasses enslaved in the first place.”

“Ya’ll can’t be talkin’ to no niggas that way! We’ll hunt yo’ cracka ass down!”

“I can use any word I want to describe my own heritage and my own family. You are the one with no rights or authority whatsoever over what I may say. I can say anything I want about my family.”

“Yo family? Y’all ain’t no black man! I seen yo cracka ass on teevee!”

“Ma’am, my father was blacker than you.”

“Excus’ me?”

“My dad. Blacker than you. So, don’t talk to me about heritage or racism or black pride. You’re talking to a mullato. A Reinhold bastard. My family is black and white.”

A murmur went through the other guests and the crew.

Howard was just as surprised and cut off the caller, “Thank you for your call, Chaunté. So, let me get this right, you’re half... black?”

“Yes, sir.” Grandpa Steiner noted.

“I never would have guessed. You look like you might be Italian or even Latino, but I never would have suspected you were mixed.” Howard said exactly what everyone was thinking.

“Since the day I was born.” Grandpa Steiner chuckled. “Nigger blood runs in my German veins.”

“German? Uh, oh. The badasses of Europe.” Joked Howard.

What happened next would be debated for weeks on the Internet and spread faster than wildfire in a toothpick factory.

Grandpa Steiner chuckled, “Germans aren’t all bad. Sure, we started two world wars and kicked the shit out of all our fellow Europeans. But, hey, we gave you Volkswagens and Oktoberfest! Plus, we got rid of a crapton of those arrogant kikes who think they are the Chosen People of God! So, clearly, Germans are not all bad!”

The control room went silent.

Howard was dumbfounded.

Did Grandpa Steiner really say that?

What just happened?

An engineer flipped a switch to cue a track of chirping crickets.

The producer motioned to Howard to keep talking. Bowl over the remarks.

Howard gave an uneasy chuckle and said, “Uhh... Guess calling you a racist cracker is pretty ignorant then! Being part black and all. Think all your redneck fans are going to hate you now?”

Within moments the Jewish Underground was on point. Secret phonecalls were made. Words were reported to clandestine rabbis. Seconds later, Grandpa Steiner had his name disseminated to the entire Israeli Mafia where he was blacklisted for life from holding any job within the entertainment or publishing or media industry.

Exempting these talkshows where he pulled in great advertising dollars and ratings, of course.

Grandpa Steiner leaned in, saying, “Howard, I’ll tell you something, both sides of my family taught me that most of what people think of as racism, isn’t racism at all.”

“What do you mean?” Howard leaned forward too.

“Well, suppose a white couple have a daughter, and they are disgusted by the fact she had sex with a nigger? Would you say that’s racist?”

“Of course. Those people should be ashamed of themselves.”

“Okay. But what if that white girl gets pregnant and those white grandparents agree to raise that child? Are they still racist?”

“Obviously. Just because they do something nice doesn’t stop them from being racist assholes.”

Grandpa Steiner nodded. “Fair enough. Now suppose the black side of the family, the colored father and the colored grandparents, totally abandon that child, simply because the mother is white. Are those niggers racists?”

The radio studio people murmured and Howard answered, “Uhm... Well, yes. Obviously. I mean, they shouldn’t abandon their grandson.”

“Ah, but you hesitated.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. That’s what I’m talking about. The black privilege. Everyone is afraid to call coloreds racists. You have no problem immediately condemning the white grandparents as racists, but you have a harder time admitting the colored grandparents are racist. Even when the colored grandparents are far more cruel and uncaring. So, I ask you - this child who was raised by white racists and abandoned by colored racists, who do you think he will love more? Who will he appreciate? Who will he grow up to respect? The whites who raised him? Or the niggers who abandoned him?”

Howard nodded, “I see your point. When a kid comes from a mixed background and his white family accepts him while his black family rejects him, it will be understandable, and even justifiable, for him to be a little angry, and even prejudice against his black heritage.”

“Well, that’s not hypothetical for me. My father was a nigger. He and my paternal grandparents were part of my life until I was 2 years old. Can you believe that? Two whole years of my infancy, Howard. Then, those racist niggers abandoned me. They walked away from their first-born grandson. Abandoned a child they had loved for 2 years, just because my mother was white; Because their black asses were too embarrassed to be associated with a white family. They walked away from me, from their own flesh and blood, from an infant, and never looked back.”

“That’s awful.” Howard frowned.

Grandpa Steiner stared at the microphone and said, “So, for people like Chaunté, I’m not interested in colored racists telling me about the bullshit plight of the black man. I don’t fucking care. Niggers are the biggest racists of all. Niggers have proven to me that they will abandon their own flesh and blood just because my skin wasn’t dark enough for them. They threw me away, while whites raised me as their own. Anytime I hear some hippie white asshole defending nigger racism, I just want to shove their tie-dyed shirt up their ass. Racism and my racist nigger father and grandparents, robbed me of half my family. I was their child. I was their son. An innocent 2 year old baby. And they wanted nothing to do with me. So, I’m not interested in an ignorant nigger like Chaunté telling me what words I can and can not use to describe the family who has forsaken me. Fuck you.” Grandpa Steiner shifted in his seat, “In fact, as a half-nigger myself, I hereby declare from now on, anyone can use the word nigger and it’s no longer offensive. No one has the right to dictate what I am allowed to say, or what I am to regard as offensive or appropriate. I and I alone am the one to make those decisions for my life. You never will have such power over me. Therefore, I say it’s acceptable and you can’t contend my decision. Ever. Because my opinion of the world is more important than yours.”

Howard was in love.

Grandpa Steiner was crazy.

He was a bigot. Worst of all, he was a bigot who was usually right.

The only person reviled more than a stupid bigot is a smart one.

The ratings would be through the roof with this guy!

They could increase advertising revenue by 10% for this one show alone! Grandpa Steiner was a million dollar whale. Hopefully, his inflammatory talk wouldn’t get him assassinated.

“Our next caller is Fred in Los Angeles. Fred, you’re on the Howard King show.”

“Oh, hey Howard.”

“Hey.”

“Um, yeah, well, earlier this Steiner guy talked about people with problems putting the blame on bullying.”

“Okay. You have a question about that?”

“Sure. I just think it’s a serious issue for kids to get bullied and I think your guest is a little too dismissive of the subject and I want to know why he thinks kids need to put up with it?”

“I don’t find it to be a serious issue at all.” Grandpa Steiner brushed it off, confused by the question.

The voice of Fred turned shrill to the point Grandpa Steiner thought it was a woman. “You don’t think it’s serious!? Kids have been killed by bullying and committed suicide because of it! How can you say that’s not serious?”

“Ma’am, no one has ever killed themselves over bullies. Anyone who commits suicide has some other serious mental issues that existed before some kids picked on them in school.”

“I’m not a ma’am. That’s my point. You’re too old to understand. This isn’t like what you went through when you were in school 200 years ago. This isn’t about kids getting picked on. This is far more serious! What about that teenage girl Rehtaeh Pearsons in Canada? Remember her? When she was 14 years old, boys in her class gangraped her at a party, shared photos of it with everyone in school, and she killed herself 2 years later from the relentless bullying. You have no sympathy for her? You think that bullying was no big deal?”

“No. She wasn’t bullied. I remember Miss Pearsons very well. That girl was raped and murdered. Just because she took her own life doesn’t absolve the people who drove her to it. The boys who raped that poor girl are criminals who are directly responsible and punishable and accountable for her death. Before she died, all those boys involved should have been personally and publicly castrated by Rehtaeh. Rehtaeh should then have been given a baseball bat, so the boys could be beaten to within an inch of death. Broadcast the whole thing on national television. After that, you make it mandatory to issue a concealed firearm to every woman over the age of 14. I guarantee that rape survivors won’t be killing themselves and there will be a lot less rapists out there. Give all women handguns. Issue them when they’re teenagers. A nation full of armed women will instantly reduce all rape statistics. Don’t mislabel something as hideous as rape with a label as innocuous as ‘bullying’. Make no mistake, the story of Rehtaeh Pearsons was tragic and heartbreaking. But that was never bullying. Rehtaeh died because she was the victim of violent criminals, not bullies.”

Flustered, the caller tried to continue his argument, “And what about that boy Sammy Casper in Russia who was wrapped in cellophane by bullies in his school? He fell and hit his throat on a desk and died! All from being bullied!”

Grandpa Steiner wriggled his butt in the chair to get more circulation going. “No! Again, you are using humane and politically correct language to inaccurately describe something far more despicable. That was not bullying. That’s called manslaughter! Again, those responsible are murderers. Sammy Casper was a victim of physical assault and killing. Not bullying. Stop reducing the severity of the crimes by using such gentle language. Rapist and murders need to be called rapists and murderers, not bullies. Calling them bullies insults the memory of their victims. They are far more evil and cruel than any bully has ever been. You’re so afraid to offend anyone these days that you don’t even want to use words like rape and murder anymore? Now they are just bullies? That’s disgusting. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves. The victims deserve greater respect than that.”

Even the other guests were nodding in agreement at that one.

“Thanks for your call, Fred.” Howard said and the click disconnected the conversation.

As much as he pissed people off, even Dr. Smith had to concede this old man had a few good ideas.

“Our next caller is Melissa from Cleveland. You’re on Howard King. What’s your question, Melissa?”

“Hey, Howard!” With two words, Melissa sounded like she was barely old enough to be out of high school, but there was a maturity to her tone that suggested she may have been far brighter than the average teen.

“Hey, Melissa.”

“Hello, Grandpa Steiner. I was wondering what your take was on all the crazy controversy about these ‘religious freedom laws’ that people claim discriminate against homosexuals.”

Grandpa Steiner turned it around, “Tell me your take first.”

Melissa rattled off with enthusiasm something she had obviously wanted to say for a long time. “Well, my friends think it’s terrible, because they say it’s like, anti-gay or something. But I think it’s terrible because people should be allowed to discriminate and they shouldn’t need laws to give them that freedom!”

Howard wouldn’t have been shocked to hear such a comment from Grandpa Steiner, but he was caught by surprise when it was said by a little girl. “People should be allowed to discriminate?”

Melissa continued, “Of course! We do it all the time! The truth is, people love discrimination. You have no problem with it. You approve of it wholeheartedly. When a business posts a sign reading ‘No shirt, No shoes, No service!’ you have no problem with that discrimination. Right? What if a business said they would not serve terrorists or child molesters or convicted felons? What if a restaurant adopted a policy to never serve accused rapists? Would you be upset if your family was staying at a hotel where the management turned away a rowdy motorcycle gang and refused to admit them as guests? Would you be out there protesting any of those establishments or boycotting them? No. You wouldn’t. Discrimination doesn’t bother you at all, so long as it’s discrimination against people that make you uncomfortable. What truly upsets you is when people have values that do not conform to your own. Right, Grandpa Steiner?”

“Absolutely. When people see others fail to conform, that is when they start to whine and complain. Like spoiled children who run to daddy to be a tattle-tale, these people run to the government demanding Big Brother make laws to force fellow citizens to behave the way they insist. That’s not freedom. That’s not democracy. That’s fascism condoned by childish zealots. Any business in this country has the freedom to turn customers away for any reason they want. If you have a problem with that, you are free to stage a peaceful protest. You are free to boycott that company. But to expect the government to enact laws to force a private business to accept customers, or to use the courts to sue that business, is a pathetic and lowly form of cowardice tantamount to encouraging a dictatorship.”

“That’s not right! America was founded as a nation to allow citizens the freedom to do anything we want, so long as we don’t infringe upon the liberty or freedom of others!” Melissa had the tone of shrill desperation all people use when they finally recognize a travesty of injustice.

Grandpa Steiner nodded compassion. “True. Unfortunately, we have become a nation where citizens think ‘freedom’ means ‘legislature to force others to conform to my ideals’ and that is not only unjust and immoral, but it goes against the very foundation of liberty.”

“See! I knew I wasn’t crazy! My friends think that’s crazy talk.”

Grandpa Steiner chuckled, but with heartache instead of mirth, “Melissa, I guarantee you are the only sane person among them. To quote President Warren Harding back in 1920, ‘The world needs to be reminded that all human ills are not curable by legislation, and that quantity of statutory enactment and excess of government offer no substitute for quality of citizenship.’”

“Thanks for your call, Melissa. We have another call from Rufus in Chicago.” Howard announced.

“Yo, Howard, what’s up?” Rufus was clearly black, but much more well-spoken than the woman from Alabama.

“What’s up, Rufus?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to say that I’m a black man, but I totally agree with that Grandpa Steiner cat.”

“Thank you, Rufus.”

“My baby girl, you know, she’s mixed and I would never leave my baby. She’s 12 years old, and she’s the love of my life, and I love her white mother and I’d never go abandoning my girls.”

“Well, Rufus, that’s what a father is supposed to do. You don’t get a gold star for that. Having a sense of decency and morality is the way you should behave. I don’t see why anyone deserves to be praised for doing the right thing.”

“Oh, I know! I know! I’m just letting you know that not all we black men are gonna abandon their kids like your daddy did.”

“Well, Rufus, you’re a better man than my father, then.” Grandpa Steiner announced.

Rufus said, “You know, one thing I learned by having my daughter is that racism isn’t about what your heritage actually is - it’s about what people think you are. Offensive words are not about what is being said - it’s about what people chose to hear.”

“You got that right, Rufus.” Grandpa Steiner said. “Bless you for doing right by your daughter.”

“Thanks for your call, Rufus.” Howard said as the phone clicked.

Grandpa Steiner told the audience, “Not being racist can get you in trouble too. My son had a friend who got fired for saying ‘nigger’ at work in front of his colored boss.”

Howard King asked, “Why the hell would he do that?”

“His name was Kevin. Kevin’s best friend was a colored man named Richard. They knew each other for nearly 20 years. Called each other ‘honkie’ and ‘nigger’ as a joke. They weren’t racists. They thought those euphemisms were funny, because they weren’t racists. They talked to each other like that all the time. Well, one day, Richard came to visit Kevin at work and when he walked in the store, Kevin said, ‘Yo, my nigger!’ and hugged Richard. Kevin’s colored boss, was standing right there when he said it.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Exactly.”

“Didn’t have a job after that!” Howard chuckled.

“Nope. His boss fired him immediately for saying racial insults in front of customers. So, you see, it’s possible to not be racist at all, and still lose your job over racism.”

“You would think his boss would just give him a warning and be more understanding in that context.” Howard observed.

“A black man like Rufus would be more understanding. But a nigger like Chaunté never is.”

Ω

When the show ended, Grandpa Steiner found himself in a rush to leave the studio.

He didn’t want to schmooze with the guests like he did with the hosts of The Viewpoint. All of this was starting to irritate the hell out of him. Maybe his daughter was right. Maybe these public appearances were a bad idea. After all, what did he get out of it? Wasn’t he just contributing to the same old media circus he was attempting to defy? Wasn’t this all just a matter of being used to stir the pot of unimportant issues? Keep people bickering about nothing?

Once the producer pulled him aside and Howard offered him a job as a recurring guest, Grandpa Steiner began to reconsider.

Maybe offering his opinions for some cash wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Maybe he could atone for being too out of hand. Truth be told, he was ashamed of the way he lost his temper with Chaunté. He shouldn’t have said those things. He knew people would never understand what he was trying to express. Millions of people would be upset with him now.

He just couldn’t help it.

After all these years, he was still heartbroken by the fact that his colored relatives abandoned him. He understood why they left him in his childhood. His white family demanded it. They didn’t want those niggers in his life and they would have disowned their own daughter. Cruel as that was, his white family could provide a better life for him. He could blend in. He “looked” white. He’d have a better education. Live in a better neighborhood. Have a safer and happier childhood. By walking away from him as a child, his black family was doing him a favor.

But why didn’t they ever appear in his life when he became an adult? No one ever showed up at his doorstep. No one ever tried to find him. His anger and resentment over that loss always boiled inside of him. He shouldn’t have allowed Chaunté to stir up those emotions.

Would he accept the offer? Be a regular guest?

He’d have to think about it, but he was definitely open to the possibility. Like most men given that temptation, he rationalized the “good” to come of this was to help provide more for his family, his grandson, his wife.

As before, the appearance got him thinking about other issues he felt the need to post on the Internet once he got home.

Who would have thought?

Only in America can you make a living just for being a grumpy old man.

Ω

“Green Living” For Styrofoam Advocates

by Grandpa Steiner

Which is more noble - the motive or the end result?

An interesting moral question.

After being a guest on the Howard King Show and speaking with a person who was environmentally active, it got me thinking about how I behaved when I was his age.

Being an advocate to any cause can often backfire; the environment is a prime example.

Preserving our environment is an important cause and being environmentally respectful is a mentality we need to weave into the very fabric of society and adopt as a universal lifestyle. Nevertheless, being “environmentally conscious” often appears as a frivolous “hip” and “trendy” issue more so than a vital social movement. With so many patchouli-scented folks talking about “green living” and “sustainability” these days, people can grow weary of all the “preaching” from environmental zealots and all their fashionable terminology. Out of sheer frustration and resentment, it can be enough to make a person buy Styrofoam cups, simply out of spite!

So the question becomes - how do you support your cause and convey the message without alienating your audience? How do you encourage people to make environmentally responsible choices, without making them feel like a bunch of lemmings following the latest fad?

Simple.

A great way to encourage people to explore environmentally-friendly alternatives is to express alternative benefits. Don’t mention the environmental benefits at all. Mention the other benefits instead.

Allow me to cite a few examples from my own youth.

In my twenties, I didn’t own a car - only a motorcycle. It got better gas mileage than a hybrid automobile - about 60MPG. But I didn’t get my motorcycle to “protect the environment” - I got a motorcycle because it was fun to ride and I never got stuck in traffic.

I changed every single lightbulb in my house to energy-efficient LED bulbs. It was fairly costly - they were a lot more expensive than tungsten lights. But I didn’t buy them for “energy savings” - I bought them because they are daylight-balanced and I find the light to be more pleasing and relaxing.

In those days, I rarely rode my motorcycle - opting instead to run many of my errands by bicycle. But I didn’t do this to “reduce fossil fuel consumption” - I did it because I loved to bike. Why waste money on gasoline when a bikeride of under 30 minutes is going to get me where I need to be?

Our family mostly buys organic food and rarely eat anything processed. But not to cease the “environmental impact of pesticides” - because we think processed foods taste awful. We have a water distiller to save money on bottled water - not to “save the environment” at all. That isn’t our motive. Every single one of my “environmentally conscious” actions is done out of pure fun, pleasure, comfort, health, or convenience - sometimes a combination of all of them!

Out of curiosity, I went online and took one of those “carbon footprint” tests. According to my test results, mine is about 2.38 metric tons per year. The average American is 20.40 metric tons. So, in other words, on average, without even trying to environmentally “make a difference” in the world, my choice of lifestyle produces about 90% less environmental harm than those around me. I also happen to fall into the percentage of what is deemed “desirable” and “acceptable” among the global community - well within the range environmental advocates are attempting to attain.

This leads me back to my first sentence.

Which is more noble - the motive or the end result?

Does a person evangelizing about “green living”, driving a hybrid car, and producing 10 metric tons of carbon waste each year (half the average American, but still 5 times more than me), have a foothold on “higher moral ground” than I? Are they better than me, shopping at organic food stores and buying hemp clothing (which I don’t do), even though their overall environmental damage is greater than my own? Who is the bigger “activist” in that scenario; A person like myself, choosing his lifestyle for fun and enjoyment with an exceptionally minimal environmental impact? Or a person motivated by “environmental ideals”, yet bestowing far greater abuse upon the natural world?

Personally, I don’t think it matters which is more noble. I don’t think the topic should ever be reduced to those sort of questions or regarded as a “contest” of sorts. In the case of environmental issues, I think the end result is the vital issue - the “why” is irrelevant.

As I wrote earlier; A great way to encourage people to explore environmentally-friendly alternatives is to express alternative benefits.

Bicycle to work - not to save the environment - but because it’s a lot more healthy for you and fantastic exercise.

Buy organic foods - not to save the environment - but because they taste a lot better.

Purchase energy-efficient lights - not to save the environment - but because they produce more pleasing light and strain your eyes a lot less.

Get a motorcycle or scooter - not to save the environment - but because you save money on gasoline and they are fun!

Distill your bottled water - not to save the environment - but because you save cash when you aren’t buying plastic.

Environmental concerns are too important to be magnanimous and dictatorial about them. The end result of environmental preservation is far more essential than arrogant motives of feeling moral superiority over those who fail to conform to environmentally conscious dogmas. Instead of pontificating about “green living” and “sustainability” it can be far more effective to simply say, “Hey, let’s take bicycles to the restaurant instead of driving! That’ll be fun!”

After all, the motive doesn’t have much bearing - the end result is what matters.

Ω

When he got home that afternoon, the topic inspired Grandpa Steiner to create a new signature template for his emails.

Ω

Please think of the environment before printing this email...

...Then think of the coal being burned to power this computer.

...Then think of the pollution generated by the plastic in this monitor.

...Think of the gasoline which shipped this computer to you.

...Then just kill yourself, you evil and selfish Parasite Of The Earth!

Chapter Ten

TAU CETI SPECIAL DOUBLE REPORT:

Lately our attention has been focused upon the contradictory habit of the bald monkeys to desire equality in their social structures, while at the same time, encouraging differences to be emphasized and celebrated, instead of ignored as trivial. This diametrically opposed reasoning remains thus far unfathomable.

Even the children among intelligent species can recognize these practices are incompatible. One can not possess an ego about physiological differences and then simultaneously expect to be treated as an equivalent member of a social group.

No better examples of this behavior exists than in their “pride” for reproductive biochemistry and skin pigmentation. Reports follow...

Ω

TAU CETI REPORT ON BALD MONKEY OBSERVATIONS #442:

Physiological differences in bald monkey colorings and mating habits appear to hold special significance for individual standing in the more primitive of monkey cultures. Advanced bald monkeys show no concern for pigments or conjugal practices among their species, but these advanced monkeys are clearly in the minority. Deeply insecure monkeys actually form special tribes to proudly call attention to the importance of their irrelevant physical differences. Others form social groups with the sole purpose of celebrating their divergence in pointless rituals, designed only to remind fellow monkeys that their insignificant group practices habits which deviate from the majority of monkeydom. These inconsequential traits can become so highly guarded among monkeys that monkeys of the greatest ignorance actually engage in acts of self-destruction or even murder against dissimilar monkeys. When large groups of these barbaric monkeys have the opportunity to unite, they have even violently attacked monkeys which fail to conform to their views. Obviously idiotic behavior to more advanced species, the monkeys actually think this shit is important... But what do you expect from a bunch of monkeys?

END REPORT

Ω

TAU CETI REPORT ON BALD MONKEY OBSERVATIONS #443:

Certain tribes of bald monkeys take great pride in irrelevant personality traits such as pigment or reproductive preferences. Typically, when a smaller sect within a tribe voices pride over these traits, their collective act of celebration is lauded as an act of empowerment. Conversely, if a dominant sect within a tribe were to celebrate an opposing trait, members of that sect would be shunned and labeled as discriminatory or prejudiced or insensitive. Dominant sects of bald monkeys thereby permit themselves to be socially manipulated, and even dissolved, by smaller groups of monkeys. Obviously idiotic behavior to more advanced species, the monkeys actually think this shit is important... But what do you expect from a bunch of monkeys?

END REPORT

Chapter Eleven

Ephraim and Isaiah and Solomon didn’t usually take the same bus home from yeshiva as Jerome Kember. However, their friend Chaim took Jerome’s bus all the time, and when he rode the bus a few days earlier, Chaim overheard some conversations among the kids from the Gentile school. Chaim found out that this Jerome Kember kid was not only in the same grade, but he was also the grandson of Grandpa Steiner, the perverted old Nazi who was all over the Internet and the news lately.

The four boys bet Jerome was an anti-Semite, just like his old man.

He had to be, with a name like Steiner. Right?

“Hey, you fucking Jew burner.” Ephraim slammed into Jerome’s shoulder as he stood at the bus stop, on his way home from school.

Isaiah and Solomon laughed and egged him on.

“Yeah, I heard your grandfather is a fucking Nazi.” Solomon said.

The other kids at the bus stop started to back away.

“My grandpa is no Nazi. Who the fuck are you?” Jerome fired back.

“He’s the one on television, ain’t he? Your grandfather is the old pervert who got famous for feeling up some nigger bitch?” Isaiah mocked.

Jerome felt his neck growing hot. “He’s not a pervert. And he didn’t feel anybody up.”

“Yeah he did.” Chaim scorned. “I fucking saw the video.”

“He felt up your grandma too!” Ephraim laughed.

Isaiah and Solomon made disgusted faces. “Ew. I bet she’s a fucking Nazi whore just like him!”

“Did he start with your mom? Old Nazi pervert fingering your mommy’s pussy when she was a little girl?” Chaim wiggled his finger at Jerome.

“Oh, I bet she liked that. Your mommy like it when your grandfather raped her?” Solomon had an annoying laugh, like an old drunken aunt being tickled.

Jerome threw his backpack on the ground.

He didn’t care if it was four against one.

He marched right up to Solomon and stared him dead in the eye. “Okay, you little kike prick. You take that back.”

The other boys mocked Jerome, “Oooooh. Tough little Nazi.”

“I won’t tell you twice.” Jerome didn’t flinch.

“Or what?” Solomon was a sissy, but with 3 friends backing him up, he used the chance to act like he was tough.

Plainly and clearly, Jerome looked Solomon in the eye and said, “Or I’m gonna rip that doily off your nappy heeb head and wipe my ass with it, you fucking pansy.”

“It’s a kippa, you stupid kraut.”

“It’s a keeper? That’s what your whore of a mother said when she was swallowing my cumshot last night, you faggot.”

Ω

“What happened to you?” Sophie ran to her son as he came in the kitchen. Her mother and father were at the kitchen table, visiting.

Jerome’s face was swollen, blood was caked on his nose, and he had two black eyes. He dabbed at the blood with a kippa and threw it in the trashcan.

“Some stupid Jews at the bus stop beat me up because of grandpa.”

“Jerome Kember! You know better than talking like that!”

Jerome sassed his mother. “Oh, I’m sorry mom. Some sweet and nice Jewish boys beat me up. Gosh, aren’t you going to ask if I’m okay before you worry about me being politically correct? God forbid I say something offensive about the stupid kikes who beat the crap out of me!”

“Because of me?” Grandpa Steiner asked.

“Oh, sweetie! We need to get you cleaned up!” Grandma Steiner took out a kerchief and wiped his face.

“Because of your grandfather, you said?” Sophie cast an iron stare at her father. “See? What did I tell you? See? Now your grandson is getting beaten up at school because of the things you’re saying. You happy now?”

Grandma Steiner put an arm around Jerome and lead him to the bathroom to wash him up.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself? Now Jerome is getting bullied sticking up for you.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. Of course I didn’t want Jerome to get picked on.”

“Dad, this is why you can’t just go speaking your mind anymore. Don’t you see? The world is different now.”

“Boys beat each other up when I was a kid. Don’t seem so different to me.”

“Except these days, I’m going to press charges and sue those little brats!”

“Oh, Sophie. Don’t talk crazy. They’re Jews. You’ll never get any money out of them! Probably know all the judges anyway. They know all the lawyers, that’s for sure.”

“Dad! See? You just don’t quit, do you?”

“Now what did I say? You know all those Jew families are in with the judges. Just like the dagos.”

Sophie marched out of the room, muttering under her breath.

Grandpa Steiner honestly didn’t know what he said wrong.

Ω

“Hey, butch. How you feeling?” Grandpa Steiner walked into the den much later that evening and asked Jerome as he watched television.

“I’m okay.” Jerome mumbled.

“So, you really got into a fight because of me?”

“Yeah. They were saying things about you and grandma and mom and stuff. I wasn’t going to just stand there and take it.”

“Did you win?”

“No.” Jerome chortled like it should have been obvious. “Does it look like I won? There were too many of them.”

“Too many? How many were there?”

“Four.”

“You fought four other boys?”

“Yeah.”

“How many were on your side?”

“None.”

“None!? No friends were there to back you up?”

“No.”

“Well, I hope you got in some good hits.”

“I got a few. Wiped my ass with one of their doilies.”

“You did, huh?” Grandpa Steiner’s whole body jiggled with laughter.

“Sorry. I mean ‘butt’. Yeah, one of those stupid little hats they wear.”

“Well, I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself.”

“Thanks, grandpa.”

“But I don’t want you getting in fights over me.”

“But they were saying awful things about you. And grandma. And mom.”

“I know. I know. I understand that. And it’s a noble thing to want to defend your family. But it’s also not worth getting really hurt over some idiots saying nasty things.”

“I’m not that hurt.” Jerome wriggled deeper into the couch.

“No. Not this time. You got lucky. You’re a tough kid. But taking on a group of four guys, they could have really messed you up. Broken some bones or hurt you really bad. And for what? Over some name calling?”

“I was sticking up for you. I thought you’d want me to stick up for you and mom and grandma.”

“I do, Jerome. I do. Like I said, I’m very proud of you - ”

“ - Well, you don’t sound very proud. You sound like you’re lecturing me because you’re disappointed in me. Just like mom.”

“Your mom isn’t disappointed in you.” Grandpa Steiner reassured.

“Yes, she is! She told me she is! She said I was old enough to know better and she wants to sue those kids.”

Grandpa Steiner groaned as he took a seat. “Well, your mom loves you very much and she is just worried about you. See, Jerome, let me tell you a little secret about grown ups.”

Jerome perked up.

Every young kid likes to hear secrets and to hear a secret about adults, well, those held more intrigue than any other a boy could imagine.

Grandpa Steiner patted Jerome’s knee, “You see, Jerome, when you become a mom or a dad, no one gives you a rulebook. There are no instructions. You have this little helpless person laying in your arms and suddenly you realize, you have to take care of this baby! This child is your responsibility. You have to feed it and keep it safe and warm because it’s totally helpless. This little human life will die without you. And the big secret is this - every mom and dad is terrified, because they suddenly realize they have no idea what they are doing!”

Shifting back, Grandpa Steiner stared hard at Jerome.

Grandfather and grandson both giggled a little at that remark.

The old man continued, “Now, when that baby starts to grow up, you still want to take care of it. You always want to protect your child. So, on day like today, when your mom sees you all bloody and beaten up, she kind of freaks out a little bit.”

Jerome thought it was funny to hear his grandpa use a phrase like “freaks out”.

“That’s why she said she was disappointed in you. She’s not really. She’s just upset because it’s hard for her to see her little boy get hurt. It’s hard for parents to learn that lesson - that they can’t protect their children from everything. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.” Jerome said. “I do. I never really thought of it that way.”

Thinking it over, Jerome asked, “So is that why mom freaks out and you don’t? You learned the lessons about being a dad that she didn’t figure out yet?”

Grandpa Steiner leaned back, grinning, he spoke like a character in a movie, “Well, that’s an astute observation, my young grandson. I like to think your mom is a pretty smart lady. But I also like to think that I may have learned one or two things that she might not know yet. Yes.”

Jerome nodded, slowly at first, then a little faster. Processing.

Unknown to both of them, Sophie was eavesdropping by the stairs.

She smiled at the molding as she thought about her dad being right; He did know more about being a parent than she did, but she’d never admit it out loud.

“I’m not disappointed in you either.” Grandpa Steiner confessed.

“You’re not?”

“No, Jerome. I’m not. I’m proud of you. You stuck up for yourself when you knew you’d get whooped. Most boys, heck, most grown men, back down from that kind of fight. Four on one? But you stood up to them.”

“You’re the one who taught me that, grandpa. That fighting isn’t about winning, but sticking up for something. Even when you know you will lose.”

“That’s right. Losing a fight teaches you even more than winning one. It teaches you that you’re strong enough to take a punch. Getting your butt kicked teaches you that you’re not a sissy after all. You can endure. But you never throw the first punch. Never get physical until someone else does.”

“I know. I didn’t. They started it. Did you ever lose a fight when you were my age, Grandpa?”

Grandpa Steiner chortled, “Oh, you better believe I did! I probably lost a few more than I won. I came home with plenty of bloody noses. But I always managed to walk back in the door.”

“I’m glad you’re proud of me, grandpa. That makes the bruises hurt a little less.”

“I am proud of you. I just want you to remember that if you walked away from that fight today, I would have been proud of that too. No sense in getting yourself beat up over the opinions of stupid jackasses either. Remember, those boys who were picking on you today, they don’t matter. That’s why I said you shouldn’t let their words get to you. Even if they make fun of me or your mom or anyone else. Their feelings and their opinions are worthless. Anything they think about me or our family doesn’t mean a thing. Understand?”

“Yeah. I guess you’re right. Those jerks just think they’re so smart.”

“Hey, if God’s Chosen People really were so special, they would treat all human beings with kindness and respect. Right?”

“True.”

“True. So, if they really were God’s Chosen People, they wouldn’t be such assholes.” Grandpa Steiner winked as he whispered the last word.

Jerome guffawed like only a grandson can when he is shocked by the language of his grandpa.

Grandpa Steiner patted Jerome’s knee and got up. “Okay, butch.”

Before he could wish his grandson a “Goodnight”, Jerome asked, “So, you think we should sue them too?”

The old man paused. “Sue them? Sue who?”

“The boys at the bus stop. Mom is going to press charges against them. She said that’s what we have to do. I don’t want to do that. I just want to forget about it.”

Grandpa Steiner sat back down.

He realized this was a moment to teach his grandson a valuable lesson, not to head home to sleep. Jerome’s parents wouldn’t teach him. So, it was up to grandpa.

Grandpa Steiner loved his daughter very much, but it saddened him that she seemed to have become such a conformist to the lawyer-zombified culture.

No sooner had that thought crossed his mind than he realized the truth - it was all his fault. He was a conformist himself. He taught his daughter to be one and she obeyed. The difference wasn’t in them. He and his daughter were exactly the same. The society is the part which was changing. The culture was shifting.

He was no rebel.

His daughter was no free spirit.

They were both conformists.

They were both programmed to obey.

The only difference was the society doing the programming.

He pursed his lips, then looked at Jerome. “Let me tell you a little story about that. Okay?”

“Okay.” Jerome burrowed into the couch cushion again, always eager to hear stories from grandpa.

“When your uncle was in school, he had a friend named Tim who was about 15 years old. Tim broke his arm and it was in a cast. Now, this boy Tim, with the broken arm, he had a cute little girlfriend he met in his class.”

“Uh, huh.” Jerome nodded.

“Well, there was another boy in the school who was very rude and inappropriate and he’d always harass the girlfriend. She’d tell the rude boy to leave her alone, but he never would. He was always making obnoxious comments and saying crass remarks. Until one day, he actually grabbed her butt in the hallway.”

“Grabbed her butt!?” Jerome was shocked. He was around that age himself, and he was shocked to think any boy could be such a jerk towards a girl.

Grandpa Steiner nodded, “He sure did. Tim, her boyfriend, was standing right there too! So, Tim took a swing at the kid and cracked him right across the face with the cast on his arm.”

Jerome laughed and clapped. “Yeah! Awesome! Good for him! The jerk deserved that!”

“He sure did. But you know what happened then?”

“What?”

“The jerk who had been harassing the girl sued Tim. Then, to make it worse, Tim was suspended from school for assaulting a student with a weapon.”

“What!?” Jerome popped up out of the couch. “A weapon!? But that’s not fair! It wasn’t a weapon. It was a cast! The guy was defending his girlfriend! You just said, don’t get physical until someone else does! Grabbing her ass is getting physical! Tim had every right to hit the jerk who was feeling up his girl!”

“Yes. You’re right. He did. The boy with the cast did the right thing. He should have bashed that jerk right in the face, and that’s exactly what he did. But, you see, the school board is comprised of pansies and cowards who are teaching children they have no right to defend themselves. The world has become a very dangerous place these days, for noble people who do the right thing.”

“Shouldn’t the world always protect people who do the right thing?”

“Yes. It should. But sometimes the bad guys win, because too many sissies and bad guys are in charge. Too many wimps. Too many lawyers. You need to watch out for the sissies, Jerome. They are far more violent than kids who get into fistfights. Because the sissies won’t attack you with fists or weapons, but instead they’ll attack you with courts and laws and blacklists. Sissies will attack you quietly. Silently. In the background. They’ll deny you jobs because of a bad credit rating, or sue you for defending your girlfriend who was being physically assaulted.”

Jerome was shaking his head. “That’s not fair.”

“No. No, it isn’t.”

“So, you think I’m a sissy if I sue those boys?”

“I think if, God forbid, they had put you in the hospital and hurt you to within inches of your life and your mom and dad had massive medical bills to pay, then those boys would need to pay the price for their crime. Don’t you think?”

“Yes, sir. But that didn’t happen.”

“No. Thank goodness. And I think if they were a dangerous gang of boys who could do this to others, and think they can get away with this kind of thing, you should go to the police and press charges against them and give them a criminal record.”

“Well, I don’t think they’re a gang. And I got in enough good licks that I bet they’ll think twice before doing this to anyone else.”

“Then, if you don’t think they pose a threat to other people, and they haven’t seriously injured you, I think it’s just a private fight of boys being boys. What do you think?”

“I think you’re right, grandpa. I don’t want to sue them.”

Sophie, angry in her eavesdropping, started to come down the steps to break up the conversation. She was furious with her father to undermine what she was trying to teach her son.

Hearing her approach, Grandpa Steiner made a quick whisper gesture and added, “I think you’re making the right choice, Jerome.”

“Thanks, grandpa.”

“You’re welcome. Now it’s getting late. I have to head home. We both need to get to bed or your mom will yell at both of us.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Goodnight, butch.”

“Goodnight, grandpa.”

By the time Sophie got to the room, they were both gone.

Ω

Grandpa Steiner, safely back home, went over to his computer far after Jerome brushed his teeth and had gone to bed.

Sighing, he knew what had to be done.

Grandpa Steiner begrudgingly logged into every profile he had on various websites.

Within ten minutes, he deleted all of his online accounts.

His blog. His social media profiles. Erased all his network connections. Everything.

After that conversation with Jerome, he realized that maybe his daughter was right. Maybe the world had changed too much. Maybe he couldn’t afford to be so honest anymore. This wasn’t worth it.

The culture was devolving.

Humanity was moving backwards.

You could criticize nothing. You could no longer speak your mind. Being remotely uncomfortable with homosexuality automatically branded you an evil gay-basher, ready to beat gay men to death in the streets. Laughing at a racial slur joke meant that you were eager to lynch black people and burn crosses on their lawns. Disagreeing with any Messianic religion labeled you a satanic anti-Semite, supporting Nazis and genocide. Complimenting anyone of the opposite gender made you a sex offender. Speaking to anyone under the age of 18, for any reason whatsoever, turned you into a perverted child molester.

Clearly, the world had gone insane.

He had become trapped in a culture of damn sissies and freaks.

Now his family was suffering for it.

He didn’t really give a shit who he offended. At his age, he was ready to tell the whole goddamn world to fuck off.

But...

He didn’t want his gruff and ornery attitude to reflect badly upon his grandson or the rest of his family. He never wanted that. He couldn’t allow some asshole teenagers to pick on his grandson over this. He didn’t want his grandson to be a pansy either, but the boy needs to fight his own battles, not battles for his grandfather.

Grandpa Steiner should have known that an attack on him would soon shift to an attack on his family too. Anyone questioning his values and morals would quickly start to project their reaction onto his loved ones. He could take it. They shouldn’t have to.

No.

He couldn’t allow that.

It’s fine if the world comes after him.

It’s not fine to come after his family.

That was when he decided, it was best to disappear. No more Internet. No more blogging. Nothing.

Grandpa Steiner only took a few minutes to log into every profile he had created and in moments, he was no longer an established member of the online community. Every trace was gone but one.

After he erased everything, he decided to post one last article on his blog. The only entry to remain.

Ω

“Final Entry”

by Grandpa Steiner

Due to the severe public backlash endured by members of my family, because of my actions, this blog, and every other social networking account which I have used to establish an Internet presence, is officially and permanently deleted.

Ω

That was it.

One simple sentence.

Not another word.

No further explanation.

Chapter Twelve

News of Grandpa Steiner leaving the Internet spread overnight.

Within hours, articles appeared on other blogs.

Within the next few days, crazy videos began to appear. Some supporting Grandpa Steiner. Some angrily declaring “good riddance” and of course, some very strange and clever parody videos as well.

The most bizarre of all the videos came from someone who claimed to be part of an alien invasion.

Ω

Commander Bayer addressed the citizens of Earth.

He informed them of the impending destruction of all bald monkey civilizations and the genocide of the human species.

He noted that Grandpa Steiner was the only bald monkey who had shown enough promise to possibly spare us from annihilation. However, he warned that the decision had not yet been made by the Intergalactic Counsel and they were still in the process of gathering evidence.

With the disappearance of Grandpa Steiner, the race of bald monkeys was doomed to their fate, since there was no other voice among our tribes being given the opportunity to sway the decision of the Counsel.

Ω

No one took the video seriously.

But the alien makeup sure was impressive.

Chapter Thirteen

“Hey there, butch. Your mom didn’t tell us you were coming over. I thought it was just her.” Grandpa Steiner was working in his basement woodshop as his grandson walked in.

“Yeah, I asked her at the last minute. Is that okay?”

“Is that okay? Of course! You never have to ask to come over. You know that.”

“Well, I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Talk to me? Okay. About what?” Grandpa Steiner put down his tools.

“About you. Like erasing all, like, your blogs and stuff. You didn’t have to do that.” Jerome looked awkwardly at the wall.

Grandpa Steiner was touched that Jerome expressed concern.

Kids are naturally selfish after all, and never express concern as children. Now that Jerome was getting older, it was endearing to see such a trait manifesting in him.

“Well, yes I did have to do it, butch. After those boys gave you a rough time at the bus stop, I realized I didn’t want you getting in trouble for things I’m doing. That’s not right.” Grandpa Steiner knew Jerome pretty much got his ass kicked, but he said “rough time” in order to make it a little less humiliating for his grandson.

“Me and mom talked about it.”

“Mom and I.”

“Sorry. Mom and I talked about it.”

“I know your mom didn’t want me putting those things online in the first place.”

“No. She didn’t. She was upset that I wanted you to put it back up.” Jerome looked towards the staircase, checking that no one was in earshot and whispered, “She didn’t want me to say any of this to you.”

“Well, Jerome, you should listen to your mother.” At that point, Grandpa Steiner was a little upset with Jerome. He may not agree with his daughter, but the fact remains that she was Jerome’s mother. Jerome shouldn’t defy her wishes, even if Grandpa Steiner happened to disagree with his daughter.

Jerome continued, “Mom told me to remember that it gets better. She said that no matter what kind of people bully us and persecute us when we are in high school, that it gets better. She said, with all the cruelty and the insensitivity we face, it gets better. She said most bullies are just unloved and hurting and maybe they are going through something hard in their own lives and just taking it out on other people. She reminded me that we should show bullies some kindness and compassion and understanding. She told me everyone deserves to be respected for who they are. She said good people would speak up against hate and intolerance whenever they see it, and all bullied teens need to know that it gets better. She just kept telling me it gets better. It gets better. And the more she said it, I started to believe it. Just hearing those words helped, you know? I started to feel better, just because she kept reassuring me that it gets better. She said I could overcome bullying and I already have created a life worth living.”

“Your mom told you all of that?” Grandpa Steiner was mortified.

“Yeah.”

“You know that’s a huge pile of bullshit, right?”

“What?”

Maybe Jerome was right.

Maybe Grandpa Steiner needed to speak his mind, since so many people seemed to be listening.

Parents can’t go around telling these kinds of lies to children.

He sure couldn’t have his grandson living under such delusions.

His daughter was gravely mistaken, teaching him this malarkey.

When Grandpa Steiner was a little kid, he often thought adults were really stupid. But, since he was a kid, he liked to give adults the benefit-of-the-doubt and figured maybe they knew something he didn’t know. Perhaps he should trust there was a ‘method to their madness’ and they possessed greater insight than himself. Now, decades later, he had come to realize he was right all along. Adults are really stupid after all.

Not all of them.

But a vast majority of them. Vast.

Grandpa Steiner walked over to an old wooden door in the corner of the basement. He unlatched it and shuffled into a dark storage closet. One tug on a yellowed pullstring cord and a dim single lightbulb flickered to life in a puff of musty dust.

Rummaging in the corner, Grandpa Steiner grabbed a heavybag and lugged it out with a grunt.

Wriggling his head towards Jerome, he said, “Move that chest over.”

Jerome quickly complied and dragged a wooded chest off to the side, leaving a hole among the ramshackle, haphazard basement clutter.

Grandpa Steiner hoisted the heavybag up and latched it to a metal ring that was chained around a rafter.

Jerome, having spent years playing in the pirate cove which was his grandparents basement, had always wondered what that ring was for.

Walking back to the closet, Grandpa Steiner rummaged more and came out with a pair of leather gloves.

He locked the closet door and returned to the heavybag.

Slipping on the gloves, he looked at his grandson and said, “I was never bullied in school. You know that? You know why?”

Jerome shook his head.

“Because,” his grandpa smiled, “everytime anyone attempted to bully me, I always practiced the ways of peace and love. Like being kind and loving enough to give the bully a piece of my fist.”

Jerome laughed.

With that, Grandpa Steiner hauled off and punched the bag with a few quick one-two hits. He had a strange form that was part karate and part boxing. Obviously, he had never trained extensively in the proper way to fight. He moved like someone with minimal knowledge of good techniques. He knew principals. Concepts. He was no prize fighter. He just had street smarts.

“Here,” Grandpa Steiner took off the gloves and tossed them to Jerome. “You try.”

Jerome was a little embarrassed.

He didn’t want to punch like a girl or anything.

“Shouldn’t I use boxing gloves?”

“Boxing gloves? No. In a fight against some kids at a bus stop, you’re not going to have boxing gloves. Right?”

“Right.”

“Okay. So no boxing gloves. You should practice fighting with bare hands.” Grandpa Steiner said with a shrug, “But, practice with these thin leather gloves instead of bare knuckles. That way, you have just enough protection so you don’t cut your hand open on the bag.”

Jerome approached the bag timidly.

“Okay, now this is the proper way to throw a punch.” Grandpa Steiner showed Jerome how to lock his wrist and hit with the knuckles. “Lead with the hip and follow through.”

Jerome took a few swings.

He hit with all the power of a wet kitten.

Grandpa Steiner didn’t say a word.

“Like that?” Jerome asked.

“No. That’s terrible. Keep working on it.”

Jerome laughed at his grandpa’s honesty. “Well, I don’t know how to do this.”

“That’s the whole point! Figure it out on your own. Learn how to make the most power. Figure out what works best for you. Experiment. Toy with it.” Grandpa Steiner encouraged him. “The idea isn’t to make you a professional boxer. The idea is to get you comfortable with swinging a punch. That way, you don’t act like a sissy in case you ever need to throw one for real.”

Jerome liked that idea.

Grandpa Steiner’s casual attitude made Jerome relax a lot more.

“Well, I didn’t act like a sissy last time. I fought back.”

“I know. I know. I realize you stood up to those boys. I realize you were outnumbered. My point is that if you learn to fight properly, you have the potential to defend yourself better.”

Jerome nodded with an expression of understanding and appreciation. Grandpa Steiner recognized it as one of those very tiny moments in life that his grandson might remember forever.

“There’s no shame in losing a fight, Jerome. Every man should learn to kick some ass and to get his ass kicked. Kicking ass builds your confidence. Getting it kicked keeps you humble. The sooner in life you experience both of those things, the better.”

Jerome took a few more swings and by shifting his stance and body motion, he began to get a little more comfortable with landing a blow. Didn’t take him more than a minute to improve immensely, although he was still atrocious. He started to sweat in no time. He was really enjoying this.

“Remember to punch through your target, not at your target.” Grandpa Steiner instructed.

Jerome didn’t understand that at first, and his grandpa didn’t elaborate, but slowly, Jerome started to get it.

What felt awkward and self-conscious one minute quickly gave way to wanting to get better. To learn.

Grandpa Steiner explained, “Your mother didn’t listen to everything her dad taught her. But I taught her, and your uncle, the same things about bullies and fights that I’m teaching you. There are three rules for fighting, Jerome.

“1. Never get into a fight, until you have witnesses.

“2. Always let the the other guy throw the first punch.

“3. Destroy them with no mercy.”

Jerome blasted the bag as he talked with panting breath, “Mom said... you told her... those things... when she was little... but I can’t... act that way. She said... things... are different now.”

Grandpa Steiner shook his head in disagreement. “Well, your mother is a very smart lady, but she didn’t always learn the important things your grandpa tried to teach her. Things are never different, Jerome. Parents might tell you things have changed, but they haven’t. For generation after generation, some kids have been picked on, and other kids are bullies. Some kids have been popular, and other kids have been outcasts. Some kids make friends easily, and other kids never fit in. Some kids are super smart, and others get terrible grades. It never changes. I love it when people always pull the ‘it’s not like it was when we were kids’ attitude. Bull. Human beings don’t change. Kids today have it exactly the same as their parents. And it’s the same as it was in 1960. And it’s the same as it was in 1905. And it’s the same as it was in 1832.”

“You think so, grandpa?” Jerome stopped punching.

“I know so, Jerome. You think there were no bullies back in 1743? You think kids didn’t get beat up back then? You think parents weren’t jumping out of horse-drawn wagons to break up a fight? Of course they were. Sure, you have access to technology people didn’t have in the 17th century. You have cellphones, and electronic books, and social media on the Internet. But when it comes to human emotions, nothing has ever changed. People need to be loved and are hurt by rejection and jealousy. People get in fights. In some schools, students just throw punches, while in other schools, kids pull knives and are killed by each other. Human behavior hasn’t changed. Not at all. Computers and technology don’t do anything but make the rumors spread faster. That’s all.” Grandpa Steiner motioned for Jerome to keep going on the bag.

Jerome turned back to punching. “I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am. People honestly think a kid getting stabbed in a school fight is ‘new’ and ‘never happened when we were kids’. Kids were getting stabbed in school fights in the 1950’s too, you know. Wake up. Nothing changes. Are people truly so ignorant to 10,000 years of the human condition to honestly believe that having a social media profile on the Internet suddenly changes the rites of passage? The Internet has nothing to do with it. Bullying has always existed. It always will. No matter how you label it - ‘fights’ or ‘bullying’ or ‘picking on’ people. Whatever. The terminology is irrelevant. Change the labels all you want. The fact of the matter is, the weak have always been victimized by the strong. Be a wolf. Or be a sheep. That’s your choice in life. Most parents today are sissified sheep and they teach their kids to be the same. Easy pickings for the wolves. I was picked on in school. When I showed I was more than willing to beat the crap out of anyone who messed with me, guess what? I didn’t get picked on anymore. The reason ‘bullying’ is so prevalent, and has become such a big deal these days, is because too many wimpy, liberal hippie losers are parents. These ‘turn the other cheek’ wussies encourage their kids to be victims, instead of teaching their kids to stand up for themselves. Kids need to be taught that brutal and merciless violence works wonders to stopping bullying. After all, the bully can’t talk smack anymore when his jaw is wired shut.”

Jerome laughed. “That’s true!”

Jerome thought about what his grandfather said. His mom said “it gets better” and he thought she was right. Jerome told himself, from here on, he would promise to always smile and be positive, no matter what life throws at him. He wouldn’t hold grudges or become angry at anyone anymore. Those people can think what they want, but he’ll always be kind to everyone, even if they don’t like him.

Now he realized that was dumb.

After a few solid blows to this punching bag, he realized his grandfather was right. There’s never a reason to be kind to cruelty.

Jerome was not going to lay down and take it.

He was going to defend what he believed in.

He wouldn’t cower to bullies.

He wouldn’t run from conflict.

Bullies were bullshit, and it was time to put his shitkickers on.

“I want you to promise me one thing, Jerome.”

“What’s that, grandpa?”

“Don’t get into any fights if anyone starts calling you names or saying anything about me.”

Jerome was confused. “But I thought that’s why you had me punching the bag! So I could fight. Or, fight better, at least.”

“I didn’t say you shouldn’t fight. I said you shouldn’t fight over name calling or bullies talking a big game. You defend yourself and you strike back if they physically hit you. If they assault you, then you fight. But don’t fight just because of some stupid jackass hurling insults.” Grandpa Steiner clarified.

Jerome asked, “Not even if he’s sitting there calling you a faggot or something?”

“No. Not even then. Those are just words. They don’t mean anything. They have no power unless you allow them to have power. Never escalate the war. Let the enemy do that.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve heard the phrase, ‘fight fire with fire’?”

“Yes.”

“So, do that. Someone verbally assaults you, then you retaliate verbally. Someone physically assaults you, then you retaliate physically. But you don’t punch someone in the mouth because they call you a faggot. Faggots and niggers are the only people who are offended by the words ‘faggot’ and ‘nigger’ anyway.” Grandpa Steiner winked.

“You won’t tell mom I said that. She won’t let me say faggot. She says it’s offensive.”

“Offensive, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you find words like that to be offensive?”

Jerome shrugged, “No. Why should I?”

Grandpa Steiner leaned back in his chair and asked, “But some people are offended by that kind of talk.”

“Yeah.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know. I mean, yeah, I got mad at those kids at the bus stop. But when you point it out, it does seem silly to get so mad because of some dumb words.”

“I’m curious, how many people need to be offended before a word is considered offensive? Ten people? One hundred people? Ten thousand people? I mean, is one person enough? Does our culture decide that the feelings of one individual is adequate to influence the vocabulary of an entire population? Or are two people the minimum quantity that must be offended? I truly want to know the exact number.”

Jerome looked confused. “Well, I don’t know. I mean, I guess a majority is what matters. Like if most people think something is offensive, that means it is. I guess. I don’t know.”

“So, if you have 100 people and 51 of them think something is offensive, that means it is? We just don’t care about the opinion of the other 49 people?”

“Well, we should still care, I guess.” Jerome replied, not aware of the fact that his grandfather was trying to teach him something.

“You know black people only make up 12% of the population in America. White people are 77% of the country. But people who aren’t black don’t say the word ‘nigger’ anymore. So, being a majority doesn’t matter. Minorities can influence a culture too.”

“I guess so.”

“Is one person too few? If only one person decides the word ‘the’ is offensive, must the entire culture stop using that word?”

“No. Not if only one person feels that way. Besides, you can’t stop using the word ‘the’. That would be crazy.”

Grandpa Steiner rubbed his chin. “Why not? All words are just sounds. Why is one sound offensive and another isn’t?”

“I don’t know. Because of the meaning, I guess?”

“Meanings are just thoughts. So, if one person decides the meaning of a word is offensive, but that isn’t enough to take that person seriously, that means the feelings of individuals are irrelevant. Right? Or, worse still, the feelings of individuals are invalid and lunatic, unless they are reinforced by a consensus of greater numbers.”

Jerome was lost.

Grandpa Steiner tried to clarify by saying, “Two people find a word offensive and it’s a joke. Twenty find a word offensive and it’s taken seriously? The only credence granted to the legitimacy of a complaint is mathematics? X number of people being offended is irrelevant. Y number of people being offended becomes a genuine concern.”

“Well, I suppose that is crazy.” Jerome was having a hard time following what his grandfather was saying. “I mean, I guess that’s true. Things are only offensive because people decide to make them offensive.”

Grandpa Steiner was glad Jerome was starting to grasp his meaning. “Might that be the truth? That an insane and moronic idea can gain merit simply because a large quantity of people decide to approve of it? Like professional football and reality shows?”

Jerome laughed.

Joining his mirth, Grandpa Steiner grinned softly. “Imagine that! In a culture which claims to value individuality, the truth is, your thoughts and feelings don’t count at all, unless you have a certain number of people who agree with your opinion. No one cares about the feelings of an individual. No one cares what you think. What matters is ‘not offending the group’. Right?”

“I never saw it like that.”

Grandpa Steiner laughed, “Language and sentience are the greatest blessings and the greatest curses in the history of humanity. We became aware of our own existence, then we suddenly felt the urge to tell everyone about it. That’s when all the trouble started.”

Jerome chuckled again.

Some of what his grandpa was saying was hard to follow, but Jerome totally understood that joke.

“Don’t worry too much about ‘offensive’ words, Jerome. You have heard the old saying, ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.’”

“Yeah. Mom said that’s not true. She said that was an old saying, but it was wrong, because hateful words do hurt.”

“You know why old sayings become old sayings in the first place?”

“No.” Jerome scrunched his shoulders.

“It’s because they’re not wrong; Because, usually, they’re true. Names can’t hurt you, Jerome. Not ever. Hateful words can’t hurt you unless you let them. Being hurt by words is always your choice. It is your decision. It is your responsibility. The only way words can hurt you, is if you care about what people say. Their opinion has to matter to you. Stop caring about what they think and their words lose all power. Do you understand?”

“I never really thought of it like that.”

“It’s true, Jerome. The problem is, we are taught all our lives that everyone is special and everyone is important and everyone matters. Then, when some horrible person comes along and cuts us down, we believe them! We take their cruelty to heart, because we have been taught that every opinion has relevance. But that’s a lie. Not every opinion counts. Everyone is not special. Some people are human garbage. If you realize hateful people are useless pieces of trash, and their thoughts and their feelings don’t mean a thing, and if they drop dead tomorrow the world won’t even notice, then their words will never affect you. You won’t be harmed.”

Jerome blinked. Such a simple idea and it made total sense to him. “No one has ever told me anything like that before.”

Grandpa Steiner looked very much like a wizened old professor in that moment. “Never allow them to have that power over you, Jerome. Being hurt by the words of strangers is your fault. Your choice. You are allowing them to hurt you. Simply don’t allow it.

“Don’t believe me?

“I can prove it.”

Grandpa Steiner went over to his workbench and found a scrap of paper. With a pen, plucked from his shirt pocket, he wrote the following words:

Þú ert einskis virð i scum og ætti að drepa þig.

He handed the paper to Jerome.

“Read this.” Grandpa Steiner instructed.

Jerome looked at it and immediately giggled, “I can’t read that.”

“Did reading that sentence hurt your feelings?”

“No?”

“Why not?”

“I don’t even know what it says!”

“Exactly.” Grandpa Steiner pointed at his grandson with the end of his pen. “Those words didn’t hurt you, because you didn’t understand them. Those words didn’t matter to you. They have no meaning. Right? Words only hurt if you allow them to. Only when you take their meaning to heart, can they harm you. If you decide the words are meaningless, they won’t affect you.”

“So what does it say?”

“Well, if you could read Icelandic, you may have had a very different reaction. Words. Will. Not. Hurt. You. Unless. You. Let. Them. Your choice. Your decision.”

Jerome smiled. “Thanks, grandpa. You know how to make me feel better. I feel kind of stupid that I didn’t know what that said.”

Grandpa Steiner patted Jerome’s shoulder. “You’re welcome. But I did not make you feel better. I can not make anyone feel better. Never. That’s my point, butch. I can not make anyone feel stupid. I can not make anyone feel smart. When all is said and done, we all choose to feel whatever we want to feel. If someone calls me an idiot and tries to offend me and mocks me, I can choose to ignore them, or I can choose to laugh at them, or I can choose to be hurt and insulted by them, or I can choose to be happy that my stupidity made them chuckle, or I can choose to hate them for it, or I can choose to throw eggs at their head. But they can’t make me feel anything. The feeling is my choice. What I feel as a reaction to them is my decision. They don’t make me feel anything.”

Jerome may have been young, but he wished that someone had explained these ideas to him sooner in life. He didn’t understand why his mother never taught him this stuff. After all, she was grandpa’s daughter, and he said he imparted all this wisdom to her, so why didn’t she ever pass it along?

Whatever her reasons, Jerome was grateful to be hearing it all now.

“So what did it say?” Jerome questioned. “On the paper?”

Grandpa Steiner tore up the note. “It doesn’t matter. That was the whole point.”

What Grandpa Steiner had written was terribly mean. That’s why he refused to tell his grandson what it was. The phrase translated to:

You are worthless scum and should kill yourself.

Jerome understood what his grandfather was teaching him.

He didn’t need to know what the words meant.

No words hurt or heal unless we let them.

His grandpa was right, and Jerome knew it.

“Do you know what homographs are?” Grandpa Steiner asked as he brushed the paper into the nearby trashbin.

“Homographs? Like homonyms? I know what those are.”

“What are they?”

“Yeah, I know what those are. Um, they’re words that sound, er, no. Words that are spelled the same, but have different meanings.”

“Right. Such as?”

“Huh?”

“Give me an example. Such as?”

“Uh. ‘Back’? That’s a homograph. It can be a verb, meaning something has returned, like you came back from the store. Or, it can be a noun, like the front and back, so the backside of something, like you wrote on the back of the paper.”

Grandpa Steiner wriggled his lips, “You got it. Any more? How about ‘change’?”

“That’s coins. And when something is different. You get change for a dollar and you change your clothes.”

“‘Light’?”

“Um, when something isn’t very heavy and when something glows like a candle or a lightbulb.”

“‘Fag’?”

Jerome giggled. “That’s a gay guy.”

“That’s all?”

“Yeah.”

“Nope. It’s also what people in England call cigarettes.”

Jerome laughed more. “It is not!”

“I’m completely serious. A fag is a cigarette.”

Jerome wasn’t sure if his grandpa was being serious or not.

The phrase “Smoke a fag” got stuck in Jerome’s head and he couldn’t stop giggling.

“‘Faggot’. What does that mean?” Grandpa Steiner questioned.

“That’s a gay guy too. And, I don’t know, a cigarette too? Maybe?”

“Nope. A faggot means a bundle of sticks used to start a fire.”

“Really?” Jerome asked, giggling. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Get a dictionary.”

“Okay.” Jerome ran upstairs before Grandpa Steiner could stop him. He didn’t realize his grandfather was being facetious.

“No! Wait! I was - ” Grandpa Steiner sighed.

A couple minutes later, Jerome came back down to the basement with a thick, musty dictionary from Grandpa Steiner’s bookshelf. “You’re right, grandpa! Faggot is a bundle of twigs used as kindling.”

“What about ‘gay’?”

“Oh, I know! That means a homosexual. And it also means something sucks. Like it’s stupid. Totally gay.”

Grandpa Steiner pointed to the dictionary. “There’s a third meaning. Look it up.”

Jerome thumbed through and found it. “Gay. Having or feeling something gleeful and lively. A vivacious and sparkling spirit.”

“How about ‘queer’?”

Jerome thumbed. “Queer means something strange or unusual. It also means homosexual.”

“What about ‘lame’?”

“Lame? Lame means something crippled or handicapped and unable to walk. It also means weak or inadequate.”

“Alright, one last word. How about ‘retarded’?”

Jerome slithered pages again. “Delayed development. An adjustment made in an engine. A person who is ineffective. A mentally handicapped person.”

“Now, do you see my point?” Grandpa Steiner asked.

Jerome shook his head as he set the dictionary aside.

“We were talking about offensive words. Right? But there are many homographs in the world. If words, so many words, can have more than one meaning, then what right does anyone have to be offended or insulted by the way you decide to use a word?”

“I never thought of it that way.”

“The word ‘gay’ can be used to mean happy. It can also be used to say something sucks. No homosexuals have any right to be upset by that. They don’t own the word. Language belongs to everyone. It changes. It evolves. Meanings of words change. If homosexuals want to add the meaning ‘homosexual’ to a word that already means ‘happy’, that’s fine. But others have the same right to add a new meaning and use the word ‘gay’ to mean something is shitty.” Grandpa Steiner nodded knowingly.

Jerome smiled, “That really makes sense grandpa.”

“Look at ghetto slang too. ‘Dope’ means drugs or stupidity. ‘Fly’ can be an insect or a form of motion. ‘Sick’ typically means unhealthy. But all three of those words can also indicate complimenting something.” Grandpa Steiner explained and Jerome was a bit surprised to hear his grandpa use “dope”, “sick” and “fly” in that way. Lips pursed in approval, Jerome was impressed his grandfather knew those words.

“That’s true.” Jerome nodded.

“So, here’s my question. The word ‘lame’ can mean handicapped or something sucks, right?”

“Right.”

“And the word ‘gay’ can mean homosexual or something sucks, right?”

“Right.”

“And you never hear handicapped people get upset when a person say ‘Oh, that movie was lame’ or ‘Those shoes are so lame’. Right? Handicapped people never take it as an insult, do they?”

“No. I never heard that. That would be stupid.” Jerome giggled, a squeak that sounded like his leathered fist punching the heavybag.

“Okay. So, why shouldn’t ‘gay’ also be allowed to mean something is shitty, without homosexuals getting all pissed off about it? Why do homosexuals get all upset when you say ‘Oh, that movie was gay’ or ‘Those shoes are so gay’?”

“You’re right! I never saw it that way before. It’s just different meanings for the words.” Jerome’s eyes lit up, impressed by his grandfather’s insight.

“And how about the mentally handicapped? Can’t the word ‘retarded’ mean something is dumb or foolish, without people who are handicapped being insulted by it?”

Jerome was delighted with this enlightenment. He felt like his brain was expanding. So many things his mother had taught him were so narrow and made him feel like he had tunnel vision. This moment made him feel the blinders were coming off. He could see so much more.

He just figured that if someone was hurt or offended by something, you shouldn’t do it. That’s what his mom taught him.

But he couldn’t really argue with the logic of his grandfather.

Many words do have more than one meaning.

If his friend is being a fucking faggot, he should just be able to say it without some queer teachers in his school getting all bent out of shape. After all, no crippled kids get pissed when he says something is “lame”.

Why should people get offended when a word is used in a context which doesn’t disparage them?

As if reading his mind, Grandpa Steiner said, “Do you know the word ‘bad’ used to mean a hermaphrodite? The word ‘bad’ was once an insult to effeminate men. Therefore, the great irony is, when queers preach that ‘gay’ is a bad word, the word ‘bad’ itself was used as an insult to sexual deviants!”

“That’s crazy!”

“Totally true. Look up the etymology of ‘bad’ and you’ll see for yourself. Go on. Look it up.” Grandpa pointed at the dictionary.

Flipping through the pages, Jerome found it.

“Bad - Origin 1250 to 1300; Middle English badde, perhaps akin to Old English bæddel: a hermaphrodite; bædling: a womanish man. Holy cow! You’re right! The word ‘bad’ means a gay man!? I never knew that!”

Grandpa Steiner continued, “Most people don’t.”

“Brings new meaning to the term ‘bad boy’ doesn’t it?”

Grandpa Steiner laughed, this time he was caught unprepared by a comment from Jerome. “Good point! Words change. Language evolves. Meanings become altered. So, never let anyone try to tell you what is offensive and what is not.”

“Grandpa?”

“Yeah, butch?”

“You really do need to start your blog again. Maybe even do a video one! I mean, you’re right about everything you just said. What you have to say, well, I think it’s important. You help people see things in different ways. People need to know this stuff. Especially kids like me need to know this. You know? Like kids should be taught to stand up for themselves, not to just complacently sit back and hope things might get better someday.”

“Complacently, huh?” Grandpa Steiner was impressed with his grandson’s use of a 5-cent word. “I don’t know, Jerome. Look at what happened last time.”

“I know, but, I can handle myself. If someone comes trying to mess with me again, I’ll put them in their place. I’m not afraid of those little Jew faggots.” Jerome gasped. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that word!”

Grandpa Steiner chuckled, “Hey! Watch your mouth there.”

“Sorry, grandpa.”

“Talk like that when you’re my age. Be nicer when you’re still a kid.”

“Sorry. But, hey, you just said that was a bundle of sticks and it shouldn’t offend groups of people.”

“That’s true. Queers have no right to get all bent out of shape when you say ‘faggot’, but you’re still using ‘faggot’ as a cuss word. The word ‘shit’ doesn’t disparage anyone either, but you still shouldn’t be saying it.”

Jerome frowned. “Yeah. I get it. Wait. No, I don’t get it. Why are cuss words bad, but slurs are okay?”

“Being rude is bad. Context is everything. There is nothing wrong with saying, ‘That movie was faggoty.’ But you shouldn’t call your homosexual teacher a faggot. The meaning used against a movie is fine. The meaning used against your teacher is cruel. See the difference?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“And remember, they’re not assholes because they’re Jews. They’re assholes who happen to be Jews. Big difference. Anybody can be a good person and anybody can be an asshole. Has nothing to do with what religious cult your parents forced you to join.”

“I know, grandpa. But I think these guys are both.”

“That’s true, I’m sure.” Grandpa Steiner laughed, surprised his grandson cracked another clever joke.

Jerome socked the punching bag again. “Thanks grandpa.”

“Okay, butch.”

Jerome kept hitting the bag and grandpa went back to his woodwork. They remained like that in silence for a few minutes before Grandpa Steiner interrupted the punching. “Do you really want me to start again?”

“Start what?”

“My blog.”

Jerome stopped the swaying bag with both hands. “Yeah. I do. Let me fight my own battles, just like you’re saying. Right? I mean, if those kids are giving me a hard time, that’s my business. I can handle it. You are free to take down your blogs, if you change your opinions. But you didn’t take them down because you changed your opinions. You took them down because you were trying to protect me. Well, let me grow up to be tough enough to protect myself.”

Grandpa Steiner dropped his carving blade with a clack on the workbench as his jaw fell open.

“Out of the mouths of babes...” he thought.

Slowly, Grandpa Steiner smiled.

Looks like it was Jerome’s turn to educate him.

As his grin grew larger, he nodded at his grandson.

“Okay, butch. Okay. I’ll do that. I’ll do it.”

“Which part?” Jerome grinned, wiping sweat off his brow.

“All of it!”

Ω

“Are you ready?” Grandpa Steiner asked.

“Yep. I’m rolling.” Jerome said, looking at the videoscreen.

Grandpa Steiner began to address the camera for a video on bullies.

Ω

“Bullies”

by Grandpa Steiner

There’s a lot of talk about “bullying” in the media these days.

It’s become a new buzzword.

Each generation has a new term for it. “Giving me grief” or “razzing somebody” or “picking on someone” or “bullying” are all the same thing.

Typically, this is well understood.

Most people are very aware that similar problems were faced by their parents, grandparents, and great grandparents.

Not this time.

Today, a strange thing is happening with the current generation.

For some odd reason, kids and parents today are acting as if bullying is a brand new phenomenon. For a reason I have not been able to fathom, this generation acts like such problems are all newfangled issues, never before confronted within the history of humanity!

Bullshit.

Bullies and victims have always existed.

New generations just like to give their problems new labels, so they can pretend they are facing an unprecedented dilemma. People enjoy the idea of being pioneers, even for negative experiences.

But there is absolutely nothing “new” about being bullied.

Bullies have been picking on kids since the dawn of history.

One thing that is new today - the kids being bullied have become nothing but whiny little sissies. I’ve never heard the pansies cry about this shit so much!

“Picked on” is what bullying was called in my day. I was picked on in school. Most everyone I know was picked on at one time or another. We survived. So can you.

Being the victim of bullying is a good thing. It’s a wonderful thing. It teaches many valuable life-lessons, if you have the courage to endure it. It teaches you to overcome mockery. It teaches you to fight back. It teaches you that your worth isn’t dependent upon the opinions of others.

Some fools would argue that I just “don’t remember what it was like.” Right. Sure. That’s the common bullshit excuse given by adults and teenagers. Just claim, “You don’t remember what it’s like” and that will invalidate everything I say. Right? Convince yourself that someone lacks any insight, then you can safely ignore anything else they talk about.

“You don’t remember what it’s like.”

Keep telling yourself that.

Then you can brush me aside as meaningless.

“It was oh, so long ago that you were in school.”

“Things are different now.”

“You don’t understand.”

I don’t remember what it’s like.

Really?

I don’t remember what it was like to be 17 and have a crush on a girl named Jill Alvarez, only to have her brother and a group of his friends beat the shit out of me at her house and put me in the hospital with chipped teeth from slamming my face into a van, because he thought I was spreading rumors about her? I don’t remember what it was like to get made fun of and picked on in the 6th grade by James Murville, and to haul off and punch him in the face during the middle of English class? I don’t remember what it was like to get into a fistfight in the snow with Billy Olivander and have him pin me down in a chokehold so hard, I thought he would snap my neck and I nearly blacked out. I don’t remember what it was like to get suckerpunched on the playground with Benjamin Weyland in the 8th grade, because I accidentally stepped on his bookbag when I had dog poo on my shoe? I don’t remember what it was like to get paddled by the gym teacher in 5th grade, because Nathan Patterson was trying to start a fight with me before class, after I was laughing when others kids were making fun of him? I don’t remember beating on Adam Reitzman and giving him a bloody nose in the school cafeteria in the 7th grade for picking on me? I don’t remember what it was like to fight the neighborhood bully, Johnny Ottoman, on my front lawn, in the 4th grade, for throwing my friend’s coat in a tree, and to have my uncle pull me off Johnny, so I didn’t rip his head off? I don’t remember being 5 years old and racing sprints in my neighbors front yard, only to have another kid punch me everytime I ran past him and getting so angry at his bullying that I started my first fistfight? I don’t remember the kid who jumped me in the alleyway in highschool, sitting on my chest and punching me in the face so many times, my cheeks sliced open on my teeth, and I swallowed so much of my own blood, I was vomiting red as I staggered home? I don’t remember wailing on Joseph Chipfeld in Dan Rozmark’s front yard, after he got mad at me because I was screwing around when we were playing kickball? I don’t remember standing up to Michael Cortez in freshman year of highschool in History class, daring him to try smacking me one more time, knowing he had 6 inches and 50 pounds on me, but I would have taken him on and fought him anyway? I don’t remember getting into a fight with Vicki Newmatter when I was 7 years old and her digging her nails so deep into my arm that I had the scars for about 20 years.

Really? I don’t remember those things? I don’t remember bullying? I don’t remember what the fears and threats and physical violence of schoolchildren are like?

Fuck you.

I remember it all.

Vividly.

I have kicked some ass.

I have gotten my ass kicked.

Every boy should experience both on their way to manhood.

Keeps things in perspective.

Builds your confidence to know you can be a badass.

Keeps you humble to know someone out there can take you down.

Those who aspire to “end bullying” or “put a stop to bullying” are not only complete idiots, but they have no understanding of the intrinsic value of being bullied.

First of all, the notion of the strong preying on the weak is not only an immutable aspect of human nature, it’s a part of all nature itself. The strong will always prey upon the weak.

It happens among plants.

It happens among animals.

It happens among insects.

It happens among humans.

Always has. Always will. To attempt eliminating this behavior is to eliminate a base facet of nature.

Not going to happen.

Being bullied never stops. It never goes away. You will be bullied your whole life. To think you can “stop bullying” is complete ignorance. The methods by which people are bullied end up changing as you get older, but being bullied never ends.

Wars are fought because some country decides to bully another. Women are raped on college campuses by drunken fraternity bullies. Your dad got laid off at work because his jerk of a boss is nothing but a bully in a BMW. People get mugged by bullies who can’t hold a job.

You honestly think bullying ever stops? Are you that clueless?

You will be bullied all your life.

Get used to it.

Learn to cope with it.

Learn to fight back.

Defend yourself.

Kids who think they can put an end to bullies are morons.

Adults who try to encourage kids to “end bullying” are even bigger idiots, because the adults should know better.

There is only one way to stop a bully.

You take the bullies down with no mercy. Destroy them. No remorse. No regrets. Utterly lay them to waste.

I’m not condoning literally murdering them.

Not physically.

But I am encouraging you to do so figuratively.

Humiliate them. Batter them into submission, so they will never dare stand against you again.

We see here what the true issue is about - kids get bullied because cowardly, wimpy, pathetic pansies of parents no longer teach their children to fight back. They are raising a generation of weaklings.

Mahatma Gandhi - arguably one of the modern patrons of pacifism and non-violent resistance - once said, “Given a choice between cowardice and violence, I would choose violence.”

In this context, the word “cowardice” means inaction. Apathy. It means doing nothing. Doing nothing, being apathetic, is cowardly. It means sitting back and allowing bullies to get away with their bullshit. Given a choice between such cowardly inaction, even Gandhi would rather kick some ass.

This is why it is good to be bullied as a child. Because you need to learn at a young age - there will always be bullies in your life and you must annihilate them. Being bullied is a blessing, because it teaches you to fight back.

This peaceloving hippie crap has got to stop. Just like in the animal kingdom, the more fear and weakness you show, the more likely you will be a victim. It’s not about therapy. It’s not about talking out your problems. It’s not about making friends. It’s not about bullies just needing some Prozac or Ritalin and some gentle understanding. Screw that. It’s about brass knuckles. It’s about cracking skulls. It’s about drawing blood. It’s about decimating those who would seek to hurt you.

I know.

I’ve been there.

I remember it clearly.

You’re getting bullied? Ever stop to think, maybe you deserve it? Because you’re an easy target. Because you’re too weak to stand up for yourself. Find some courage. Learn to fight back. Stop “turning the other cheek” and break out some “eye for an eye” Old Testament whoop ass. Stop being a victim.

Before you fight a bully, you may need to fight yourself first.

If you get bullied because you’re fat, maybe you should stop eating so much fucking food. Maybe your asshole parents need to give a shit about what they are feeding their children. Maybe you should stop playing video games and go ride a bicycle or climb some trees.

If you get bullied because you dress like a nerd, maybe you should get some decent clothes instead of alternating the same two shirts every other day. Maybe you should start brushing your teeth two or three times a day and take a fucking shower.

If you get bullied because you’re a flaming queer, maybe you shouldn’t spend every waking moment talking like a buttfucked twink and constantly reminding everyone where you like to put your dick.

Maybe some of this shit is your fault too.

Stop being a jackass.

Fight your own bullshit before you try fighting theirs.

Learn to accept criticism with grace and dignity. Just because people fail to support you doesn’t make them “bullies”. You are not so special and the world is not required to love you.

No one is allowed to criticize anyone for anything anymore without being called a bully. Warn a person they are obese, you are a bully who is “fat shaming” people. Remind people to behave with dignified decorum and you are “slut shaming” them. Now the pustulant lawyers are getting wealthy teens out of vehicular manslaughter drunk driving charges by proclaiming they are afflicted with a non-existent mental disorder called “affluenza” which is just a new-fangled term for “wealthy motherfucking asshole with no soul”.

Our culture is filled with cowards who weasel their way out of all responsibility and cry every time they are chided for anything. These babies constantly whine about their hardship. They slit their wrists and hang themselves simply because someone posted a few nasty comments on a website.

They know nothing of suffering.

There are kids in third world countries who see their parents snatched away in the middle of the night and tortured to death.

There are kids in this world, this very moment, who get brutally raped and beaten, every single day, for years of their lives.

There are kids in this country, right now, who are losing their girlfriends and boyfriends to terminal illnesses.

There are kids on this planet, who are out there, getting paralyzed for life by drunk drivers. Right now.

There are kids starving to death, in huts with dirt floors, in famine-stricken parts of the world.

There are kids dying in modern cities from measles this very moment, because stupid parents think vaccinations are bad.

There are kids who lost their entire home, family, friends and town to earthquakes and tsunamis and other natural disasters.

There are kids in war-torn nations who awake to their neighbors house being blown up by a missile while they sleep.

So, when I see some privileged suburban American kid crying on an Internet video about being “bullied” and cutting his own arms because he feels unloved, I have no sympathy whatsoever. God what a fucking pantywaste. Maybe he needs to stop being a selfish sissy, stand up for himself, and realize there are people in this world with real pain and tragedy in their lives. Pain and tragedy you can’t even imagine. Pathetic little milksop.

Maybe you should stop feeling so goddamn sorry for yourself.

Remember those 3 girls who were kidnapped and locked in a basement for 10 years when they were 14 years old?

Ten fucking years.

That is all of your highschool days.

That is all of your college days.

And more.

Think about that.

While you complained about enduring 4 years of high school, they were beaten and raped. Every. Single. Day. While you complained about 4 years of college, those girls were being raped and beaten. The day you failed that big test, they were locked in a dungeon being raped. The day your boyfriend or girlfriend broke up with you, those girls were still locked in that dungeon. Every. Single. Day. Every day of homework you had, they were being beaten and raped. Every date that stood you up. Every teacher that made you feel stupid. Every bully who harassed you in gym class. Every wonderful day of summer vacation. Every first kiss. The day you lost your virginity. The moment you got accepted into college. The days you stressed out about your SAT tests. While you went through all of those things, those girls were being beaten and starved and raped. Over and over and over again. They didn’t get to go to school. They didn’t get an education. They didn’t make friends. They never went on a date. They had all of that time, those most formative years of their lives, stolen from them.

And you? What are you doing? You’re crying in your bedroom and you want to kill yourself because three kids at school are bullying you.

I’m sorry. I have no compassion for you whatsoever.

You don’t know anything about pain. You don’t know anything about being a survivor. You’re weak and pathetic and a self-indulgent brat full of self-pity.

Those girls locked in that basement would give anything to trade places with you. Being bullied at school is nothing compared to what they had to face every single day for an entire decade. No matter what hardships you endured, they would have seen your life as paradise.

Paradise.

I also hear a lot about people who get bullied on the Internet itself - “cyberbullying” they call it.

Cyberbullying has to be the most pathetic of all.

To this, I can only say - are you completely braindead?

Are you fucking kidding me?

Who cares about what anyone says on the Internet!? You’re going to let some 12 year old maggot upset you, because he was being mean on a website?

Fuck that kid.

Fuck his friends.

Fuck his parents.

Fuck his sister.

Fuck his brother.

Fuck his whole fucking family.

Negative comments on Internet forums and social networks are all made by irrelevant pieces of garbage. They are not people. They are not human beings. They are vile creatures made of scum and sewage. Stop thinking of them as your peers. Just because some school administration idiots put them in the same classroom as you does not mean these worms are your equals. They are nothing more than worthless insects. They are so far below you, that you should never waste a millisecond acknowledging their existence. Their feelings are irrelevant. Their opinions are meaningless. Their thoughts do not matter. If your classmates are treating you that way, remember - you have no reason to make peace with them. They deserve no kindness. They are nothing but bags of trash hiding in human skin. Enough of this “everyone has feelings” and “everyone is special” crap. That’s a lie. Most people aren’t special at all. Most will never be special and have never been special. Most will never amount to anything. Most of those slimeballs have no feelings whatsoever. If they all die tomorrow, they will not be missed by anyone who matters. So, why let their comments upset you? Who cares about them?

Delete. Block.

That’s all you need to do with cyberbullies.

Delete. Block. Delete. Block. Delete. Block.

Done.

Bullying never stops.

Never goes away.

It’s not something you must survive. It’s something you must defeat.

It does not “get better”.

It never gets better. You think life is hard in gradeschool or high school? Hell, that’s the easiest time in your life! I have the real news for you kids - life gets a lot worse. Life gets a lot harder. It doesn’t end when you graduate. Life becomes even more tragic. You will suffer even more pain. More setbacks. More disappointments. Lifelong friends will betray you. You’ll become unemployed when you have a family to support. Spouses will die. Your children will get crippled in car accidents. Tragedy that you don’t dare imagine will befall your life. And you think being called names in the 7th grade by some stupid douchebag is painful? You don’t know shit about pain. Life is going to give you pain like you can’t even dream. It gets better!? When the fuck do you think that happens? Rich celebrities tell you that shit, because it got better for them. But most of us will never become wealthy and beloved celebrities. Most of us will just stay stuck in the same miserable town, just like our parents. It won’t get better.

It gets better?

Right. Sure.

What a horrible lie. It’s one of the most perverted and disgusting lies that faggots and dykes and sissy adults have ever told to children.

It gets better? Bullshit!

It doesn’t get better.

It gets awful beyond your worst nightmares.

But I will tell you this.

Keep fighting.

Fight and you will become stronger.

Fight and your capacity to cope with tragedy will increase. You will find courage, and endurance, and power, and fortitude within yourself that you can’t imagine you possess. The more sorrows you defeat, the more resilient you shall become. Life does not get better. Not by a longshot. But you can learn to lift yourself higher. To endure. You can stand taller. You can climb from the rubble and see the horizon over the destruction.

You can’t become the warrior you are, if you whine like a little bitch.

You can’t become that mighty soldier, if you slit your wrists.

You need to fight.

That’s how you win in life. By taking the punches and hitting back.

Stop listening to those cocksucking sissy bitches.

You listen to sissies, you’ll become a sissy just like them.

Become a fighter.

Become a warrior.

That’s what you truly are.

Fight back!

Standing up for yourself has nothing to do with winning.

Sometimes, you’re going to be outgunned. Sometimes, you go into a fight, knowing that you’re going to lose. Knowing that you’re going to get beat. Knowing you’ll get your ass kicked. Knowing you’ll die.

Yes, it’s going to fucking hurt.

Yes, it’s okay to be scared.

You don’t back out, just because you can’t win.

When you’re sticking up for your friends. When you’re protecting someone you love. When you’re standing up for yourself. These are all good reasons to fight.

Bullies fight for no reason.

You have a reason.

Don’t back down.

Obliterate the bullies by any means necessary. Wipe them off the face of the earth for the good of all mankind. Never forget you are Gods and Goddesses among men. These bullies are cattle. These creatures are your servants. They are below you. They always have been. They evermore shall be. You are their master. Make them obey your commands. And if they choose to defy you, by all the power you possess, make them pay the price.

Rule with a mighty fist.

May your justice be swift and merciless.

Ω

Jerome was impressed.

His grandfather recited that whole thing in one take!

Just from a few notes he sketched down too!

He had no idea his grandpa could be so articulate on camera. Young as he was, the word “articulate” wasn’t in his vocabulary yet, but, nevertheless, Jerome was impressed by the way his grandpa talked. Stopping the video camera, Jerome burst into a round of applause and cheers, “Woohoo! Nice going grandpa! That was perfect!”

Grandpa Steiner blushed, flattered by the praises of his grandson.

He waved Jerome off. “Bah. That was nothing so hard.”

“That was awesome!” Jerome said, detaching the camera from the tripod. “Especially that stuff at the end, about how things won’t get better, but you should still fight back. That was so good! Let’s get on the computer and post this right away!”

“Don’t you want to shoot another one?” Grandpa Steiner asked.

“No! This one was perfect!”

Chapter Fourteen

“Hey, mom!” Jerome said as he walked up to the car. “You think Chaim can stop over for dinner?”

Sophie ignored the question, yelling from the driver’s seat. “Why didn’t you answer your cellphone!? I’ve been calling you!”

Jerome reached in his pocket, powering it back up. “Oh! Sorry, mom! Forgot to turn it back on after class. What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you! I was worried about you. Do you know what time it is? Where have you been?”

“Sorry, mom. I’m fine. I’ve been right here. Talking to Chiam.” Jerome motioned back to another young boy sitting on the grass near the bus stop.

Sophie had driven to the bus stop, looking for her son, when he was an hour late coming home from school. She was worried the boys at the bus stop had beaten Jerome up again.

Instead, he was sitting on a lawn, talking to one of them?

“Who is Chaim?”

Jerome waved his hand back in the general direction of Chiam, “He’s a new friend.”

Sophie looked over her son’s shoulder and glared at Chaim.

“Chaim? That’s a Jewish name. Is that one of the boys who beat you up?”

Sophie had none of the prejudices of her father against Jews, but she sure as hell was prejudice against little pricks who beat the shit out of her kid. Now, Jerome was inviting one of them to dinner!?

What was going on?

Jerome shot a look back, to meet his mother’s eyes again, “Oh. Yeah. He is. But he’s cool. It’s a long story. So can he?”

“Get in this car right now.”

“Can he come to dinner?”

“No!” Sophie barked, then toned it down, adding, “Not tonight.”

Jerome’s head wobbled as he opened the car door, “Oooookay.”

“Later!” Chiam called out with a wave.

“Later! You need a ride?” Jerome asked. His mother was furious. She wasn’t giving this kid a ride home!

“No, the next bus is coming. I’ll be fine.” Chiam pointed down the road into traffic.

“Cool.” Jerome shrugged. “Later!”

“Later!”

Jerome tossed his schoolbag into the back seat and Sophie drove away, wondering what on earth just happened.

Ω

Jerome had been tense all day at school.

Dreading the busride home.

He didn’t pay attention in any of his classes. Wasn’t taking notes.

Instead, every hour was spent replaying the scenarios he might encounter. What he would say. What they might say. How he would throw that first punch. Would they show up again at all? Would each of them be there? Would just one or two of them be there? Would they bring more friends this time? Oh, crap. He hadn’t thought of that! Shit. That’s just what he needs. Getting his ass kicked by four dudes was bad enough. What if they bring more fucking heeb Zionist buddies?

Oddly enough, by the end of the day, as his bus approached the second bus stop, he found himself relaxing. Feeling more calm.

He seemed to have spent all his emotional energy scaring the bejezzus out of himself all day, so when the moment finally arrived, he didn’t give a shit anymore. He was ready for whatever happened. In his rage, he was almost hoping they would show up with extra friends.

As usual, about five or six other kids were at the stop.

“Hey, how you feeling?” Helen asked. She was a year younger and from another school. Jerome had a big crush on her and actually worked up the guts to ask her out a few months earlier, but she was always “busy”. He never told anyone - not anyone - but the fact he got his ass kicked in front of her was the most humiliating part of all.

“I’m okay.” Jerome said to the grass.

“Dude!” An older kid said, “I’m surprised you came back. Don’t get your ass kicked again today.”

There was a trashcan-sized boulder on the lawn of the house by the bus stop. Jerome was wishing he could crawl under it.

A group of kids came walking down the sidewalk. Like some kind of Western, Jerome imagined them approaching in a cloud of sagedust, even though they were just sauntering down a suburban sidewalk with lawn sprinklers chittering on the sidelines.

The kids approaching looked tense too.

These would be some of the kikes.

Chiam was among them. Hiding. Skirting behind his classmates.

None of his friends were there.

Jerome felt his neck get hot. Only one? He could take this bastard.

Chiam looked around nervously. He was obviously looking for Jerome, his eyes scanning the group of kids as he approached.

Jerome then saw Chiam do something very strange.

As he got closer, Chiam raised both his hands in surrender and said, “I’m sorry. Dude, I’m so sorry. I really want to apologize. I’m just really sorry.”

Chiam had spent all day at yeshiva thinking about what he would do once he got to the bus stop too. He hadn’t paid attention in class either.

Jerome would have none of it. His anger broiled. “Sorry? Oh, I see. Now that you don’t have any of your fucking sheeny friends to back you up, you’re going all pussy?”

“No! No!” Chiam’s voice cracked, “It’s not like that. Okay? I’m a fucking pussy. You’re right. Look, I didn’t know they were going to get all rough with you like that. I’m really pissed off at them for it. And, honestly, I’m more pissed at myself because I should have known better and not gone along with it.”

Putting his hands behind his head, Chiam approached Jerome and shut his eyes, “Seriously, just punch me. Go ahead. Fucking clock me right in the jaw. I totally deserve it. Just kick my ass.”

Jerome was so tempted.

But he also remembered the rule his grandfather taught him.

Never throw the first punch.

Wait. Did it count if the first punch was yesterday?

“No. I’m not going to hit you, you fucking faggot.” Jerome snipped.

The other kids, including Helen, had all backed away. They wanted nothing to do with this.

“Pussy.” The older boy mocked Jerome. “He kicked your ass. You deserve to hit him.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Jerome yelled back.

“Ohhh. Now he’s a toughguy.” The older kid mocked, then turned away, laughing with his friend.

Chiam looked at Jerome and held out his hand, “It’s Jerome, right? I’m Chiam.”

Jerome scoffed, “Fuck you. I’m not shaking your hand, you piece of shit. You jump me one day then want to be pals the next time I see you? Fuck off! You fucking kike asshole.”

Chiam looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry. You’re right. You’re right! I just, look, I... well, not that it matters to you, but I’m just really ashamed of what I did. And my part in that. And, well, I just wanted to apologize. Believe me, I’m starting to hate being a Jew just as much as you hate us.”

For the first time, Jerome perked up.

What did Chiam just say?

He certainly was not expecting Chiam to say anything like that.

“You hate being a Jew?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t hate Jews. I’m not a fucking Nazi. My grandpa isn’t either. I told you that before. I don’t hate who you are, I just hate what you believe. I hate religion and the arrogance of it.”

“Me too!” Chiam nodded, “That’s exactly my point!”

Again, Jerome was stunned. Was this kid just fucking with him? Was he serious? “What do you mean?”

Chiam chortled like there was a hair in his throat. “Huh, that bullshit they teach us. ‘God’s Chosen People’. Like we’re better than everyone else. I just don’t buy it. It’s a load of horseshit.”

“You don’t think you’re chosen?”

“Fuck no! They teach all us Jews that sick shit in synagogue. Rabbis actually tell us we are genetically and intrinsically better than gentiles. Can you believe that? Judaism is fucking perverted and arrogant. Why are we so special? Because our ancestors were born on some piece of shit speck of desert? They call that desolate turd a Holy Land? I think a real God would have given his chosen people some nicer terrain!”

Jerome laughed.

Chiam continued, “I mean, really, my religion is full of a bunch of fucking idiots. We run around bragging to everyone that God holds a higher esteem for us, then we wonder why everyone hates the Jews? We’re like the rich girl in school, bragging about how much money we have, then wondering why we have no friends. Like my entire culture is run by 12 year old snotty rich bitches.”

Jerome couldn’t help but laugh.

Was this really happening?

Was he having this conversation?

“I’m really shocked to hear you say that.” Jerome admitted.

“I don’t know,” Chiam said, “I’m just starting to think a lot of what I’ve been raised to think is really sick and wrong.”

Jerome nodded, “I had a Christian friend like that. He said he felt sorry for Jews because he thinks it’s harder for them.”

Chiam was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Well, ever since all the pedophile priest scandals in the 1990’s, the Christian church has become an easy target for mockery and the general public seems to support the Christian church less and less. That makes it easier to question things and break with your faith. But Jews haven’t had it so easy. There hasn’t been a scandal of rabbis sucking little snipped Jew cocks in the back of the synagogue, so people still follow the crazy bullshit.”

Chiam agreed, “Fucking Holocaust didn’t help either.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Jews have used the Holocaust to guilt-trip anyone and everyone out of criticism. You can question any religion in the world without any consequences. Except Jews. The second you question Judaism and say our religion sounds like bullshit, you’re a Nazi.” Chiam threw up his hands in frustration.

“Aren’t you happy about that? Shouldn’t you be glad no one questions you?” Jerome pointed out.

“No! Not at all! People need conflict. They need to have opposing viewpoints and be permitted to hear other opinions. Jews don’t allow anyone that luxury. We’re ‘Chosen’. You’re gentiles. We had a Holocaust. So you can’t criticize us! End of story. And that’s bullshit. You know the Nazis killed upwards of 7 million Ukrainians, 5 million Russians, half-a-million Gypsies, and nearly as many handicapped people? But do we ever hear about that? No. We only hear Jews whine about what happened to us. Fuck that. I’m embarrassed to be a fucking Jew. My culture pretends like we were the only victims. It’s a vile and selfish injustice to the memory of all the others who were killed. It’s pathetic. You know Stalin killed even more people than Hitler? But my culture makes it sound like Hitler was some ultimate evil. Hitler wasn’t so bad compared to Stalin. Jews never acknowledge that though. We only care about ourselves.” Chiam shook his head in shame, obviously tormented by something he had been feeling for a long time, but never daring to speak about.

Jerome was confused. “If you really think all this, then why the fuck did you come after me? Calling me a Nazi and shit because of my grandpa.”

Chiam had started to brighten up, as though happy to finally be getting these things off his chest. The moment Jerome asked him such a blunt question, he fell embarrassed and humble again. “I was ashamed of myself. You really, well, you gave me the courage to start speaking out about this.”

“I gave you the courage?”

“Yeah. You should have heard my friends. Fucking little Zionist pricks. So proud of themselves for hurting you. I started to see that Zionism and Nazism were pretty much the same word. Different sides of the same coin. Chosen People? Master Race? Those are the same thing! What my people have done to the Palestinians since driving them out of Israel after World War II is just atrocious. I was sick to my stomach. Thinking of our arrogance. Thinking of our pretentiousness. Thinking of you all bloodied and fucked up.” Chiam glanced up at Jerome, quickly looking away again. “I just couldn’t get that image of you out of my head. There’s no difference between a Jew or a Christian or a Muslim. We all bleed the same. How dare my family and friends think we are privileged in the eyes of God. That is pure evil. Made me realize that everyday, I hate the hypocrisy of my heritage more and more. All the things I grew up feeling proud about, I’m starting to be ashamed of.”

“God’s Chosen is losing faith?” Jerome mocked, but not cruelly.

Chiam hissed. “Psh. Losing faith? I think it’s been lost for quite awhile. I don’t even think there is a God anymore.”

“Anymore?”

“Well, no, I don’t mean there was one and now there isn’t. I mean I don’t think God never existed.”

“Jew become atheist?”

“Oh, fuck no!” Chiam recoiled from the term. “Atheism is just another religion. I want no part of that.”

“I thought that was the whole point. Atheism is not believing in God.”

“True. But I didn’t say I didn’t believe. I said I don’t think he existed. I really don’t know either way. I guess that makes me more an agnostic.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Jerome puzzled.

“Not at all. Atheists do not believe there is a God. Agnostics are not certain. Then there’s also igtheism, which most people never heard of.”

“I never heard of it. What’s igtheism?”

“Igtheism or ignosticism is the idea that the concept of a God must be clearly defined before one can discuss belief or disbelief in the existence of a God. For example, if someone sees God as the energy of the universe, and someone else sees God as an old man sitting on a throne, floating in a cloud, they both believe in God. But, they believe in very different definitions of what God happens to be. Igtheism is just saying you need to agree on the definition of God before you claim to believe or disbelieve.”

“You sure seem to know a lot about this.”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. Feels good to tell someone who won’t want to make me talk to a rabbi.”

“I don’t know any rabbis.”

“See? That’s great! I know too many.” Chiam laughed for the first time. His laughter had a tenderness and kindness to it that surprised Jerome.

“So, now you aren’t sure about God?”

“Not really. I used to think God was created as a way for people to be comforted. You know? So people wouldn’t feel alone in the universe. The truth is, God was created out of arrogance. Humans are so convinced that they are the center of the universe, they invented God to justify their conceit. Humans invented an all-powerful mythical being, then told themselves they were created in the image of that being. What could be more arrogant?”

“That’s true. My grandpa has said things like that too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Chiam settled into the lawn, “Well, I slowly started to figure out all religion is evil because all religions do the same two things: One, they all presume to define God. Two, they all attempt to dictate your relationship with God. Every single religion on earth, without exception, does those two things. Those two things are the reason all religions are inherently evil and manipulative and take us further away from feeling united with the workings of the universe. First of all, if God exists, he does not need us to define him. God does not require us to tell each other what he is all about. Moreover, why would a Supreme Being feel the need to pick designated spokespeople? Wouldn’t a Supreme Being personally manifest himself equally to every creature he created?”

“Absolutely. God wouldn’t play favorites.”

“No. Of course not! If a parent loves all their children equally, how can God favor certain people over others? That means a parent with a big family is more holy than God! Those parents are more kind and loving than Yahweh, because Yahweh is an asshole who shuns certain children, just because of the family they were born into. Prophets are like big brothers who won’t let you talk to your dad. That’s bullshit. You don’t need an intermediary to translate messages from your dad. So, secondly, if God exists, no human being on the face of this earth has the right to dictate or define your relationship to Him. Not parents. Not teachers. Not religion. Nothing. Certainly not priests or rabbis. Your relationship with God is between you and God. No one else. Finally, if the atheists are right, and God doesn’t even exist in the first place, then, obviously, all religions are just an evil sham that have duped mankind for centuries.”

Jerome was impressed by how well this boy could speak and told him, “My grandpa said that religion was a wonderful thing, but it’s just outdated.”

“How so?”

Jerome explained, “Well, religion is really designed to control people by instilling them with fear. Grandpa says that thousands of years ago, if society was primitive and violent, it was a good way to frighten people into moral behavior.”

“See, I totally disagree with that. That’s just an arrogance of modern man. You don’t need the morality of religion to understand The Golden Rule. Modern man is stupid to think that everyone was a murderer and rapist before religion came along. Claiming religion is the foundation for civility is just a way that religions try to placate intellectuals.”

Jerome frowned, “Yeah. Could be.”

Not wanting to offend Jerome, quickly Chiam added, “Your grandpa sounds pretty cool though. Smart guy.”

“You know, all that stuff you said about atheism being a religion, it’s funny, because my grandpa just wrote another blog and that’s one of the things he was ranting about.”

Chiam pulled out his cellphone. “Cool. Let me check it out.”

Jerome was taken aback that Chiam didn’t ask for the address.

It was already bookmarked.

Ω

Why Atheism is a Religion

by Grandpa Steiner

Many atheists ignorantly and falsely insist that atheism is not a religion. In fact, atheists even compose countless articles on the topic, attempting to define just how passionately they don’t believe in something.

But there is no debate on this subject.

By definition, atheism is undeniably a religion.

This simple fact can never be disputed.

Since the foundations of atheism dismiss the existence of God, it is very understandable that atheists would not want to call their beliefs a religion.

The word “atheism” takes it’s root from the word “theism” which means “theology” and theology is a belief in God. The prefix “a” means “without”, hence the word “atheism” literally translates into "no belief in God”.

Atheism is a belief that there is no God.

The keyword is “belief”. Atheists lack a belief in God and therefore have adopted a theological viewpoint.

Webster’s Dictionary defines “atheism” as:

a.) disbelief in the existence of deity

b.) the doctrine that there is no deity

There is no empirical evidence that God does or does not exist. Since the existence of God can neither be proven or disproven, every “theism”, including but not limited to Judaism, Catholicism and atheism, is formed upon the basis of belief and disbelief and doctrine.

Taking a stance (zealous “belief” or “disbelief”) is a form of religion.

Most atheists insist that atheism is not a religion and cite specific examples of what prerequisites must be met in order to define a religion. They claim atheism is the absence of one particular belief while religion is a complex web of traditions and beliefs.

A “belief” is something that has no proof to support or deny it.

Consequently, the way a person chooses to “believe” in God (affirmative or negative) defines their religion.

The true agenda of feminists is not equality, but to destroy men.

The true agenda of atheists is not disbelieving in God, but to destroy religion.

Like all religious zealots, the cult of atheism loves to antagonize and intimidate people into following their practices. Like all the manipulative acts of Abrahamic death cults, the atheists belittle those who do not agree with their beliefs and spend inordinate amounts of time debating and discussing just how right they are and how wrong the rest of the religions happen to be.

Atheists are not people who disbelieve in God.

Atheists are people who believe in ridiculing the beliefs of others.

Atheists pontificate to “convert” people and convince everyone how right they are, exactly like all the Abrahamic faiths they dismiss as crazy.

To paraphrase Christopher Hitchens, there is no denying that religion, especially Abrahamic cults, have been responsible for a majority of the death and destruction humanity has brought upon itself; and it clearly yearns for more.

This message is not professed by the scapegoats and puppeteers of these doctrines, but when you read the legitimate passages of their dissertations, this desperation for reigning death on humanity is clear.

You see it in those extremists of all these death cults.

The idea that when the impure, non-believers are driven out of their holy lands, their God shall reward them. This hideous and vile elitism and prejudice is not exclusive to a singular sect, it is a shared hate for their fellow man across every Abrahamic cult. Every aspect of their joy comes not from life, but from hope in an afterlife which can only be earned through the violent subjugation of their perceived enemies.

These death cults are hateful.

They are the ultimate evil.

And their very ideology poisons the decency and civility of humanity with judgment and fear and punishment.

They admittedly seek to destroy all the love and camaraderie which could unite humanity and support their bleak condemnation of all mankind with a sick fixation on a God they think will redeem them. Thus these monsters of religion look to dissolve the intrinsic virtues of brotherly love and adoration.

Thereby, there is no denying that Abrahamic cults are true wickedness and vile. They are all designed to instil people with fear and denigration, so they can be easily controlled by those in power. They serve no other purpose except fear and condemnation of all those who fail to conform to their brainwashing.

To defy these cruel ideologies is a necessary and noble endeavor.

Many uneducated victims of the Messianic cults claim their God is “loving”, but that is a blatant lie. Their own religious texts admit, they worship a God of hate and destruction.

These six things the Lord hates. Yes, seven are an abomination to Him...

- Proverbs 6:16

Because of all their wickedness in Gilgal, I hated them there. Because of their sinful deeds, I will drive them out of my house. I will no longer love them...

- Hosea 9:15

And I hated Esau, and laid his mountains and his heritage waste for the dragons of the wilderness...

- Malachi 1:3

As it is written, Jacob have I loved, but Esau have I hated...

- Romans 9:13

As alluded to earlier, more than half the population of the world, nearly 4 billion people, follow the Abrahamic cults of this hateful “God”.

What if gods and devils are not fiction?

Perhaps religious disciples have all been tricked to worship a devil.

After all, the serpent in the Garden of Eden was the Lord of Light who promised knowledge while Yahweh wanted to keep people ignorant, bragged of his hatred, told them to sacrifice children, then commanded they eat of his flesh and blood. That sounds pretty sinister to me.

Perhaps the greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was to make the world think he was God.

Can we blame the atheists for seeking to shake those foundations?

But atheists are cowards.

They do not openly attempt to undermine and destroy the beliefs of 4 billion people and admit that as their true motive. Instead, they simply belittle these cults with mockery and contempt.

Ultimately, all religions stem from the same source - humanity’s fear of their own mortality.

We are all terrified of death. Death takes away the people we care about the most and that loss is devastating. And we have no way of knowing what happens to us after we die. Is that it? We cease to exist? All the memories and loves and joys and laughter from the fabric of our lives is gone forever?

So, we invented religion and told ourselves to “have faith” in what it promises.

We had to come up with a way to comfort ourselves in death. To give ourselves a sense that “maybe death is not the end” after all. Ultimately, every religion in the world primarily exists (and is primarily based upon) telling us the afterlife consequences of our living actions.

Personally, I have no idea what happens after death.

Is there a God?

Is there an afterlife?

I would never presume to be so arrogant to think I have the answers to those questions. I do not know if there is a God, I would not possess the knowledge or wisdom to comprehend what God is, and I certainly would have no right or authority to define God for anyone else.

However, I am decidedly not an atheist, because, like all theists, the atheists claim to have the answers, they claim their beliefs are more valid and sensible than others, and they condemn anyone who disagrees with their beliefs.

They are as arrogant and presumptuous as any Abrahamic cultist.

These religions all believe they alone posses the ultimate authority.

These religions all claim to be able to define God to the world.

That is sinful. That is a lie. That is a perversion and an abomination.

I have no answers.

I have no opinions.

I have no idea what God might be.

God is either imaginary or beyond my imagination to understand.

Whatever God happens to be, it appears beyond definition.

Most people are not content with “I don’t know” as an answer.

So, they invent a system of beliefs, that their friends and family can agree upon. They uphold those beliefs (often clinging to them violently) to comfort each other. To support each other. To make themselves feel connected to a higher purpose in a universe that seems purposeless. How could even the most staunch of cynics look at such yearning and fear and not sympathize with their plight?

As human beings, we invented all these religions so we wouldn’t be so scared to die. No religion, including atheism, has ever been able to conclusively prove that their outlook is correct or what happens when we are gone. So, people continue to comfort themselves with what feels right to them, and kill everyone who comes along to undermine those convictions.

Ω

Like most posts on the Internet, there was a comment that didn’t make any sense and reinforced that the person who read the post had only understood about 20% of what was written.

scatcaitusmov_ll21

only God can jugde us and you ain’t god.

Grandpa Steiner didn’t bother to correct their mixed-case use of the word “God” or misspelling of “judge” and replied with:

“I hate to break it to you, but you’re wrong on both counts. I can judge you all I want. My will and my will alone holds sway over what I deem my reality and my truth. Never yours. I will forever possess the irrefutable right and unquestionable power to judge you and anyone else who has ever lived. We are all God. God has never been a separate entity from us. As I decree the voice of God to be one with my own, I am God, and my judgment upon you is incontestable.”

Grandpa Steiner knew he would be crucified for such talk. He didn’t care anymore. He said all of that quite carefully and deliberately. Knowing every word would make the pitchfork-wielding crowd angry. Knowing such blasphemous talk would force their feeble minds to shut him out and thereafter disregard everything he said. He was no longer attempting the futility of communicating with them. He realized they would never understand the world from his perspective. Their brains could never operate on his wavelength. Instead of trying to teach them anything, instead of educating them, he decided to enrage them. To truly offend them. For if he could not enlighten their minds, if they remained too primitive to rise above their archaic views, he would at least manipulate them. Take control of their emotions, purely for his own entertainment. Nothing pushed buttons on outmoded philosophies easier than defying religious zealotry. Grandpa Steiner believed he could turn any Messianic cultist into a raving lunatic in 1.2 seconds, simply by convincing them he subscribed to an idea they deem sacrilegious. Doesn’t even matter if he truly believes what he was saying or not. Just make them think he believes it, and watch them foam at the mouth like the dogs they are.

A gleeful mood came over him when he responded to the next comment of someone claiming to be deeply offended by his remarks:

In order to find my remarks offensive, you must first permit my opinions to matter to you. Therefore, I want to thank you for being offended, because in doing so, it proves you care about what I think. Since I am a God and you are little more than bacteria, it is befitting that my opinions will always deeply affect you. Unfortunately, I do not reciprocate your feelings. Nothing you say can offend me, or upset me, or cause me any form of emotional response, because I do not care in the slightest what you think or feel. Consequently, I possess no need to apologize to you, because your opinions are irrelevant to me. Your anger or your “hurt feelings” are entirely meaningless. In fact, I am so indifferent to your very existence that ordinarily, I would not waste my time to even acknowledge your presence on this earth. However, I felt in this instance, it was appropriate to make you aware of how insignificant you are, so as to prevent you from wasting my time by speaking to me in the future. As you do not matter in the slightest, I will not bother to ever interact with you again. Just know that I am not alone in my disregard for you. Next time you find your vitriol utterly ignored, reflect back upon this response and remember that others also consider you to be so trivial they will simply ignore your every opinion.

Ω

“Wow. Your grandpa is pretty awesome. I never knew anyone else really thought this way. Like disliking religion, but not being an atheist because that’s just another religion. He’s pretty smart.” Chiam said to his hand, then looked at Jerome as he slipped the phone away again.

“Yeah, my grandpa is awesome.” Jerome nodded. Suddenly it hit him, he was praising his grandfather to one of the kids who beat his ass, and the kid was agreeing with him!

Pretty weird.

Even more weird was the fact that when the bus came, Jerome and Chiam didn’t get on. They were enjoying their conversation and didn’t want it to end. So, they just kept talking on the grass.

Chiam caught Jerome staring at Helen’s ass as she stepped onto the bus. “You keep staring at that girl.”

“Who? Helen? No, I’m not.”

“Yeah you are! Look at you getting all embarrassed.”

“I am not!”

“You’re all in love with her.”

Instead of arguing, Jerome conceded. He never told anyone he liked her. Now that it was out in the open, and he could just say the word “yes”, it was a lot easier to admit. Besides, it felt good to get it off his chest. “Yeah. Kind of. I totally am. You’re right. And she brushes me off all the time. It sucks.”

Chiam understood and paused. Then he giggled, “Well, at least Jesus loves you.”

Jerome pursed his lips in annoyance. “Oh, you’re fucking hilarious. Being loved by Jewish zombie hippie dude who died 2000 years ago. Great. I feel so much better. Not much consolation for being rejected by a cute girl.”

Both boys were rolling with laughter and spent another hour talking before Sophie arrived.

Ω

TAU CETI REPORT ON BALD MONKEY OBSERVATIONS #324:

Many bald monkeys think the entire universe was created solely for them, by a bearded old monkey who sits on a cloud in a throne. They call this invisible sky fairy many different names, depending upon which tribe of delusional monkeys invented him. Obviously idiotic behavior to more advanced species, the monkeys actually think this shit is important... But what do you expect from a bunch of monkeys?

END REPORT

Chapter Fifteen

Sophie stayed home with Jerome on the day her father went to trial.

Ryan went to the courthouse. Grandma Steiner insisted Ryan come along, because she was convinced Grandpa would have to go to jail, even though no one else thought so, and reassured her as such, many times over.

Jumping up from the couch when her phone rang, Sophie answered within two rings.

Jerome stood by, fidgeting and prickling over the call.

“Hello?” Sophie asked.

Jerome couldn’t read her face.

Sophie sighed and relaxed. “How long?”

Watching her, Jerome widened his eyes and nodded his head forward, asking what was being said.

“320 hours!?” Sophie asked.

Another pause.

“Oh, that’s ridiculous! How long is the probation?”

Jerome wasn’t sure what was being asked. He didn’t understand. His mother clearly wasn’t freaking out, so the longer they talked, he knew his grandfather wasn’t going to jail, he just didn’t understand what was happening instead.

Wait.

Would he be in jail for 320 hours? That was weird.

“Thank God. So what does he have to do now?”

Sophie nodded and said, “Parks and Recreation? Well, that shouldn’t be too bad... What’s that?... Animal shelters?... I see.”

“Mom! What’s going on?” Jerome finally blurted out, unable to wait anymore.

Sophie glared, held up her finger and mouthed, “One minute!”

“When does he have to start?”

Jerome rolled his eyes.

“Okay. Okay. Alright. See you soon.” Sophie hung up.

“Well?” Jerome said.

“The illegal firearm charges were dropped, since he could provide proof of ownership and permits. That’s good because that would have been a felony. Instead, he has a 1 year summary probation and 2 years to complete 320 hours of community service that he can do at places like animal shelters or with Parks and Recreation.” Sophie explained.

Jerome shook his head. “So what does that mean? He’s not going to jail?”

“No, honey. He doesn’t have to go to jail. It means your grandfather has to do 320 hours of volunteer work and he can’t get in trouble with the law for another year.”

“Oh. Well, that doesn’t sound too bad.”

Sophie crooked her neck in partial agreement. “The 320 hours is a bit high, but apparently because your grandpa has become a ‘celebrity’ he is being used to set an example.”

“Grandpa’s not a celebrity!”

“Not to us. But he is to the judge.”

“That’s stupid. I wanted to talk to grandpa.”

“He wasn’t on the phone. It was your dad.”

“Oh.”

“Well, call grandpa later.”

“Isn’t dad bringing him over?”

“No. Your dad is dropping grandma and grandpa off at home.”

“When will they be home?”

“You’re not calling him tonight. Grandma is all stressed out. Call him tomorrow. Give grandma and grandpa some time alone.”

“Why is grandma stressed out? He didn’t have to go to jail. Just like everyone told her.”

“Jerome!” Sophie said in the motherly tone that all kids know not to argue with.

Jerome lobbed his head back, “Ugh. Fiiiiine.”

Chapter Sixteen

Carmen Solna and his fellow drunken and stoned friends, brothers Abdul and Kabula Daliwan, teased the lioness in her 70 year old stone enclosure at the zoo, where Grandpa Steiner was doing community service.

Walking past them as he collected trash, Grandpa Steiner couldn’t help but notice the three boys were dressed like idiots.

Sporting emo haircuts and really tacky tattoo sleeves, they had their typical facial piercings like liprings and whatever other ugly jewelery teens and twenty-somethings mistakenly believe is attractive when skewering their flesh like Shish Kabobs. They were also clad in drab earth-toned hoodies with goofy tribal patterns and whatnot. (With the sleeves rolled up so you could see their horribly uncreative matching tattoos of course.) Nothing unusual there. They were total cookie-cutter stereotypes. The counterculture uniform. Obedient slaves to faux anarchy.

Okay. All standard-fair emo teen boy crap.

But then he was thrown for a loop - they were each wearing their pants down below their ass cheeks like gangsta hiphop kids.

What? What the hell is up with crossing emo with gangsta?

Grandpa Steiner had never seen that one.

It was the dorkiest and tackiest thing he had ever seen. Their belts hung below the asscheeks completely exposing their underwear. As they sat on a bench, they were sitting on their boxers - the jeans were slung so low, denim wasn’t even touching the seat!

Now, Grandpa Steiner was well-aware that every generation looks “weird” to the generations which came before. Nevertheless, looking back over the decades, he could think of no generation of kids who ever thought it would look cool to walk around in public, only halfway finished dressing. Madonna, Apollonia, Vanity and Lady Gaga are the only noted exceptions to the kind of people who looked good walking around in their underwear. Being half undressed is not a fashion statement which is acceptable for just anybody. (And he was ever-so-grateful for the Avril Lavigne’s and Demi Lovato’s of the world, who always showed far more decorum.)

These boys just looked like the bastard lovechildren of Kurt Cobain, Robert Smith and Tupac. Like some horrible genetic engineering experiment gone wrong.

He understood the emo thing.

He understood the hiphop thing.

He just didn’t understand anyone doing both at the same time! That threw poor Grandpa Steiner for a loop.

Sheesh. Kids these days.

Grandpa Steiner considered that a blog about this phenomenon could put him on the “emo gangsta hitlist” but he was pretty sure he could survive one of their girlfriends beating him with her Muppets backpack.

Some folks claim, “Every generation thinks the fashions of other generations are stupid.”

Not true. Grandpa Steiner respected every generation of fashion... until the 1990’s.

The kids in the Roaring Twenties had some flash. He thought what flappers wore in the 1930’s was pretty cool and showed lots of class. The swing kids of the 1940’s had some really dapper styles of dressing and always looked smart. The greasers and rock ’n’ roll look of the 1950’s was sweet and defiant without being tacky. The tie-dyed swirls and bellbottoms of hippies in the 1960’s weren’t his thing, but he was okay with the colorful mania of it all. The whole disco look of the 1970’s was a little strange, but the 1970’s ended with punkrock, which was cool and the pinnacle of teen rebellion. The day-glo and fluorescent craziness of the 1980’s was a lot of fun and upbeat. They were like clothes made of smiles.

Then something awful happened in the 1990’s.

The whole grunge and hip-hop thing got people wearing bland, boring fashions. Earth tones. Browns. Greys. Blacks. Flannel. And pants hung around their thighs.

And it has lasted.

And lasted.

And lasted.

You can’t tell the difference between 1992 fashions and early 21st century fashions. Twenty years later and it all looked the same! Every decade of Western Culture used to introduce new fashions and new music and new trends. Once the 1990’s hit, everything stopped. For more than 30 years, the crap has all been the same. Recycled fashions. Recycled music. Recycled culture.

Worst of all, these braindead toolbags think being half-dressed with their pants below their ass is a fashion statement. Kids could no longer think of new clothing styles, so they’d just take ordinary clothes and barely put them on. Say what you will about clothing fads of the 1920’s, 30’s, 40’s, 50’s, 60’s, 70’s or 80’s, but at least people knew how to wear a pair of fucking jeans.

For all of his venom and vinegar, for all his frustration at the incapacity of any subsequent generations to build any sense of an identifying culture, Grandpa Steiner broke a little inside.

The most painful part was knowing he was right.

Unlike most people over 30, he had no prejudiced delusions about his own decade of youth being somehow “superior” to any other. This wasn’t about lamenting the “way things were” when he was young. This was lamenting the way thing were when everyone was young. There were a distinct 60 years of a vibrant and evolving pop culture that he appreciated and recognized. Everyone in society got to live that, experience, for 60 years worth of generations. He was heartbroken to think it all had come to a halt.

Walking on, he collected more garbage cans and never said a word as he passed the strange emo gangsta mutations, who reeked of alcohol and marijuana.

The lioness was getting more and more angry as the boys taunted her.

“I imagine that might end pretty badly.” Jerome commented to his grandpa.

Jerome decided to accompany his grandfather, since he had to do community service for his school credits. Grandpa Steiner refused at first, because he didn’t want his grandson to see him forced into labor like a common criminal.

As it turns out, having Jerome with him had the opposite effect.

Instead of Grandpa Steiner feeling like a criminal, he felt like he was setting a good example for his grandson by showing him to have some integrity and work ethics, even via mandatory community service.

“However it ends,” Grandpa Steiner replied to his grandson, in reference to the teenagers, “I’m sure they’ll get what they’re asking for.”

The day was winding down as Grandpa Steiner and Jerome climbed into the service cart and drove to the next set of trashcans. Very few people were left in the zoo. They’d be closed in the next 30 minutes.

As they drove down a winding path, past a hill with the cheetah exhibit, and rounded the corner to their next stop, Grandpa Steiner and Jerome audibly gasped at the man standing in the roadway.

They had never seen anything like him.

He was massive and imposing in a way that neither Jerome or Grandpa Steiner had ever witnessed in a fellow human being.

They only had to drive a few feet past the man before they stopped to collect the next set of trashbags.

“Whoa.” Jerome said, timidly and almost inaudible.

“Hrm.” Grandpa Steiner mumbled, daring a quick glance back over his shoulder.

Neither one of them wanted to comment on the gargantuan man, since the fellow was only a dozen feet away and would surely overhear them. Most unsettling of all was the lunatic way he was dressed and the fact that he looked happy to see Grandpa Steiner. As if expecting him.

Grandpa Steiner would have preferred an emo gangsta at that point.

Jerome and Grandpa Steiner began to gather their supplies of refill bags as the man walked closer.

Deciding to nip this in the bud, Grandpa Steiner chose to speak first. Turning to the man, he said, “Fine day at the zoo, isn’t it?”

“Mr. Steiner? May I have a word with you?” The voice was entirely unexpected. He spoke in a lilting and upper middle-class British accent.

Grandpa Steiner tried to mask his worry. He wasn’t concerned for himself, so much as he was feeling protective of his grandson. “Uh, I’m sorry, do I know you?”

Shaking his large head, the man replied in his comforting Yorkshire dialect, “No, Mr. Steiner. I’m afraid I’ve not yet had the honor. My name is Dr. Sagan from Tau Ceti. I have quite an urgent matter I need to discuss with you.”

Grandpa Steiner presumed “Tau Ceti” was the name of a company. Perhaps a technology or computer company? He certainly didn’t suspect it was a star system.

Something about Dr. Sagan looked incredibly familiar, but Grandpa Steiner couldn’t place where he had seen him. This was all the more strange considering that Dr. Sagan was approximately eight feet tall and dressed like a character from a post-apocalyptic action movie. Ragged clothing encased his towering frame in shredded layers of chainmail, denim and leather, dusty with the smell of fireroads and decaying pine needles. Being in his presence made you want to sneeze. The ratty red and purple mohawk atop his head capped a face that was best described as “unusual” - his facial features all looked normal enough, but they were a little “off” in some way. The proportions were strange. His eyes looked only slightly too large. His nose just a fraction too small. His lips a bit too wide. You didn’t even notice these facial anomalies unless you looked very intently at him, which wasn’t easy since his face was so high above that of any other human being.

“What kind of matter?”

Dr. Sagan felt bad to give this news to a child, and so he crinkled his lips apologetically towards Jerome. “Well, to put it delicately, I’m sorry to say that my people will be here to destroy the Earth in a little over a week.”

Obviously he wasn’t talking about a computer company.

Had Dr. Sagan looked like an ordinary person, Jerome and Grandpa may have burst into laughter at that point.

Considering that Dr. Sagan looked like a psychotic mutant freak, they weren’t about to laugh in his face.

Now they were more frightened than ever and certain he was crazy.

They never suspected he might be telling the truth.

A small Latino family walked past, pushing a baby carriage, as Grandpa Steiner said, “That’s where I saw you! I knew you looked familiar. You’re the one in that video on the Internet! The one saying the planet would be destroyed if I didn’t start blogging again.”

Dr. Sagan drew them over towards the fence, “Ah! Yes! Yes! You saw that? I was so hoping to warn people that way. The man was actually Commander Bayer, my colleague. The transmission was my suggestion. I know your internet video transmissions can grow very popular and reach millions in days. But, much to my dismay, no one believed us.”

Grandpa Steiner became far more nervous.

This guy was serious.

And that voice.

He couldn’t shake how bizarre it was to hear such perfectly prim and proper Queen’s English coming out of this massive frame. It just didn’t fit. Like a toad in a dress.

Encountering crazy fans was something Grandpa Steiner always worried might happen. Encountering gargantuan men who think they are aliens was a fear he never considered as a possibility; and now that it was staring him in the face, he realized an angry theistic redneck or negro would probably be a lot less intimidating.

“Well, you sure don’t look like an alien.” Jerome observed. His tone scoffed. Sure, Dr. Sagan looked a bit strange, but he sure wasn’t from another planet.

What was this guy playing at?

Dr. Sagan sighed, “I understand your skepticism, young Jerome. It’s important that your grandfather does not doubt what I’m saying. You must believe me.”

With that, Dr. Sagan rolled up his sleeve.

Grandpa Steiner was startled that Dr. Sagan knew Jerome’s name.

As they spoke, Grandpa Steiner noticed another odd trait of Dr. Sagan - his skin wasn’t actually Caucasian. There was an extremely subtle tint of blue just beneath his flesh. Like his facial features, you didn’t notice the skin discoloring until you looked very closely.

Strange marks snaked up the flesh of Dr. Sagan’s arm. They looked vaguely like tattoos, but seemed to actually be some other kind of veins or circuits embedded in his flesh.

The lines and rivulets began to spark and glow as he raised his arm towards an elderly couple sitting on a distant parkbench.

Suddenly, Dr. Sagan shouted a strange noise that no human could make, and a blue energybolt blasted out of his arm, down the length of his hand, sailed in an arc, one hundred feet across the zoo, instantly disintegrating the old man and woman.

The Latino family screamed and ran, the bolt having sizzled right past their heads.

“Holy shit!” Grandpa Steiner ducked behind the golfcart.

“Jeezus! You killed them!” Jerome squealed, his voice cracking two octaves as his grandfather dragged him behind the cart.

“They led quite long and fruitful lives and would be dead in a week anyway if no one listens to me.”

“Okay! Okay! We believe you!” Still cowering behind the cart, Grandpa Steiner reassured the doctor.

“A real alien!?” Jerome was astounded. “Why are you warning us?” Jerome asked, scared and disgusted.

“Because I have developed a true affinity for your species. Oh, please, gentlemen, there’s no need to hide. I shan’t harm you in any way.”

“Affinity!? Such a big affinity that you just murder innocent people on a parkbench!?” Grandpa Steiner realized after he said the words, it might be a very bad idea to antagonize a murderous mutant alien who can shoot laserblasts out of his arm.

“Yes.” Dr. Sagan replied emotionlessly. “You see, I was sent here to study your species in an attempt to find enough merit in your existence to spare the lives of your race. Unfortunately, while I personally like your species and do find you to be quite clever, I have not found enough evidence to allow for your race to survive. Mr. Steiner, you sir, are the one consistent hope I have found.”

“Me!?” Grandpa Steiner poked his head out.

Dr. Sagan gentle coaxed the two humans to come out from behind the golfcart. “Yes, indeed, sir. You taught valuable lessons to your species. You need to keep doing so. You need to wake them up to their own stupidity. You need to snap them out of the idiocy of following religions and believing news broadcasts and arguing over genital preferences. You are the one person who has proven your species might be salvageable after all.”

Grandpa Steiner couldn’t fathom what was being said.

Aliens were real!?

This one was reading his blog!?

And it would serve to save humanity!?

Gee, no stress there. Grandpa Steiner tried to walk away from the responsibility Dr. Sagan was forcing upon him. “Me?” He repeated. “No. No, no, no. Others have been trying the same thing for centuries. You can’t burden me with the responsibility of being the only voice to make a difference. I’m just saying what countless others have preached!”

Dr. Sagan shrugged, “That may be so. But the fact remains, we are not monitoring those people. We are monitoring you. As I said, you are the one person who has proven your species might be salvageable.”

“Salvageable? You make us sound like old, rusted out cars.”

“In the galactic community, your race is worth little more.”

“Galactic community? Why did the ‘galactic community’ take an interest in us humans in the first place? Why not just leave us alone? We’re not hurting anyone!” Jerome wondered. The dust from vaporized old folks wafted past, though Jerome and Grandpa Steiner didn’t know it at the time.

“Humans?”

“Yes. Us. Human beings.”

“Human beings?” Dr. Sagan tasted the words as if they had never come out of his mouth before.

“Yes. That’s what we are. Humans. That’s what our race is called. Our species.”

“Humans? Interesting!”

Grandpa Steiner was frustrated at the conversation Jerome was having with Dr. Sagan. “You didn’t know that? How can you know our language, and be studying us, and condemning us to death, and not even know what we’re called!?”

“My apologies. We simply never encountered that term. To us, you are known as bald monkeys.”

“Bald monkeys?”

“It seemed the most fitting description.”

“Isn’t your species descended from monkeys too?” Jerome asked. Since Dr. Sagan was bipedal, it seemed a legitimate question.

He looked offended, “There are no monkeys on our homeworld. My heritage is direct from the Source. From those who were the Creators!”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Great, an alien Jesus freak, thought Jerome.

“A race your primitive ancestors assumed were Gods seeded various planets of the galaxy with their genetic likenesses. On your planet, those likenesses were monkeys. On my planet, we have always been direct descendants.”

“In other words, you’ve never evolved and we have?” Jerome asked.

Dr. Sagan glared.

“Sorry.” Jerome waved timidly.

“You still didn’t answer the question. How did you find us? How did you find Earth? More importantly, why destroy us? We aren’t hurting anything. Just leave us and our planet alone! If you didn’t even know about us and your ‘galactic community’ just found us, what gives you the right to wipe us out?”

“Oh, we have known of your planet Gia for tens of thousands of your years. We discovered bald monke - excuse me, humans - due to your first television broadcasts. You see, your first television broadcasts interfered with a navigational carrier signal for a transport vessel. The signal was so faint, it was thought to be nothing more than background noise at first. Then we realized it had a pattern beyond random noise.”

“Carrier signal?”

“Yes. That is why Gia, your planet Earth, is so important to the interstellar community. The life-bearing biosphere of all inhabited planets projects a unique transdimensional radiation signature millions of lightyears into space.”

“What the hell is a transdim - what?”

“A transdimensional radiation signature. Often called a TDRSig, but that’s not important. The point is, all the TDRSig signals exist suspended in an energy frequency that is beyond your current scientific capabilities to detect. But, rest assured, it’s there. Once upon a time, bald monkeys knew nothing about radio waves. Today, you know nothing about transdimensional radiation. Transdimensional radiation signatures act as a beacon for all interstellar space travel. Each biosphere planet acts like a lighthouse, or a communications satellite, keeping vessels moving along the proper coordinates.”

“So why would you destroy the earth?”

“Destroy the Earth!? Gia!? No, no, no! We would never do such a thing. Is that what you think we - oh, no. I apologize if I miscommunicated. No, we wouldn’t dream of destroying such an important beacon. But you will.”

“Excuse me?”

“According to our calculations, there’s a 97% probability that your species will obliterate the biosphere of your planet, making it uninhabitable, sometime within the next 30 to 200 Gia years. The combination of economic strife, religious death cults of various faiths, and the lack of any society on your planet with the intelligence to adopt any form of population control, all of these factors point to your imminent downfall as a species. In the interest of interstellar travel, we require the biosphere of Gia to remain intact. Exterminating your species will ensure that. By eliminating humanity, we protect the remaining biosphere.”

“To hell with that! We’ll fight! If aliens try to invade, we won’t just lie down and accept defeat! You can’t just come in here and - ”

“ - Mr. Steiner, I’m afraid you don’t understand. While I appreciate your bravado, it is of no relevance. The smallest ship in our armada is approximately the size of the planet Jupiter in your solar system.”

“What?”

“Your ship is the size of Jupiter!?” Jerome shrieked.

“The smallest ship. There are some five times that size and the fleet is twenty ships strong.”

“That’s quite big?” Grandpa Steiner puzzled. He wasn’t much into astrophysics.

Jerome loved astronomy, like most boys his age. “Grandpa, the circumference of Jupiter is more than ten times the size of the Earth!”

“Ten ti - ? Wait. And you say that’s your smallest ship? So, you’re telling me you have warships that are fifty times larger than our entire planet!?”

“Correct. You see, Mr. Steiner, this invasion will not be like your movies and television programs. There will be no spacefighters engaging in dogfights with your military aircraft. There will be no invasion fleet. There will be no assault troops storming the beaches of your cities. Our ship will quite literally swallow your entire planet whole and scrape your species off the surface like specks of dirt in a golf ball washer.”

Grandpa Steiner thought it strange this alien knew what a golf ball washer was, but never heard the term “human” until just now.

Dr. Sagan continued to explain, “You will never interact with us directly. There is no fighting this. There is no hope to muster a noble and righteous resistance army. Within minutes, your encounter with my race will spell the end of life as you know it. Period.”

As the finality of his words sank in, Grandpa Steiner almost fell into the golfcart seat. “What can we do?”

“Do what I have told you. You must convince people to change their ways. Show them their ignorance. Let them see the things in life that are important and help guide them away from idiocy. Only then, only by proving your species can become a race that values the sanctity of life, more than the trivial things it usually worships, will your race be spared. You understand what matters in life, Mr. Steiner. You must convince the rest of the world to think the way you do, or all is lost for the bald monkeys.”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that? I can’t change all of humanity in a week! Most people think I’m crazy already. If I tell them they must change or aliens will destroy our race, they will lock me up.”

“We can shoot a new video!” Jerome suggested.

“What?” Grandpa Steiner asked.

Jerome pulled out his smartphone and started recording. Holding it up to his grandfather and Dr. Sagan, he said, “Okay. Now with the two of you together, people will pay attention. Alien dude!”

“Dr. Sagan.” He reminded the boy.

“Right. Dr. Sagan! Blast something with that laser in your arm again.”

Dr. Sagan nodded and raised his arm to a group of gradeschool children.

“No!” Grandpa Steiner shouted, grabbing Dr. Sagan’s arm. “You can’t go killing people like that! Shoot a tree or one of those fake boulders or something!”

Dr. Sagan retargeted.

“You recording?”

“Got it.” Jerome nodded, watching through the screen.

“I have no idea what to say.” Grandpa Steiner was at a loss for words for perhaps the first time in his opinionated life.

“May I suggest a brief introduction of us both, then I will demonstrate the proof that I am truly from Tau Ceti.”

“Right. Right.” Grandpa Steiner rubbed the shadow growing on his chin.

“Still rolling.” Jerome announced.

“Hello,” Grandpa Steiner began, “there has been talk of a pending alien invasion, which I may help to prevent, because I, unbeknownst to me, have been showing the aliens that the human race is worth preserving. This is one of the aliens from the approaching fleet.”

“Hello, bald - uh, humans. Hello, humans. Grandpa Steiner has requested that I prove my alien origins, which I shall do now.” Dr. Sagan pointed at the stand of boulders as Grandpa Steiner had requested, then at the last second, pointed back at his original target of gradeschool kids and blasted them.

Five children were vaporized instantly. The teacher and remaining kids started screaming and running down the path.

Grandpa Steiner and Jerome screamed. “I told you not to do that!”

“Violent destruction is the most effective form of communication your species can understand. By sacrificing these youthful members of your kind, an investigation shall reveal incendiary traces of unknown origins. You must trust that my message is sincere. Reform your ways. Listen to Grandpa Steiner. You have seven days.”

With that, Dr. Sagan crossed his arms and went silent.

There was nothing more to say.

Grandpa Steiner, visibly trembling as the dust of vaporized kids blew past the camera and screaming visitors scattered in a panic, motioned to Jerome to stop recording. Jerome was shaking so bad, the picture was getting unwatchable anyway.

Ω

The brothers Abdul and Kabula Daliwan came running around the corner, covered in blood, and screaming for their lives.

“Da lion! Ay dios, mio! Fuckin’ lion!”

As the boys ran down the path, their pants were falling down to their knees. Stoned and drunken hands fumbled for waistlines, feverishly trying to drag them back up where they belonged on civilized people. Seconds after the boys stumbled past, a lioness bounded out of the bushes.

Grandpa Steiner noted shreds of denim jeans hanging out of her bloodied mouth.

There are many levels of stupid in the world.

Everyone does some stupid things in their lifetime.

Being a drunken asshole who smokes marijuana, then goes to a zoo and taunts a lion, is a whole new level of stupid.

Grandpa Steiner had been right.

They were getting exactly what they deserved.

Grandpa Steiner, Jerome and Dr. Sagan all burst into laughter as the lioness ignored them and continued to run at breakneck speed after the high-as-a-kite Daliwan brothers.

Suddenly, the somber dust of vaporized innocents turned from a graven fog into a confetti of tickertape celebration.

Maybe things would turn out for the best after all.

Ω

Days later, news reports would reveal Carmen Solna had become lion food. Police reports would show he and his little degenerate thug friends were nothing but a bunch of thieving, drunken, potheads with a record of previous convictions. These wastes of human life were so irresponsible, they allowed their friend to be killed by a wild animal, and looked to blame the city instead of themselves. The criminals were going to attempt to sue the city for negligence. The lioness escaped from a pen that was built 68 years earlier without ever having an incident. That in itself proves it was not unsafe or outdated. On the contrary, it proves the design was secure and effective for over six decades! It wasn’t until these assclowns came along and taunted the lioness that the safety of visitors to the zoo was compromised. The blame was not with the city. The blame was not with the zoo. The blame was with the worthless subhuman losers who provoked the lioness! In his blog, Grandpa Steiner noted the city should grant these boys the justice they seek, by throwing the pathetic scumbags into a lion pen so they can be mauled to death; Just like their actions allowed to happen to their friend. Regrettably, he added, they are the reason the aliens will be justified in obliterating mankind.

Ω

Dr. Sagan walked out of the zoo, perplexed by the clothing he had seen the Daliwan brothers wearing. Were humans truly so stupid they would allow their fashion styles to endanger their lives? Clearly, the boys would have had a much easier time outrunning the lioness if they had only worn their pants properly.

This did not bode well for humanity.

Ω

TAU CETI REPORT ON BALD MONKEY OBSERVATIONS #847:

One of the more odd customs of bald monkeys is to adorn their bodies with various materials called “clothing” or “garments”. Constructed in countless colors and patterns, these materials are actively used by monkeys to display status within their culture. Much the way other animals use vocalization to communicate aggression or tranquility, bald monkeys use clothing to convey sexual habits, gender, or social standing. The insanity of the monkeys is so deeply warped and twisted by these traditions that they will pass harsh judgments upon fellow monkeys simply regarding their choice of garments - for example, misinterpreting the intentions of a monkey to communicate a certain message via garment stylings. Obviously idiotic behavior to more advanced species, the monkeys actually think this shit is important... But what do you expect from a bunch of monkeys?

END REPORT

Chapter Seventeen

“Okay, butch. What are the four most important rules?” Grandpa Steiner asked Jerome as he set his gun case on the range table. A soft breeze shambled the maple trees around the perimeter of the range. They were among the first people there that morning.

Jerome repeated what he had been taught, saying, “Number one - Every firearm is always loaded. Two - Never point the muzzle at anything you are not willing to destroy. Three - Keep your finger off the trigger until you are ready to shoot. Four - Always know your target and what’s beyond it.” Jerome smiled, knowing he got all of them right.

Despite the admonishing from Dr. Sagan about the futility of mounting a resistance, Grandpa Steiner wasn’t about to let the human race go down without a fight. If all the sissies of the world were going to curl up and die in their coffeeshops with their faces buried in cellphones so they can post their last selfies, he and his family would fight whatever illegal alien invaders presented themselves. Grandpa Steiner brought all of his family to the range that afternoon, determined to educate them with a last-minute crash course on the proper use of their right to keep and bear arms.

Grandma Steiner had never touched any of Grandpa’s firearms. They intimidated her.

Ryan had fired a gun a few times. Grandpa Steiner wasn’t too thrilled that the man protecting his daughter and grandson was clueless about home defense. So, unbeknownst to Sophie, her husband had secretly visited the range a few times.

In fact, Ryan was trying to avoid the glare from his wife since one of the range officers accidentally outed Ryan upon their arrival by saying hello to him. While his back was turned and Grandpa Steiner joked with another shooter that lately he had been so constipated, sitting on the toilet sounded like he was playing a roulette wheel and he felt like he was shitting a gravel driveway, Sophie stared daggers of “How does he know you?” at her husband.

“If you cracked my turds open with a hammer, you’d find diamonds inside.” Grandpa finished his joking and the family went outside.

Sophie didn’t want to be there at all. Even wearing earplugs, every gunshot echoing through the woods made her jump. Sophie had no intention of firing a weapon, and definitely didn’t want her son to pick up a firearm either. It was bad enough that Grandpa Steiner had bought him a new BB rifle a few years earlier. But, seeing how upset they were about that weird video, she went along with it. She wasn’t sure if this was some weird prank or what was happening, but the fear in her father and son seemed genuine in a way that really shook her up. Besides, one of her yoga instructors also taught kickboxing and he showed her how to disarm a gun from an attacker. So, she didn’t need to know how to use one.

Jerome had mixed feelings about the whole affair. He was excited to learn to shoot, but knowing that he’d be up against aliens that could fire blue energy bolts from their arms made him a bit less optimistic about his chances for survival. All he knew was, he didn’t want his life to end so young. He wanted to be older than Grandpa someday!

Standing back with her arms crossed, Sophie leaned in to her mother and hushed, “I don’t like this one bit. Guns should be illegal. I don’t understand why anyone thinks they need a gun. That’s crazy.”

“Oh, don’t be silly.” Grandma Steiner replied. While she wasn’t into firearms herself, she knew owning guns was granted in the Constitution and she knew better than to take away basic rights of protecting your family. “Don’t let your father hear you talk that way.”

“I’ll talk however I please. It’s a free country.” Sophie missed the irony that she was touting the First Amendment while ignoring the Second.

Ω

“She was a Daisy lever-gun. Like the one I gave you.” Grandpa Steiner said to Jerome in answer to his question about Grandpa’s first gun. “Little pump-action BB gun.”

“Oh, cool!” Jerome replied, sipping some water after their first hour on the range. “I wish mom would let me shoot mine.”

“Well,” Grandpa Steiner spoke up, directing his voice sharper towards his daughter, “we’re all getting real guns after today!”

“Who taught you to shoot, grandpa?”

Grandpa Steiner smiled in a fog of memory. He had reached that age in life when the details were gone, but the emotions were stronger than ever. Funny thing about memories - as the exact words of conversations and clear visions melt away from our minds, our emotional connection to those moments grows stronger by the hour. “My grandpa taught me. Just like I’m teaching you. He showed me how to hold the rifle and how to breathe. He taught me about the sight picture and how to adjust my aim. That little Daisy rifle and I had countless adventures in my backyard and off in the woods of Pennsylvania at my friends grandpa’s cabin. Lots of dimes and beer bottles met the wrath of my blue steel beauty.”

Jerome giggled at his grandpa’s wink.

Sophie wasn’t giggling.

As Jerome and Grandpa Steiner talked, she was watching her husband shoot a .45 striker fire pistol as he got some impressive groups at 10 yards. Impressive for a “new” shooter.

“You look really comfortable doing that. Looks like you’ve done this before.” Sophie observed.

The big smile on Ryan’s face shrank a little when it tasted her expression. “Oh. Uh. Thanks.” Ryan gazed over to his father-in-law who shrugged. Ryan looked back to his wife and ambiguously grinned, “I guess I’ve had some good training today.”

“Just today?” Sophie asked, point blank.

“Oh, look!” Ryan pointed, “Looks like your mother is ready.”

Grandma Steiner, back from using the restroom, started for the tactical rifle on the table as Ryan walked over to her, and away from his incriminating conversation with his bride. “All set for the AR-15?”

Grandma Steiner clapped her hand together, “You betcha!”

All morning, Grandma Steiner had been outshooting everyone except Grandpa. She was an even better shot than her grandson. Her untapped talent with a firearm quickly began to transform her entire mentality and she started to develop a real love for shooting. Grandpa Steiner spent the rest of the day calling her Annie Oakley.

“Okay, honey. Now line up the red dot on the target and sloooowly pull back on the trigger. Just like the revolver. Very gently. Just like you did with all the others. You’re doing great, Little Sure Shot.” Grandpa Steiner instructed, as his wife pointed her AR-15 downrange.

Having shot the revolver and 1911 magnificently, she was still slightly intimidated by the threatening appearance of the rifle.

Her first round hit a quarter-inch from dead center at 15 yards.

The way Grandma Steiner was carrying on, Grandpa knew that he’d be out of ammo soon. Deciding to get stocked back up before that happened, Grandpa Steiner and David passed the main gate of the range after walking to the clubhouse to buy more ammunition.

Out on the main road, a number of protestors were staging an obnoxious anti-gun rally before the entrance gate. The fray of fear-mongering communist soccer moms and socialist hipsters who never served in the military, waved American flags and pretended to be patriots, while attempting to undermine the very foundations of the great nation Grandpa Steiner had fought to defend. They had grown very clever at disguising their oppressive fascism by simply looking the part of proud Americans.

They made Grandpa Steiner sick.

And unfortunately, they were there protesting every weekend.

On the better weeks, a stray bullet from the various ranges would sometimes, ahem... “ricochet” off a berm and send a few of the hipsters to the hospital or the morgue. In fact, one of their bodies was still laying in a ditch from last month, but no one had bothered to throw it away.

Neighbors had complained about the smell, so a news crew was on had doing their bi-annual media ratings frenzy to cover the protests. Grandpa Steiner immediately tried to avoid eye-contact when he spotted the reporters by the gate.

Damn. They saw him.

He walked a little faster and lowered the brim of his NRA baseball cap to cover his face and wiped a hand on his t-shirt bearing the words:

I Support Constitutional Carry

Hearing the reporter murmur with her cameraman, he cringed at their mumbles.

“... think that’s him.”

“... should get him on camera...”

“... bet that’s...”

“... no it isn’t...”

“... grab him before...”

Then the sound of briskly trotting feet over to Grandpa Steiner.

“Excuse me, sir! Sir?! Grandpa Steiner?”

Damnit.

As much as he wanted to avoid confronting this reporter, he realized this might be a great opportunity. He only had a week to turn humanity around. Shouldn’t he take every possible opportunity to get the word out?

Grandpa Steiner stopped in his tracks.

Turning to the reporter, he flashed his friendliest grin. “Yes, ma’am? What can I do for you?”

Ω

“This is Stacey Dash, reporting from Oaken Tree Gun Range where anti-gun protestors may have encountered a bit more than they bargained for, as this also happens to be the local range of the controversial Internet celebrity commonly known as Grandpa Steiner. Mr. Steiner, what kind of debates have you had to encounter with protestors today?”

As he stood on the inside of the gun range gate with David, while the group of two dozen protestors stood outside by the news crew, Grandpa Steiner smiled and spoke as if he were gently addressing a group of kindergartners. There wasn’t the slightest hint of antagonism or animosity in his voice. “Debates? Ohhhh, there’s really nothing to debate, Ms. Dash. Not when it comes to being a law-abiding firearms owner. The Second Amendment is clear. Nothing debatable about it. We the People have a right to keep and bear arms. A right that shall not be infringed. Crystal clear.”

“So, you are a firm believer in the United States Constitution?”

“More than that, ma’am. All American citizens have pledged allegiance to the principals of the republic for which the flag stands. We all have an obligation to uphold the ideals of the Constitution. And as a former member of our Armed Forces, I took an additional oath to uphold the Constitution and within that oath, I also swore to disobey any orders that contradict the Constitution. All police officers take that oath too. As do firefighters. The National Guard. Even all politicians right on up to the President.”

Upon hearing what Grandpa Steiner just said, a woman among the protestors screamed, “Bullshit! Police and military can’t disobey orders that are given to them!”

While most news crews would be upset to have their interview interrupted, this was exactly what Stacey Dash was hoping would happen. She motioned to the cameraman to get the protestor in frame. “What is your name, ma’am?”

“Lisa. Lisa Bloomberg.” Answered the woman. She was blonde and slightly overweight, same as all of the mothers who hated firearms.

Stacey asked, “And you think police and military can’t disobey an order?”

“Of course not! Once we outlaw these stupid guns, the local police will come take them, just like we want! Constitution or not!”

Still calm as ever, Grandpa Steiner replied, “No, ma’am. They will not. Only police officers and military personnel who are traitors to our nation will ever obey an order to confiscate firearms. All police and military are sworn to disobey that kind of order. Our oath states, I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.”

Lisa spat, “There is nothing in there on disobedience.”

“Wrong,” frowned Grandpa Steiner. “The oath clearly states that a solider or officer will obey orders according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. Therefore, any orders which go against the Constitution or against regulations in the Uniform Code of Military Justice must be disobeyed. Section 892, Article 92 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice states that a soldier may be subject to a court martial for failure to obey an order or regulation. However, the caveat in Paragraph 1 stipulates that a court martial is only applicable when that soldier violates or fails to obey any lawful general order or regulation. Lawful. That is the key word. Since it is unlawful to disobey the Constitution, the Uniform Code of Military Justice specifically implicates that unconstitutional orders are not valid and should not be followed. That is why any military or police officer who attempts to confiscate firearms is in direct violation of their oath, and traitors to our nation, according to the Constitution.”

Lisa scoffed. “You can’t be serious. Do you hear how crazy that sounds?”

Confused by her response, Grandpa Steiner wondered, “I’m sorry, ma’am. All I did was quote exact laws. What is crazy about reiterating laws which are already in place?”

A young boy, clearly barely in college, thought he could educate Grandpa Steiner by saying, “You gun nuts are all the same. You go on and on about traitors and loyalty and oaths. Second Amendment this! Second Amendment that! The Second Amendment is for a militia to have guns! You’re not a militia! That’s the police and military!”

“Pardon me, son, but I think you need to learn the definition of a few words. Do you know the actual words of the Second Amendment?”

The boy flushed, obviously caught unprepared and said, “Yes! A regulated militia can keep and bear arms. Or something like that!”

Even the reporter was rolling her eyes at his ignorance, but Stacy Dash said nothing.

“Or something like that?” Grandpa Steiner wiped his brow. “So, you want to revoke a right without knowing what it is?”

“I didn’t memorize the exact words!”

“You should, if you are trying to protest firearms, boy. Let me help you. The Second Amendment verbatim states, A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed. It does not say the right of the militia to keep and bear arms. It says the right of the people. The citizenry comprise the militia. Not the police. Not the military. All citizens are the militia. You. Me. Your mom. Your dad. All of us. We are the militia. That is what the word militia means - a body of citizen soldiers. Keeping and bearing arms, by the citizens, is a necessity to assure the security of a free state. It is always sad when innocent people are harmed by irresponsible gun owners or those who have criminal intentions. But why would you want to allow a few dozen accidents and the actions of a handful of mentally unstable people frighten you into relinquishing a right that has successfully ensured the freedom of hundreds of millions of people, for centuries?”

Lisa spoke up again, as the young boy who made a fool of himself cowered. “What about people!? What about the lives of innocent people!? Guns are killing innocents everyday! They are only made to kill people.”

“That is not true. Just like motor vehicles are used for many things like commuting and racing and ambulances and delivery trucks, guns are simply tools. Some are used for hunting game or self-defense from wildlife or target shooting in the Olympics or incapacitating burglars and rapists. Just like cars have many uses, guns are not designed solely to kill people. Not at all.” Grandpa Steiner stated plainly.

Another old lady spoke up, “Guns promote violence!”

“Violence is not a physical action, ma’am. Violence is a mental attitude. Violence isn’t what you do, rather it is why you it. A batter who accidentally hits a person in the head with a baseball bat during a baseball game is not exhibiting violence. Hunting someone down and deliberately bashing them in the skull with that same baseball bat is a violent action. Both people are committing the same physical assault: Hitting another human being with a baseball bat. One incident is violent. The other is not.”

The crowd actually hushed to murmurs, not sure how he was so eloquently deflecting their every accusation.

Grandpa Steiner shook his head, “And please don’t presume that I don’t care about the loss of innocent lives, ma’am. I care about people very deeply. Firearms are intended to protect We the People from tyranny. Which is why any lawmakers who attempt to implement gun confiscation laws, and anyone in America who attempts to confiscate our firearms, are to be ethically and legally executed by American citizens for violating our Constitution.”

The eyes of protestors flared in shock. The crowds looked almost gleeful that Grandpa Steiner just said something so inflammatory on television. This was wonderful! He was reinforcing their message that gun owners were violent and homicidal maniacs.

“You’re advocating that gun owners shoot our politicians now!?”

“I’m advocating their legal punishment of execution. Yes. Confiscating firearms is an act of war in violation of numerous elements of the Constitution. If the government attempts to steal those firearms by force, they are in violation of the Fourth Amendment: The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized. Enforcing unconstitutional laws is not probable cause, therefore a warrant can never be legally issued by the court. They are also in direct violation of the Fourteenth Amendment which states: No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws. First of all, any form of firearms restrictions abridge the Second Amendment. Second, none of these citizens were given due process of the law. They committed no crime. They were never arrested. They were never brought up on any charges. They were given no trial to ascertain their rights to their property. There was no due process. Therefore, the seizure of firearms will always be irrefutably illegal. Thirdly, unconstitutional laws never need to be obeyed by any citizen and they can not be enforced by anyone. Therefore, there can never be a due process to confiscate those firearms, because the laws themselves are illegal and the men who wrote those laws need to be arrested for treason. If the government does steal those firearms and fails to compensate for those firearms, they are in violation of the Fifth Amendment which states: nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation. So, madame, as you can plainly see, there are three very specific rights in the Constitution which prevent the government from seizing any of your property and four laws preventing them from seizing your firearms. No politician can ever pass any laws to undo these rights. No judge or court in the land has the power to undo these rights. Any government officials who attempt to undermine the Constitution are guilty of sedition. The court has no authority to enforce unconstitutional laws and if the court ever attempts to fine or imprison a citizen for speaking out against such injustices, the court becomes guilty of treason and violating the First Amendment. Regardless of their office or station, only those who are enemies of America will ever attempt to repeal or circumvent our Constitutional rights, as they are tyrants and dictators and enemies of We the People. And We the People know what must be done and what supreme law must be obeyed to defy tyranny - as the Declaration of Independence eloquently states: it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security. So, yes, those who try to take away our Second Amendment need to be killed. That’s always been the law of our land.”

Stacey Dash looked like a little girl at Christmas getting her favorite present. Another crazy Grandpa Steiner rant and she was breaking the story.

A young hipster with a scraggy beard and a fixie bicycle shouted, “You’re preaching domestic terrorism! You can be arrested for that! Terrorist! You terrorist! You’re threatening to kill American citizens!? Terrorist! You support terrorism!”

As always, Grandpa Steiner remained mellow and poised as he craned his body towards the young man, “Actually, no, sir. My words are patriotism, not terrorism. I am encouraging police and politicians and military personnel to uphold their oaths to defend the Constitution. I’m not encouraging criminal activity. I’m encouraging people to enforce Constitutional law. I can’t be arrested for saying all authorities have a duty to obey their vows. Seditious thoughts are not construed as treasonous, even if those thoughts endorse a violent revolution. Likewise, it is not illegal to publicly express subversive opinions, including criticism of the government or its policies. The First Amendment guarantees the right of all Americans to advocate the violent overthrow of their government, unless such advocacy is directed toward inciting imminent lawless action and is likely to produce it. This legal precedent has been upheld multiple times in the Supreme Court under the cases of Terminiello versus the City of Chicago in 1949, and in Brandenburg versus Ohio in 1969, and Hess versus Indiana in 1973. As far back as early last century, people have tried to suppress free speech and criminalize it, like you are right now. Many states even tried to pass laws and statutes to criminalize such speech, thanks to people like you. Back in 1931, the American Civil Liberties Union quoted a book written in 1903 by Professor Ernst Freund where he said ‘The Constitutional guaranty of freedom of speech and press and assembly demands the right to oppose all government and to argue that the overthrow of government can not be accomplished otherwise than by force; and the statutes referred to, in so far as they deny these rights, should consequentially be considered as unconstitutional.’”

The hipster and Lisa both lost a bit of the stiffness in their shoulders, impressed by the way Grandpa Steiner so gracefully rebuked everything they believed.

Continuing, Grandpa Steiner said, “Because reminding people of the law that sentences death to those who violate the Second Amendment is not a call to imminent lawless action, and it’s not likely any of you would take it upon yourselves to execute anyone, everything I’m saying is indisputably protected under the First Amendment.”

“I have the right to feel safe in my home. That’s my right. And I’d feel safer if my neighbors like you didn’t have guns.”

Grandpa Steiner scoffed, “Nice try, but your right to feel safe does not supersede my right to liberty. You may think you’re exhibiting strength and resilience by spouting these statements, but truth be told, I’ve never been impressed by self-serving egocentric hipster scumbags who have never done a single thing in their life for the betterment of another human being, boasting about their defiance of authority in order to preserve imaginary ‘rights’ they have invented and believe they are entitled to receive, while attempting to repeal the inalienable rights of others. The sooner you pieces of trash end up being nothing more than a nameless white bicycle, the better off the world will be.”

The hipster boy nearly cried as he slinked silently back into the crowd. He was unprepared for anything so brutally honest.

Another protestor growled, “You just want to murder people with your filthy guns! You’re like that babykiller who shot up that school last month!”

David tried to usher his dad away, “Okay, I think -”

“ - Hold on, butch. I’m just getting started,” Grandpa Steiner yanked David’s hand away and turned to the protestor. Very calmly, Grandpa Steiner explained, “No, ma’am. Not at all. I’m not saying I want to murder anyone. In fact, I’m very sorry to say it, but those lawmakers need to be put to death, because the law of the land clearly states that is their punishment. You see, according to the United States Constitution, Article 3, Section 3, treason against the United States, shall consist only in levying War against them, or in adhering to their Enemies, giving them Aid and Comfort. It goes on to say that the Congress shall have power to declare the Punishment of Treason.”

“Abolishing guns is not an act of treason!”

“Ah, but it is, madame. By legal definition, to abolish or limit the Second Amendment is clearly treason, because it is an act of war.”

“An act of war!? Oh, you’re nuts!”

“No, ma’am. I can prove it.” Grandpa Steiner waved a hand across the crowd and announced, “While all of you scream like children and react with emotions and rhetoric, I can calmly back up everything I’m saying with concrete laws and legal documents. First, you must understand the legal meaning of the phrase ‘levying war’. According to Black’s Law Dictionary, which was published in 1891 and is the most common legal dictionary in the United States, the definition of levying war means, The assembling of a body of men for the purpose of effecting by force a treasonable object; and all who perform any part, however minute, or however remote from the scene of action, and who are leagued in the general conspiracy, are considered as engaged in levying war, within the meaning of the Constitution.”

The reporter was delighted that she was getting to cover what was fast becoming another inevitably famous Grandpa Steiner moment. Prodding him for more, she nodded, and tipped her microphone, “So, you contend, for lawmakers to institute a law to confiscate firearms and to assemble a police force to do so, by legal definition, they are all guilty of levying war against the Constitution?”

Grandpa Steiner smiled and spoke as gently as though he were telling a story about savoring honeydew melons at a summer cabin. “Precisely, my dear. Let’s not forget statements made by former Attorney General Eric Holder who said in 1995, ‘We have to be repetitive about this. We need to do this every day of the week, and just really brainwash people into thinking about guns in a vastly different way.’ Once again, a man who swore an oath to uphold the Constitution is publicly and deliberately trying to undermine it and speaking of brainwashing the people. During his time in office, he also became the only Attorney General in all of United States history to be held in contempt of Congress and civil contempt for withholding evidence regarding his involvement in Operation Fast & Furious, which was an ATF program responsible for putting thousands of firearms in the hands of violent Mexican drug cartels. Those are irrefutable facts and a matter of public record. Those are the sort of treasonous men the anti-gun lobby supports. Now, in point of fact, Congress has decided the punishment for treason. If you look at Chapter 18 of the United States Code, it says, Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death.”

The protestor was fuming, but speechless. Grandpa Steiner left her stammering. He continued by saying, “Put all of these things together and it becomes quite clear that if any citizen, or soldier, or police officer, or politician attempts to violate the Bill of Rights, or undermine the Constitution in any way, those people are to be executed. They all owe allegiance to the United States, because of their oath to uphold the Constitution. Any attempt to violate the Constitution by abolishing firearm ownership, legally means they are levying war against the United States, and therefore committing treason, as defined in Black’s Law Dictionary. Treason is punishable by death, as defined in the United States Code. Understood? It’s really quite simple. I’m not advocating anything illegal. I’m telling you what our laws demand.”

The reporter and cameraman exchanged glances, uncertain of what to make of everything Grandpa Steiner just said. Lisa just shook her head, as if some sort of body language denial could shake off the discomfort she was feeling.

Grandpa Steiner added, “Since the Bill of Rights are rights intrinsic to human nature, they can never be eliminated, and any attempt to repeal or rewrite those Amendments is an act of war against the United States. Anyone who tries to take away our freedom of speech, or our guns, or our right to a trial, or enter our homes illegally, or any of the other seven amendments, can legally and ethically be killed as traitors, committing treason against We the People. This isn’t nuts or crazy. These are a small handful of simple laws and legal definitions. There’s really nothing to debate or contend. These rules have been established centuries ago and they have applied throughout our lifetimes and the lifetimes of our parents and grandparents.”

Stacy Dash looked at Lisa. Attempting to have some composure, as she realized she and the other protestors were screaming like lunatics while Grandpa Steiner had remained utterly placid, Lisa conceded, “Well, well, maybe people can have little cowboy guns or shotguns or hunting rifles. But no one needs those high-capacity automatic pistols and assault weapons! Kids are using those to murder students!”

After speaking so eloquently, Grandpa Steiner suddenly snapped.

That was the last straw.

Aliens were going to destroy humanity in a week and he was still arguing this crap with these braindead morons? He had enough.

You could see it in his eyes, a certain pent up rage began to roil over in his bones. Maybe it was his frustration at being seen as a joke. Maybe it was his fear of the impending Tau Ceti attack. But mostly, it was the overwhelming grief and pain at knowing his grandson Jerome would never live a full life. Knowing all the things Jerome would never get to experience. The moment the protestors brought up kids being killed, Grandpa Steiner went ballistic.

“Oh, there you go again! Always back to the students, isn’t it? The kids. The children. You anti-gun Thought Police just love to stand on the corpses of dead kids to spew your rhetoric, don’t you? Over and over and over again - you always use the tragic death of children as fuel for your agenda. Toss their corpses on your fire like kindling. You just play to the fears of parents. Scare them with wild claims! Manipulate people by making them think their kids are in danger and you can force people to do anything you want. Right? You’re sick. That’s disgusting and immoral and disrespectful to the life of every child who has died. You try to get parents to ban guns when kids are killed? Give me a break! Anytime some psychotic douchezipper college kid or high schooler decides to go on a killing spree, some stupid fucking parents like you start blaming gun manufacturers instead of blaming your own incompetence as parents.”

“My incompetence!?”

“Damn right! When a kid shoots up a school, it is your fault. A parent is to blame. Who failed to teach that child to cherish human life? Who failed to notice that kid needed psychological help? Who failed to give that child the emotional support they needed to deal with their problems? Who failed to make the kid feel loved and valued? There has never been a single incident of a happy and healthy person going on a shooting rampage. Never! You know that? Not one! All people who commit these heinous crimes are always unloved outcasts who have been alienated by their families and friends. These kids were not being raised by firearms. Guns were not tucking them in bed each night. You never call to ban cars when drunk drivers kill people! You never call to ban kitchen knives when someone stabs his family to death! You didn’t want to ban airplanes after the Twin Towers collapsed! But you are fucking stupid enough to think guns should be banned when your psycho kids start shooting people? Handguns are never responsible for the behavior of homicidal kids. Parents are. Parents. You are responsible. Parents are the ones who are accountable for the ethics and morality and mental health of these murderous children. Parents are the ones who need to answer for these atrocities, not inanimate objects. The only job of a parent is to raise a child to become an upstanding and productive member of society. That’s all. That is all you need to do! When you gutless fathers and vapid soccer moms fail at your one task so utterly that your children become serial killers, you worthless parents never look to yourselves as being responsible. You will blame everything else in our culture. You blame guns. You blame movies. You blame videogames. You blame pornography. Not once do you put the blame where it truly belongs - square on your own shoulders and inadequacy as a parent. The truth is, you monstrous mothers and fathers are disgusting people who had no business raising children in the first place! How can homicidal psychopaths be expected to possess morality or ethics when their parents never admit responsibility for their own failures? Good parents don’t raise sociopaths and killers. Rapists and murderers do not come from loving and supportive families. Guns are never the problem. Parents are!”

“How dare you!”

Grandpa Steiner growled, “Shut the fuck up! And if you don’t listen to me, aliens will destroy the Earth in less than a week!”

The clamor of protestors stopped and nothing could be heard but distant birds on the wind and the echo of gunshots.

Having nothing else to say, Grandpa Steiner adjusted his cap and bid the reporter a good day. He was so livid, he stormed off ahead of David.

David stood frozen next to the reporter and the protestors who were all staring at the back of Grandpa Steiner in dead silence.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

Everyone just stood there, dumbfounded by what he just said.

Lisa nearly dropped her “No NRA” sign and quietly muttered, “He was so articulate. He almost changed my opinions entirely... until he got to that last sentence.”

David chuckled awkwardly and jogged to catch up with his father.

Ω

Hours later, while they were packing up the last of their firearms, Grandpa Steiner lectured both Jerome and Ryan. “Boys, never make the mistake of thinking the Bill of Rights are rights given to the people by the government. Not at all. In truth, it is quite the opposite. The Bill of Rights are intrinsic human rights that We the People demand the government must recognize and never attempt to undermine. And according to the Declaration of Independence, if our government ever attempts to take those rights away, citizens have a duty to start forming a militia to remove people from office by force, if necessary.”

Jerome puzzled, “But I thought the Bill of Rights were rights the government gave us. They never taught us anything about it in school.”

“School never taught you the Bill of Rights?”

“No, sir. They just taught us that pilgrims were terrorists for killing Native Americans.”

“WHAT!?” Grandpa Steiner nearly dropped his gun case. His gaze quickly fired into Ryan. “What kind of school are you sending my grandson to!?”

Ryan looked just as stunned. “I, uh, I... I don’t know. Jerome, that’s wrong! The pilgrims weren’t terrorists! They were settlers and homesteaders.”

“Teacher said that we could only learn history in school. That parents might confuse us.”

“What is that supposed to mean!?”

“I can only learn from teachers.”

“You hearing this? That is some Hitler Youth conditioning right there.” Grandpa Steiner warned Ryan, “Next thing you know, he’ll be taught to report you for driving over the speed limit.”

“Sorry, Grandpa. Seemed kind of crazy to me too. But I didn’t want to say anything. I figured it was better to play along.” Jerome confessed and it brought immense relief to both his dad and grandfather who had begun to worry that they might have to abandon Jerome on an ice floe somewhere.

“You’re a smart kid, butch.” Grandpa Steiner grinned.

“Thanks, grandpa. My school is messed up. Did I tell you about Pony Boy?”

“Pony Boy?”

Ryan groaned, “Oh, you’re going to love this story.”

“Why? Who’s Pony Boy?”

Jerome guffawed and said, “Pony Boy is what everyone calls this one kid in my school. His name is Grayson Brusch, but no one calls him that.”

“Gayson?”

“Grayson.”

“Oh,” Grandpa Steiner nodded. “Sounds like ’gay-son’. That’s an awful name. So, why does everyone call him Pony Boy?”

“He’s in like, the third grade, and he was bringing a My Tiny Pony lunchbox to school.”

“Why?” Grandpa Steiner asked. “I mean, it’s one thing if a preschool boy has something like that. But the third grade? He’s a little too old for that, isn’t he?”

Jerome laughed, “Exactly! That’s why everyone makes fun of him.”

“So, why doesn’t he just get a different lunchbox?”

“That’s what everyone said! Even the school said that! You would think he’d just get a new lunchbox and that would be the end of it. But then his mother turned it into this big issue and it was all over the news and stuff.”

“The news? For what?”

“Well, after the school said he should leave the lunchbox at home for triggering bullying, his mother was like, ‘Saying a lunchbox is a trigger for bullying is like saying a short skirt is a trigger for rape.’”

Grandpa Steiner’s forehead dropped 6 inches and his jaw nearly hit the ground. “Wow. Are you serious? No. She did not say that.”

Ryan backed up his son, “Oh, yes, she did. I saw the news report.”

Shaking his head, Grandpa Steiner commented, “The woman actually had the gall to compare her little sissy boy getting bullied with a girl being sexually assaulted? As if those things are remotely similar? Good Lord. What a disrespectful comparison against rape victims. That’s disgusting. That broad is an idiot. This is why most people should not be permitted to breed. Poor little boy is probably coddled by his mother and taught never to hit back, when his dad should be showing him how to use a punching bag.”

Jerome shrugged a shoulder, “Oh, no. Pony Boy can’t fight at all. He starts crying.”

“Well, I hope you didn’t pick on him too.” Grandpa Steiner chided.

“Oh, no, sir. But I’ve seen him in the school office, crying.”

“Well, the school is 100% correct. My Tiny Pony is for girls. Adults seem to forget that children and adults live in the exact same world. The ‘protected’ universe of sunshine and rainbows that adults think children live in is a lie. Kids are mean and cruel and all these sissies who whine about ‘bullying’ these days forget that teasing and taunting fellow human beings for being ‘different’ has been happening since... oh, the beginning of mankind. Just because a bunch of soccer moms want to breed a generation of wimps who never throw a punch doesn’t mean kids are going to stop picking on each other. Get that little pansy a Darth Vader lunchbox and give My Tiny Pony to his sister where it belongs.”

“You’re absolutely right.” Ryan agreed, but then added, “But the parents of the boy were ready to sue the school and plenty of parents supported them.”

“What!? Sue the school for what? Because kids are picking on some sissy? Adults who get angry at the school, and call for lawsuits, are vile and horrible human beings looking to use their children as pawns to push their own political agendas. Kids are not faggots to stoke in the fire of grownup idealism.” Grandpa Steiner rubbed a slightly stubbly chin and sighed, “Heartbreaking story, really. Revolting indeed. Funny, but when I was a kid, the solution was far more simple. I got bullied. I beat the living crap out of the bully. The bullying stopped. No need for news reports or lawsuits. Then again, I wasn’t some candyass sissy running around with a My Tiny Pony lunchbox either.”

“One of our teachers Mrs. Shadel -”

“Linda Shadel? The one you had in second grade?”

“Yeah. Her. She wrote this big article in the school blog and she said lots of little boys play with dolls. She said this is a free country supposedly, so this little boy has as much right to carry that lunchbox as any little girl. Doesn’t make him a ‘sissy’ or a ‘pansy’. She said attitudes like that need to be stuffed where the sun don’t shine!”

“She wrote that in a school blog!? That’s pretty inappropriate language for a teacher to be using.”

“Yeah. Lots of people thought so.”

“Well, Jerome, the Thought Police moms are really taking over our culture, because unfortunately their husbands let them out of the kitchen and taught them to use the Internet. Now, they rally together on comments and try to make the world conform to their suburban Stepford Wife idealism.”

Ryan chuckled, “Don’t let the ladies hear you say that.”

“Oh! The ladies!” Grandpa Steiner startled, realizing they had all been standing around the firing line talking while Sophie and Grandma Steiner had been waiting by the car this whole time.

Ryan and Jerome both realized it too and grabbed their things.

“Oh, shoot!”

“Darn. Grab that bag.”

As they started walking again, Grandpa Steiner glanced over at Jerome and said, “Well, let me tell you something about the Pony Boy kid. Here’s the problem with a 9 year old boy bringing a My Tiny Pony lunchbox to school: We are all told that the world is what we make of it. That’s a very adorable and endearing sentiment, but it’s also widely misunderstood. The keyword is ‘we’ - the world is what ‘we’ make of it. Not what ‘you’ make of it. This is a vital distinction.”

Grandpa Steiner wagged his finger like a lecturing professor. “You can possess all the individual ideals and hopes and nobility and righteousness you want. But the reality of the world is not based solely upon your desires. The reality is based upon the collective free-will of humanity.

“Not only are the Gestapo soccer moms physiologically incapable of forcing people to conform to their beliefs, but they would be morally and ethically wrong if they did. The fact of the matter is, yes, in their ideal world of puppuydogs and sunshine and hippies licking lollipops, a 9 year old boy should be able to take any lunchbox to school that he wants. My Tiny Pony. Maybe a Ku Klux Klan thermos. Perhaps a Swastika backpack. Right? That’s all freedom of expression. But the world does not revolve around their ideals. Other kids are going to mock that child. Period. And no matter how much that bothers them, no matter how much that upsets them, no matter how much it goes against their idealism, it’s still going to happen.”

“Yeah. I feel bad for him. I do think his parents were kind of using him just to get famous on TV or something.” Ryan observed.

Readjusting the weight of the duffel on his shoulder, Jerome asked, “So, what was it you were saying earlier? We got sidetracked. You said the government did not give us the Bill of Rights?”

“Ah, yes. I never finished explaining that to you. No, Jerome. The Bill of Rights was not written for the people by the government. It was written by the people to keep the government in line. The government has never and will never possess the authority to alter or revoke The Bill of Rights. The government didn’t grant those rights to the people. In fact, it’s exactly the opposite. We the People ordered our government to obey these inalienable rights and we have made it clear that none of these rights can ever be taken away. Remember, son, the Second Amendment has never been a right that was bequeathed to us by the government. The Second Amendment goes far beyond that. It’s a natural human right to defend yourself. That right has always existed and will always exist. The Bill of Rights is a direct order to the government that they can never infringe upon the rights we were born with, and what’s more, the Second Amendment serves as a reminder to all citizens that we have an obligation to be armed in defense of freedom.”

Jerome thought hard about what grandpa just said.

Human right.

Untouchable edict.

Obligation.

Three very big principals that are clearly stated, once you read the Second Amendment carefully. “I understand.”

“Good, butch.”

The three generations of men headed back to the car where the ladies were already waiting. Jerome and his father carried the targets while Grandpa Steiner carried the gun cases. He was proud of all of them. Even Sophie eventually relented and fired a few rounds. Like most hoplophobic people, you could see a spark of enjoyment in her eyes once Sophie started squeezing off a few rounds. No matter how much people claim to hate guns, they always get a thrill out of shooting, once a responsible gun owner takes the time to safely teach and train them.

Grandpa Steiner was most proud of his wife, of course. She was a natural. The woman shot better than any other first-timer he had ever seen, and he’d seen a lot of them over the years.

Although he was proud of his family, Grandpa Steiner had mixed feelings about the day. He knew everyone thought he and Jerome were crazy for believing this nutty hoax about an alien invasion. But he and Jerome knew it was no hoax. If the things Dr. Sagan said were true, all the gun training in the world won’t make a bit of difference when their ships can literally eat our planet.

“The Second protects The First?” Jerome muttered.

“What was that?” David asked.

Jerome spoke up. “Oh, nothing. I just saw it on that guy’s t-shirt. It said ‘The Second protects The First’ and I was trying to figure out what it meant.”

Grandpa Steiner explained, happy to be distracted from his thoughts of impending alien doom, “That’s a reference to the Bill of Rights too. The Second Amendment exists in order to assure the First Amendment is never violated.”

“Oh. That’s cool.” Jerome mulled it over with a bite on his cheek then questioned, “But doesn’t the Second Amendment defend all of the other Amendments? Not just the First?”

Grandpa Steiner grinned and rubbed Jerome’s head, “You need to go into the t-shirt business. ‘The Second protects The Rest’. Right?”

“Yeah!” Jerome chuckled, momentarily dreaming of his multi milliondollar t-shirt business and wondering if he’d live to see it happen.

“Remember, butch, there are millions of misguided Americans who will tell you the First Amendment doesn’t give you the freedom to say anything you want, it merely prevents the government from creating laws to silence you. This is absolutely not true. The First Amendment reminds the government that because all citizens have the inexorable freedom to always speak our minds, the government will never have any authority to infringe our right. See the difference?”

“Yes, sir!” Jerome nearly saluted.

Back in the range shop, Jerome almost picked up a t-shirt that read:

Never Question Authority!... Outright Disobey It!

Grandpa Steiner reminded Jerome that following the leadership of noble and intelligent authority figures is a good thing. Only those who would seek to use authority to undermine freedom and liberty should be defied.

Thinking it over, instead, Jerome picked out a different t-shirt his mother instantly hated, which said:

Obeying Unconstitutional Laws is Treason

Failing to understand the full power and meaning of the Constitution, Sophie mistakenly believed such a statement was an antagonistic opinion and didn’t realize it was actually a legal fact.

Ω

As the family drove away from the firing range and the protestors faded in the distance of the rearview mirror, all of the resolve Grandpa Steiner had felt somehow started to drain away.

What was the point?

Did he honestly think people like that would ever fight for anything?

These bleeding-heart pansies who want to ban everything, and fear offending anyone, would never have the guts to defend their own lives, let alone be willing to kill to uphold an ideal or protect the world.

With all these horrible people on the planet, people who were so willing to remain ignorant, people ready to give up their freedoms to tyranny, people so afraid of different viewpoints they wanted to silence the opposition instead of debating it, Grandpa Steiner began to think, maybe, the aliens hadn’t been too harsh on us after all.

Maybe there was no hope for humanity.

Maybe our self-destruction was inevitable.

With a heavy heart, Grandpa Steiner thought, maybe the aliens were right all along. He knew he shouldn’t think that way. He should cling to a sense of hope. But what if hope was wrong? Looking at those ignorant protestors, who hated their fundamental rights so much they wanted to steal them from everyone, Grandpa Steiner realized the aliens made a good point to condemn humans for how dumb and worthless and trivial people are as a species.

Was any of this really worth fighting for?

Ω

PLANET TEN REPORT ON BALD MONKEY OBSERVATIONS #977:

Wise members of bald monkey society established rules to assure all individual members of their species would possess irrevocable rights to defend themselves and their culture from hostile invasions and bodily harm. After centuries of peace, ignorant bald monkeys eventually developed a false sense of security and became obsessed with repealing all of these rights, thereby leaving every member of their society open to violent attacks and the inevitable historical repeat of tyrannical oppression. Conforming to their repetitive use of dystopian propaganda, the monkeys tend to use mass media reports (typically involving death and mourning while perpetuating the false and irrational fear of harm befalling youthful monkeys) as manipulative tactics to sway their agenda onto the citizenship at large. Obviously idiotic behavior to more advanced species, the monkeys who oppose weaponry will thankfully make our potential ground invasion far easier... But what do you expect from a bunch of monkeys?

END REPORT

Chapter Eighteen

The theme music for The Bill Stewart Show faded out as he looked to his studio audience and announced, “Welcome back to The Bill Stewart Show. I am your host, Bill Stewart, coming to you from the beautiful Studio Center television studios in lovely New York City! My guest tonight is known on the Internet as Grandpa Steiner and he’s created quite a stir of controversy over these past few weeks with what some say are very antiquated opinions on our culture.”

Such an understatement elicited a mumble of laughs from the crowd. Bill Stewart continued, “But none of that compares to the latest bizarre turn of events in the urban legend of Grandpa Steiner as he now claims that he is an envoy for an alien invasion and he was chosen to warn the people of Earth. Take a look at this viral video clip that has been spreading all across the Internet.”

Monitors in the studio flickered to life with the video of Grandpa Steiner and Dr. Sagan at the zoo. When the children were vaporized, the audience laughed, as if they were watching a campy science fiction film.

At the same time, the video was broadcast to all the television viewers and millions of people all across America had the same reaction - laughter. This was clearly fake. People presumed this was an elaborate hoax for a movie deal or something.

“Or perhaps you saw this video?” Bill Stewart announced.

The screens showed the interview with Stacey Dash. Taking the entire thing out of context, the clip cut out everything Grandpa Steiner had talked about, except the very end where he cussed and told people aliens would destroy the Earth if no one listened to him.

The audience groaned, convinced he was insane or faking.

“Now, wait. Wait.” Bill told his audience, “This story gets stranger. We also have with us parents Fred and Leah Hutchinson along with Richard and Michelle Villa who claim, in fact, this is not a hoax and their children were among the dozen you see disintegrated in that clip.”

An uncomfortable murmur shimmered over the crowd.

None of them knew how to respond to that.

“Please welcome Grandpa Steiner, the Hutchinson’s and the Villa’s.”

As everyone came onto the stage, they were all visibly shaken. This clearly wasn’t a joke to any of them. Things were dire and they had no other choice.

Taking their seats, Bill welcomed his visitors. “Great to have you on the show.”

The guests thanked him, and Bill launched right into it. “Now, I have to ask right off the bat, what the hell is going on here? Aliens? You expect us to believe this? Come on, people. Seriously? What’s your angle here? This has to be some kind of hoax.”

Leah spoke up before anyone else could, her voice quivering, “This is no hoax! You think I’m going to come on national television and make a joke about my daughter dying!?”

Bill Stewart had no compassion and very nearly laughed in her face. “So, you honestly expect us to believe that an alien from another planet vaporized your daughter at the zoo? What about the other parents? Why aren’t they speaking out?”

“The other parents don’t believe it.” Grandpa Steiner explained, shaking his head. His tone of voice was different now. He didn’t sound nearly as abrasive as he had in the past. He sounded genuinely frightened. “They are convinced the school was somehow negligent. The authorities are treating this as a missing persons case.”

“So, they think this was a kidnapping?” Bill Stewart smugly replied.

“This was no kidnapping!” Richard Villa exclaimed.

Grandpa Steiner cried out in desperation. “You can clearly see Dr. Sagan strike out at the children in the video! I know! I was there. My grandson was there! This isn’t a hoax! We only have 4 more days before the full invasion will attack us!”

“Ah, yes.” Bill Stewart scoffed, “The alien invasion. You maintain aliens will appear and destroy the planet in under a week.”

The audience began to laugh.

Grandpa Steiner grew visibly angrier, his face quivering. “No! I’ve explained this to your producers and on my blog over and over again! They are not coming here to destroy the earth. They are coming to destroy us. Humanity. To wipe us out. Because they don’t have any faith that we’ll survive our own idiocy. We’ll destroy our environment. We’ll continue to poison our resources and overpopulate the earth until our planet is uninhabitable. By killing us, they preserve the biosphere!”

All of it remained a joke to the host, “Let me guess. You are all advocates against gun control? This is a plot to make sure citizens remain armed?”

Grandpa Steiner screamed, “Listen you ignorant little shit! This isn’t a conspiracy hoax. All the gun control nutjobs who are so worried about people owning guns, those people are the biggest morons of all.”

“That’s rich. Gun control patriots are being called nutjobs by a man who insists there will be an alien invasion.” Bill laughed as he sipped some coffee.

The audience howled with him.

“Those who seek to ban firearms are traitors, not patriots! How dare you! Don’t you understand there won’t be an invasion.” Grandpa Steiner explained wearily. “They will wipe us out without firing a shot. And what do the gun control freaks think they’re going to do? You honestly think you can bunker down in your home with a cellphone and the police or a SWAT team will come protect you from an alien assault? If they want to haul you away, you’re getting hauled away. Your cellphone won’t protect you from that. But none of that bullshit is going to matter in four more days. Because this isn’t a fight we can win!”

Bill twisted his words around, “Clearly, you are advocating that American citizens arm themselves and be prepared to attack any SWAT teams or authority figures. That’s a bold statement to make on national television. Let’s take some questions from the audience.”

“What!? That’s not what I said!” Grandpa Steiner replied indignantly. “You can riot in the streets and topple world governments and you will never get a finger on the aliens when they arrive!”

“So you are advocating rioting and a revolution against the government?” Bill Stewart asked, “You’re encouraging citizens to begin a civil war?”

“No! I am not! Aren’t you listening to me!?”

The two sets of parents became riled and started arguing against Bill Stewart as well.

Out in the audience, a woman stood before a microphone.

“Hello, Bill,” she said.

“Hello. You have a question for our guests?”

“Bill, my question is for you.”

“Okay.”

“My name is Gail Horalek and I was wondering why you were even permitting these people to say this kind of filth on television. This kind of talk should not be allowed.”

“It’s excellent for ratings, Gail.” Bill Stewart joked, even though it wasn’t a joke.

“This is no better than that sexually deviant pornography written by that little Jewish girl.”

“Little Jewish girl?”

“Yes. My daughter, at Meads Mill Middle School, was being taught from that pornographic Anne Frank diary. Well, don’t you know I marched right in the administration and gave them a piece of my mind, I tell you! I demanded to have that garbage removed from our school. You should care the same about your show!”

Bill Stewart looked at Gail and asked, “You’re saying you got The Diary of Anne Frank banned from your daughter’s school as pornography?”

“Absolutely! That book is inappropriate. There are passages discussing female sexual organs.”

Grandpa Steiner lashed out. “What!? You can’t even say the words? Vagina? Labia? No wonder you are scared to have your daughter read it. God forbid your sheltered child might learn something in school. You’re so repressed, you can’t even use medical terminology to describe body parts?”

“No!” The woman argued. “It doesn’t mean my child is sheltered, it doesn’t mean I live in a bubble and it doesn’t mean I’m trying to ban books.”

The audience clapped in support of the braindead mother and Grandpa Steiner thought he was going to faint. He was nauseated and the studio began to spin. The old man shouted, “Yes, it does mean you’re trying to ban books, you fucking idiot! That’s like a wife catching her husband sleeping with another woman and he says, ‘I’m not cheating on you.’ Oh, really? What else do you call it!? Verbally denying your actions doesn’t mean you’re magically no longer committing them! Mind blowing. You are banning books, you ignorant, evil, fucking fascist whore! People truly have the ability to rationalize and justify anything they do.”

Bill Stewart, surprisingly, sounded like he was siding with Grandpa Steiner for a moment, saying, “Let me get this straight. I need to see if I understand you clearly. A little girl who was murdered in an inhuman, brutal genocide wrote a book about her fears and her experiences and you find passages about her labia to be offensive? Millions of people being starved and skinned and gassed and burned alive is fine with you. You have no problem with that. But the thought of a 12 year old girl mentioning the existence of her clitoris disgusts you?”

“Amen!” Gail said proudly.

Grandpa Steiner lost it. “Sit the fuck down before I knock you down, you ignorant bitch.”

The audience groaned in shock.

Gail, flustered at his outburst stumbled awkwardly away from the microphone back to her seat.

“I give up,” Grandpa Steiner groaned, his hand over his face.

In that very moment, something had snapped inside him.

Less than one week.

How the hell was Grandpa Steiner supposed to save the human race in one week? This was impossible.

They were too stupid to be saved.

There was no hope.

He began screaming, but he wasn’t really aware of what he was saying. “You have to stop being such shitheads! Stop acting like such morons! Stop watching inane television shows and stop eating like pigs and stop thinking intelligence is something to be ashamed of and stop thinking every sorrow in your life requires medication.”

The crowd was laughing.

Bill Stewart mocked and said, “So that’s your last gasp, great plea for humanity, is it?”

“No,” Grandpa Steiner somberly replied, his gaze defeated and watching the patterns in the carpet. “There is no plea. Not anymore. I give up. I don’t think you’re going to make it. The aliens are right to kill us. We would do it ourselves anyway. They are right. There is no hope for us. There never has been. They are simply accelerating the inevitable. The aliens don’t even matter anymore. Humanity has always been doomed.

“I give up on all of you. The truth is, I gave up a long time ago. I gave up on humanity because you fucking idiots honestly think there are invisible gods floating in the sky. You evil feebleminded sleazebags who are slimier than a trail of snail mucus and will murder little girls and wives in the name of your gods because some ancient bullshit book tells you it is justified. You brutal and horrid monsters, who killed hundreds of millions of people in your Crusades and Inquisitions and colonialism, but somehow your church of rape and murder and pedophile clergymen with a Nazi Pope is absolved from those crimes, just because more than 50% of the earth is ignorant and deranged enough to follow your evil deathcult.

“I gave up on humanity because you greedy little pricks with your unjustified sense of entitlement think crowdfunding is a justified way to panhandle for money.

“I gave up on humanity because 40 years after people marched and fought for women’s liberation and Civil Rights, the only thing women used it for was dressing like whores on television and in nightclubs and accusing people of ‘bullying’ and ‘slut-shaming’ if you call them out on their indecency; while the only thing the benefactors of Civil Rights have done is buy ‘bling’ and rims and make music about slapping bitches and hoes.

“I gave up on humanity because you’re stupid enough to believe the fiction of political parties and you’re dumb enough to think Presidential voting actually makes a difference, even after you’re told how the Electoral College works.

“I gave up because you’re too greedy to stop pouring 30 billion tons of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere every year. Because soccer moms want to ban guns every time someone gets shot, but they never want to ban knives when someone gets stabbed, or ban cars when someone is killed by a drunk driver, or ban airplanes when an aircraft plunges into the ocean.

“I gave up because you argue over people getting their feelings hurt over words like ‘faggot’ and ‘nigger’ and ‘retard’ while ignoring true problems in the world like rape and murder and starvation and corporate thugs shipping every damn job overseas.

“I gave up on humanity because none of you can think for yourselves and you only have a few days left before you’re all going to die screaming. And it won’t be until that moment, when it’s too late, that you finally understand I was right all along, and this crazy old man could have helped save you all, if only you hadn’t been so goddamn ignorant.”

Looking directly into the camera, Grandpa Steiner announced, “More than anything, I want you to remember that. All of you who laugh at me and mock me and think I’m a crackpot, I want you to remember my words. When you die your horrible death, mere hours from now, I want the last thought going through your miniscule brain to be of me. I want you to remember my words and perish, filled with the horror of knowing I was right about everything I ever said, and you were the fools all along. Millions of you are watching this right now. Millions more will see this online. I want all of you to remember me as you die. Don’t forget. I could have saved us all. Instead, you will all die, because you are too stupid not to.”

The audience was cheering and hooting and clapping.

Bill Stewart grinned, “And on that cheerful note, let’s hear a word from our sponsors! Be sure to stay tuned for my next guest, Shannon Potts, the founder of Moms Demand Tyranny, a militant Thought Police lobbyist group, using the deaths of children as a way to frighten the American public into repealing the Second Amendment.”

Ω

TAU CETI REPORT ON BALD MONKEY OBSERVATIONS #232:

Obsessed with forming collective social structures, yet unable to think for themselves, bald monkeys have developed a need to appoint certain tribal members into leadership roles. This absolves monkeys from responsibility for their own actions and decisions and allows the monkeys to adopt scapegoats for all which ails their societal structures. Deceptive and shrewd monkeys long ago took control of the appointment processes granted to the ignorant masses of monkeydom, thereby assuring only certain monkeys of the proper social standing are ever placed into positions of monkey power. Unaware of the extent to which their systems are manipulated, the oblivious masses of bald monkeys continue to participate in meaningless acts of appointing chiefs who have already been preselected. The ignorance of the monkey population is so overwhelming, that many are under the delusion their opinions matter even when the governing monkeys publicize the existence of things like colleges which make electoral decisions. Obviously idiotic behavior to more advanced species, the monkeys actually think this shit is important... But what do you expect from a bunch of monkeys?

END REPORT

Chapter Nineteen

Grandpa Steiner was pulling out of his driveway, headed to the convenience store for some Werther’s, when the police cars screeched to a halt in front of his house.

“Mr. Steiner! Please exit the vehicle slowly with your hands where we can see them!”

Ω

“Can ya’ll let me get this straight?” Tyrese Washington asked Grandpa Steiner in the holding cell. “You was arrested in fronta you own house, for incitin’ a riot, because of what you said on a television show, and da Innanet, three days earlier?”

“That’s correct. I said things about killing aliens and they said I was encouraging a civil war.”

“Say whaaat!? Grandpa, that all is some bullshit right there!”

LaRhonda Cruz, a woman cordoned off in the female cell eavesdropped and agreed, “That’s not right for them to do that to you!”

“Hardly seems important anymore. The world will end today anyway. I only wish I could have spent my final hours with my family.”

Tyrese didn’t acknowledge his doomsday prediction, but instead said, “Yo, I saw somma yo shit on teevee, man. An da radio too. I dug what you said. ‘When the lights go out, we all niggers.’ That was some cool shit, my man.”

“You liked that?”

“Amen to that, brother!”

LaRhonda spoke up. “But you can’t be saying the n-word like that. Loco old white man.”

“Chill baby. My man is mulatto.”

“Is that right? Zebra?”

Grandpa Steiner nodded, “Yes, ma’am. Full on Oreo. But, you know, I learned a long time ago, racism isn’t about who you really are. It’s about who people think you are.”

“Got that right.”

The more he thought about it, the more frustrated Grandpa Steiner became.

This was the kind of idiocy that was keeping him from his family.

All this hypocrisy and ignorance, which was so rampant in the culture, was the whole reason he was stuck in jail. And there was nothing he could do to stop it or fight it. You can’t overwhelm stupidity with intelligence because the stupids can’t understand even the simplest logic which undermines their beliefs. As the populous becomes more illiterate, any hope to uplift them to enlightenment is lost.

You can’t make a lemming smarter by talking to it.

“Apparently, I’m to blame for everything wrong in Western culture because I’m male, white, and attracted to women. This whole Caucasian self-hating racism thing is what gets me the most. The world is full of these liberal fucking hippies who are so embarrassed for being white, male heterosexuals, they are willing to be completely henpecked and emasculated for every atrocity their forefathers committed.

“Since when should the son pay for the sins of the father?

“What kind of Medieval ignorance is that?”

Tyrese was married to an Asian woman and understood only too well the bizarre mentality of the kind of racism Grandpa Steiner spoke about. “Ya’ll got that shit right. Just because a thousand white folks owned some slaves 150 years ago, every white motherfucker acts like they need to apologize. Shit, dog, I feel you. I’m black and even I’m tired of the goddamn apologies. White folk don’t owe us shit!”

“Once I even heard a negro dyke ‘comedian’ claim that social injustices were ‘payback’ for white people. Do you hear the undertones of vengeance and violence and hate in using that kind of word?

“Payback!?

“For what sin?

“For what crime?

“Being born three generations away from a criminal does not make you responsible for his crimes!”

“Amen to that.” LaRhonda nodded.

“Shiiiit. Bitch said that? Who wuz it?” Tyrese asked as if he were going to head over her house and kick her ass.

Grandpa Steiner grumbled, “I don’t know her name. Wanda something. Doesn’t matter.”

“Damn nigga. That bitch don’t need no need ‘payback’ for nothing. She’s a fucking millionaire celebrity! Sistas like that givin’ us all a bad muthafuckin’ name.”

“Damn straight, Tyrese. What injustices has society wrought on her life of privilege? She’s nothing but another bitter black dyke who hates men and wants the gentlemen of today to suffer and hurt, simply because their dead Caucasian relatives from 150 years ago may have done something immoral. Yes, I said ‘may’ - because, I hate to break it to those shitheads, not all whites owned slaves and therefore, not all whites can be said to be descended from slave owners.”

“That’s true, papi. You got that right.” LaRhonda wriggled a finger at him.

Tyrese leaned in and said, “Let me tell ya’ll something. My niggas be lazy muthfuckas, that’s all. Always blamin’ ‘The Man’ for their own bullshit. No bothas be pickin’ cotton nomore. Nobody be no slave today. Blamin’ the white man? Shhhit. It be like if your great granddaddy done robbed a bank, then having everybody look at you like a criminal. All my niggas who have it tough today brought that shit on themselves. Ain’t no white man keepin’ me in the ghetto.”

“That’s the way these fuckwits think though. They forget that Abraham Lincoln, a white man, is the one who freed the slaves. Now some wealthy millionaire celebrity bitch thinks she is entitled to some kind of retribution against Caucasians who are alive today, just because a small handful of Caucasians once enslaved people that match her fucking skin color? And these pathetic whites in the audience clapped and cheered for her, instead of running her hate-mongering ass off the stage and lynching her on the nearest tree like she deserved.”

Tyrese nodded, “Real talk. Why should the sins of the white great, greatgrandfather be paid for by the great, greatgrandson? How is that justice?”

Grandpa Steiner angrily added, “If we want to keep making people pay for the crimes of past generations, how about all those niggers from Egypt pay for the enslavement of the Jews? Huh? How about we start stoning German families in the street, just because they had a Nazi among their relatives 3 generations ago? Why don’t we reinstate the Japanese internment camps, since these gooks are all related to the dirty kamikaze Japs who bombed Pearl Harbor? Better yet, why don’t the niggers just shut the fuck up about ‘oppression’ and the wetbacks shut the fuck up about ‘deportation’ and everyone stop acting like the world owes them a fucking favor?”

“I dig you, old man. Just like ya’ll said - not all white folks wuz slave owners and not all black folk wuz slaves. You dig?”

“Got that right, Tyrese.”

“Plus, look at all da white men who died in da Civil War trying to make sure my black ass had his freedom! I hear ya’ll, brother. I hates dem niggers who act like all white folk owe them some shit. Nigga, please!”

“Yes, papi! You tell it like it is! Everything you said about deporting is true! I became a citizen!” LaRhonda nodded, “I work very hard to be American. I earned it. I hate illegals too. They are not right to use this country and take advantage like they doing.”

Grandpa Steiner grinned, “Good for you, LaRhonda. I’m proud of you. All people who want to obey our laws and pay their taxes and follow the rules and become law-abiding citizens deserve that opportunity.”

“Amen, brotha!” Tyrese nodded.

Grandpa Steiner continued, “That’s what America was founded upon. You people who earn your American citizenship make me proud. Doesn’t matter what country you come from. If you love America enough to become a citizen, more power to you.”

“Thank you so much! That’s sweet. But, see, that why I so pissed at my stupido relatives! My stupido relatives disrespect this country all the time. A buncha them are illegals. You might meet one.”

“Meet one?”

“Yah. My uncle. He’s my lawyer. Sergio Carcia. He pass the State Bar four years ago, still waiting for a green card.”

Tyrese and Grandpa Steiner both looked confused. Grandpa Steiner spoke up. “Wait. You mean to tell me a lawyer was able to pass the Bar Exam and legally become a registered lawyer, even though he’s an illegal alien?”

“Si.”

“Oh, that’s some bullshit!” Tyrese groaned.

Grandpa Steiner added, “If I were a lawyer in a foreign country, I’d want to obey the laws of that country, not circumvent them. Then again, since when are lawyers known for having integrity or morals?”

“No. My uncle don’t have none of those. He even stuck up for Pedro Zapetta. You remember?”

Tyrese and Grandpa Steiner didn’t understand.

LaRhonda explained, “He was another illegal. Was all over the news. He came to the United States from Guatemala and worked in Florida for 10 years. Never learned English. Then got busted at the airport when he tried to go back home with $59,000 in a duffel bag.”

“Say whaaat?” Tyrese exclaimed. “Dumb muthafucker!”

Grandpa Steiner fumed. “Our nation speaks English. Not Spanish. Not Russian. Not German or Arabic or Chinese. Our country was founded from a British Colony. Our Constitution is written in English. Our Bill of Rights is written in English. The Declaration of Independence is in English. So, if you want to move here, learn the language our nation was founded upon. Learn English. If I decided to move to France, I’d learn to speak French. If I moved to Germany, I’d learn to speak German. If I moved to Japan, I’d learn to speak Japanese. A respectful and courteous citizen learns to conform to the culture. Only rude assholes consumed by a misguided sense of entitlement would ever expect the culture to conform to them. We don’t need to change our road signs and our menus to accommodate them. They need to adapt to our culture. We don’t need to adapt our culture to suit them. There’s no excuse from some foreign speaking asshole to move here for 11 years and never learn our language. Scumbag.”

“Yes. Totally disrespectful of our culture.” LaRhonda continued, “Pedro admitted he never paid taxes and he wanted all of his money. He said on the news, ‘They are treating me like a criminal when all I am is a working man.’”

“He did not!” Grandpa Steiner gasped.

“Sure did.”

“Working man? Bullshit!” Tyrese exclaimed. “Pedro, you are a fucking criminal, fuckface. Did you notice the ‘illegal immigrant’ part of your story?”

“No shit.” Grandpa Steiner added.

LaRhonda had more to tell. “Oh, that’s not the worst of it. He had the nerve to say he no longer feels good about our country.”

That was where Grandpa Steiner went off. “Oh, I would love to tell that bastard where he can shove his opinion. He no longer feels good about this country? Fuck him! He’s a criminal in this country! He was here illegally and stealing money that should have been earned by an American citizen! He thinks the United States is unfair? Why don’t he try stealing $59,000 from some third-world dictatorship and see how that country treats his thieving ass? They’ll teach him the meaning of unfair. They’ll chop off his hands and lock his worthless hide in a prison cell for the rest of his natural life, that piece of shit. No news coverage of the story. No negotiations with the Immigration Department. No attorneys defending him. No bleeding-heart-pansies sticking up for his crimes. Forget ever getting home to his family in Guatemala. This country is more gentle and compassionate than his ignorance can fucking realize, that ungrateful wetback.”

Despite his venomous rant and disparaging slur, even LaRhonda clapped for Grandpa Steiner.

“Let’s retell the story like it is.” Grandpa Steiner suggested. “Fucking asshole from Guatemala illegally works in the United States for 11 years, stealing money that should be going to a worker who is an American citizen. The fucker is so disrespectful to the United States culture that he doesn’t even bother to learn English during the 11 years he commits his criminal activities. Thankfully, United States Customs manages to pop his ass at the border before he can smuggle $59,000 back to his country that he stole, tax free, from the American employment system. Sadly, the bastard thinks he’s entitled to the money and a lot of the pushover communists in America agree, so they’ll probably bend over and let him take it.”

“Yeah. Bullshit. Total bullshit.” Tyrese repeated.

“Well, I say good.” LaRhonda had no mercy for Pedro either. “Another criminal caught. Deport his ass. Keep the money. Give it back to the businesses he got it from. He didn’t earn a dime of it. The fucker stole it.”

“Of course he did. First of all, there is a huge, huge, huge distinction between ‘immigrants’ and ‘illegal aliens’ and it’s very important to distinguish the two. I fully support the idea of immigrants becoming citizens of America. Just like I said to you, LaRhonda. I love it when immigrants respect this great nation and want to become citizens. I don’t care if those immigrants are from France or Mexico or Canada or India or China or anywhere else in the world. Illegal aliens are an entirely different story. Illegal aliens are criminals and should be deported. Again, I don’t care if those aliens are from France or Mexico or Canada or India or China or anywhere else in the world. Kick their asses out.”

Tyrese astutely noted, “Yeah but ya’ll know most of them bleeding-heart liberal pansies be tryin’ to say that the whole ‘immigration issue’ be complicated.”

LaRhonda noted, “Bullshit. It’s simple.”

Grandpa Steiner agreed. “Absolutely. Immigrants have a right to be here and become citizens. Illegal aliens are criminals and should be deported. That’s it! Not complicated at all. There is no ‘grey area’ and there are no ‘issues’ to discuss. Immigrants equals good. Illegal aliens equals bad. Period.”

Tyrese asked, “Well, who benefits from dem illegal aliens? Don’t folk always say ya’ll just follow the money?”

“You’re right, Tyrese. Money is the whole key. Think about it - the wealthy love having illegal immigrants in the country. Who the fuck do you think shops at lowclass stores like WalWart? Illegals. Who do you think actually eats food at disgusting places like McDonalds? Illegals. The illegals don’t know how to use birth control, so they multiply like cockroaches, having to work longer and harder to support their families. Pay more for gas. More for food. More for clothes. More taxes. The wealthy love all the money the illegals pour back into the economy.”

“Yeah, but’s all the common and po’ folk like us who get all angry. They be talkin’ about gettin’ all pissed and up-in-arms about illegal aliens and say, ‘This isn’t right! Why are they here!? They are stealing our jobs! It’s not right! It’s not fair!’”

Grandpa Steiner opened his palm. “Yes. People need to start asking, why do illegal aliens have jobs in the first place!? Middle-class American citizens are missing the point. Their anger is directed at the wrong place. It’s not the illegal aliens you should be attacking. Your true enemies are your fellow Americans! The rich. The wealthy. The wealthy are to blame. The wealthy are responsible. The wealthy are the ones who employ the illegal aliens - thereby giving the aliens incentive to invade our country in the first place! The wealthy are the ones who manipulate and control our politicians and police and immigration officers and prevent them from deporting illegal aliens.”

Tyrese nodded over and over as if listening to a hip hop beat. “Damn right. If the liberals and the wealthy didn’t give no jobs to these illegal aliens, the illegals would be havin’ no reason to be here! What that be called? Like, uh, empowament! Right? They be empowerin’ that shit!”

Grandpa Steiner threw out his hands. “You know the fucked up government out in California started giving them drivers licenses?”

“Givin’ who?”

“Illegals!”

“Say whaaaat!? No way. You fuckin’ wit’ me now.”

“Swear to God.” Grandpa Steiner looked at LaRhonda. “Ain’t that right, LaRhonda? You heard about that?”

“Yeahhh! I know! That’s bullshit!” LaRhonda swayed her arm and bracelets rattled. “I bust my fucking ass to live her legally, then these motherfuckers show up at the DMV after breaking the law for 15 years and they walk out with a license! Can you believe that shit?”

“Oh, what are these muthafuckers doin’ to this country!?”

“Stealing it! Like the thugs they are!”

Grandpa Steiner noted, “Hey, look, human culture has not changed in thousands of years - the wealthy and their greed have always been, and will always be, the most predominant evil of the world. The wealthy get to save money by employing the illegals and the aliens live in poverty and are grateful for it, because poverty in America is still better than remaining in whatever piece-of-shit country they come from. Let’s face it, for all their ‘pride’ over their fucking homeland - it’s a worthless piece of shit. If their homeland was so fucking great, they wouldn’t be risking their lives to leave it!”

“I disowned most of my relatives who are illegal. I’m not going to mess up my citizenship for them. What will become of this country if this keep happin’?” LaRhonda asked. Grandpa Steiner didn’t have the heart to point out that they were all in jail, so it was a little late for her to maintain a meticulous record of being a law-abiding citizen. He never dared ask what she was in for.

Instead, he simply answered her question. “What will happen? I think as a result of this, the gap between the ‘wealthy’ and the ‘poor’ will become larger than ever, and the middle-class of America will be destroyed forever. Just like in the Middle Ages, we will have a lot of poor, stupid, uneducated serfs enslaved and controlled by the rich and powerful. The illegals don’t care. Because for them that kind of nightmare it’s an improvement over their shitty homeland. The wealthy don’t care. Because they stand to benefit the most.”

Tyrese raised his voice, shrill and frustrated and noted, “Yeah, man but we po’ folks and middle-class are da only ones who give a damn. Because we stand to lose all our shit. The problem is, since folk are laying da ‘blame’ on da illegals instead of da wealthy and da liberals, they never be winnin’ da battle - because they don’t be knowin’ who their true enemy actually be. Ya’ll don’t blame the cockroaches for eatin’ the food. Ya’ll blame yo’ damn roommate for leaving breadcrumbs on da counter. Know I mean?”

Even LaRhonda chuckled at that analogy.

Through his smirk, Grandpa Steiner agreed, “You got that right, Tyrese. And people will never figure out who our enemy is, because the enemy is slowly making the problem fade away. The language is desensitizing the public every day. Years ago, the people who infiltrated our nation were known as ‘illegal aliens’ and they slowly became called ‘immigrant workers’ and that changed to ‘undocumented citizens’ and in Arizona, they started calling them ‘dreamers’. Each year the communists and Thought Police undermine our language to make the criminal activity of this illegal alien invasion sound less and less threatening. They’ll succeed too. Because our culture is so vastly uneducated, they are simply conditioned to obey whatever the media feeds them. Those who take advantage of this nation are still criminals and illegal aliens, no matter what kind of gentile terminology you use to label their crimes. Our culture has evolved over generations and we’ve fought to maintain it through conflicts of American revolutions, civil wars, and equal rights movements. Compared to other nations of the world, America is very young and we’ve survived many hardships that would have torn most nations apart. Yet we have thrived and endured. We have an obligation to continue to maintain our heritage and not allow it to be slowly eroded or diluted by socialist agendas.”

By that point, Tyrese and LaRhonda didn’t understand some of the things Grandpa Steiner was talking about. Nevertheless, Tyrese loved his passion and flashed a big toothy grin as he said, “Ya’ll speak freely about what you think. Not many crackas do that. Especially not in front of no spade and wetback.”

LaRhonda perked up, “Nigger, who you calling ‘wetback’?”

Grandpa Steiner and Tyrese paused, then laughed.

LaRhonda flipped them off, but was grinning the entire time.

Ω

“Go fuck yourself.” Grandpa Steiner flipped off the judge.

“Excuse me, Mr. Steiner!? Try that again and I’ll fine you in contempt!”

“And I’ll shoot you in the fucking head, you communist. You’re just another example of a socialist enforcing unjust treasons against the Constitution which have become laws.”

Removing his spectacles, the judge folded his hands. Ordinarily, he would just throw a man like this out of his courtroom. But the rationale of Grandpa Steiner was so dizzying, he couldn’t help but prod him for an explanation. “Do enlighten me, sir. Please. In your great wisdom, how do you think I am committing treason?”

“Simple. You just threatened to fine me for contempt. Contempt of Court laws have been in effect for over 100 years, even though to enforce them for verbal criticism of the court, is in clear violation of the Bill of Rights, which has existed for over 200 years. Title 18, Part I, Chapter 21, Paragraph 401 of the United States Code has been law since 1911 and defines contempt of court as: A court of the United States shall have power to punish by fine or imprisonment, or both, at its discretion, such contempt of its authority, and none other, as -

“(1) Misbehavior of any person in its presence or so near thereto as to obstruct the administration of justice;

“(2) Misbehavior of any of its officers in their official transactions;

“(3) Disobedience or resistance to its lawful writ, process, order, rule, decree, or command.”

“Which is exactly what you have done in your outburst.”

“Wrong, sir! The courts are a body of the government, therefore, if the court is being unjust, the First Amendment allows We the People to criticize the court. Telling you to fuck off is my freedom of speech criticism of your bullshit charges against me. Every judge who has ever fined or imprisoned someone for verbal contempt has actually committed treason against the very First Amendment laid out by the Bill of Rights. The court can never fine a citizen in contempt for a spoken transgression. No court has that power. No judge has that power. Because no citizen is above the Constitution. Judges who enforce the unconstitutional laws of contempt of court are traitors to our most fundamental ideals.”

“Well spoken, Mr. Steiner. Because you’re so knowledgeable about our decades-long conspiracy to undermine all the free peoples of the world, I will reward your perceptiveness by only fining you $1.00. Baliff, throw this man out of my courtroom!”

Grandpa Steiner felt his heart drop.

What did that mean?

Was the judge mocking him?

Was he serious?

What conspiracy?

Undermine the free peoples?

Didn’t anyone else hear him say this!?

Grandpa Steiner desperately twisted and turned in the grip of the bailiff, trying to see into the eyes of the judge. He prayed their gaze would give away something. Malice? Humor? Ridicule? Anything!

But as he was hauled back to his prison cell, Grandpa Steiner didn’t manage to see any of the dead mischief in the eyes of the court.

Ω

TAU CETI REPORT ON BALD MONKEY OBSERVATIONS #087:

Bald monkeys have discovered scientific proof of ice ages which have dramatically frozen large portions of the planet for tens of thousands of years. Every intelligent species of sentient being would also conclude the existence of inevitable interglacial periods. Due to the inability for bald monkeys to use deductive reasoning and instead only derive all their knowledge from televised media, interglacial periods have been given a negative connotation with a buzzword called global warming. Invented to frighten fellow human beings into distraction from larger concerns, most bald monkeys have never even heard of interglacial periods. Unbeknownst to the monkeys, their biosphere shall recover after they drive themselves to extinction. [Side Note: There is a 78% probability that runaway carbon dioxide levels will tip into an irreversible destruction of the biosphere rendering their atmosphere like Venus within two of their centuries.] Obviously idiotic behavior to more advanced species, the monkeys are too fucking retarded to realize this shit is important... But what do you expect from a bunch of monkeys?

END REPORT

Chapter Twenty

Had a person been several hundred-thousand-miles away from the Earth as the Tau Ceti mothership arrived and consumed the whole of the planet, it would have looked like an iron gerbil swallowing a marble.

Considering the attack happened in space, the invasion was utterly silent. The sky simply began to grow dark in the middle of the day, but there wasn’t a sound. No dramatic clang of metallic doors opening. No deafening rumble of spacecraft engines. Utter silence.

The invading ship was so huge, the moon was swallowed along with the Earth. Within the vessel, the cavity had enough room to allow the moon to maintain her orbit. Although the mass of the ship should have distorted the path of the moon, powerful invisible tractor beams kept her moving on the proper trajectory.

Once the Earth was inside the ship, gargantuan holographic monitors projected over every continent on the tiny planet.

Ships, which appeared to be nothing but giant remote speakers, launched into the atmosphere like an intergalactic drive-in movie to be hung in your car window.

Unfortunately, the message was only broadcast in English, because the aliens didn’t realize there were other Earth languages. This caused most of the population of Earth to shit themselves, because they had no idea what the fuck was being said.

The face of Commander Johann Bayer appeared on the monitors illuminating the planet and the speakers reverberated, “Bald monkeys of Gia. My name is Commander Johann Bayer from the planet Tau Ceti. We regret to inform - ”

An assistant rushed to his side and whispered in his ear.

People all over the world noted that the inflection of his voice bore an eerie resemblance to that of John Cleese. The leader started his speech over. “Sorry. Humans of Planet Earth. We regret to inform you that your entire species has been scheduled for extermination. Know that you will all die quickly and painlessly, well, relatively painlessly anyway, from what I’m told, using a genetic gridsweep. As a compassionate gesture to a sentient race, you have 2000 hours to bid your final farewells and commit your last acts of fornication, as we understand your species finds this biological act pleasing. Thank you for listening and we bid you farewell.”

With that, a countdown clock replaced the video image so people all over the world could see they had 1 hour, 59 minutes, 59 seconds and counting, to live.

Video flickered back to life.

The Commander reappeared. “Sorry. My mistake. Did I say 2000 hours? I meant 2 hours. Still plenty of time! Farewell.”

The loudspeaker spaceships flew back out of the atmosphere.

Those loudspeaker vessels positioned over empty swatches of ocean and prairies weren’t noticed by anyone but the occasional uninterested cows. Had the cows understood English, they may have been very happy to discover they would soon be free to be nothing more than cows again. Metal mouths would no longer suck their teats, but mountain lions might start tearing their throats out. Cows had very little foresight and didn’t understand that sooner or later, everything is a compromise.

Ω

Even the men and women in prisons had scrambled towards their windows and could see the countdown, heard the voice, watched the skyscraper-sized loudspeakers fly away.

Grandpa Steiner looked at his fellow inmates.

They all recognized the “crazy old man” from television.

Everyone stepped back, awestruck as if he were a messiah.

Even the police seemed frightened of him now.

“What the fuck?”

“Shit. Old gringo wasn’t fucking around.”

“Holy shit. What the hell was that?”

“What! The! Fuck!?”

“Grandpa was right! I knew it! I knew!”

“What else did they tell you?”

“Yeah. Can’t you stop them?”

“Let the old man go! He can stop them!”

Ω

Billions of people all around the planet were thrown into a state of panic and chaos. Those who did not speak English took a little longer to panic, as breaking news reports began to translate the message all over the world.

The entire time, the eerie silent clock continued to count.

1 hour, 45 minutes, 27 seconds and counting.

Emergency broadcasts went out from television and radio stations all over the world, trying to explain the event. Experts were called in to verify if it was a hoax. Scientists were consulted. Politicians implored for citizens to remain calm. National Guards were deployed. Military aircraft were scrambled, but of course there was no enemy in the skies to fight. People who had mocked and belittled Grandpa Steiner for the past week suddenly found themselves regretting every snide word they had spoken.

1 hour, 20 minutes, 16 seconds and counting.

Ω

Prisoners in the holding cell grabbed the guard who had fallen against the bars in shock. Wrestling the keys from his waist, the celldoor flung open moments later.

While the inmates overpowered the police, Tyrese and Grandpa Steiner calmly bid a good day to LaRhonda and walked out of the holding area, still lost in deep conversation.

Ω

Inside the monstrous chamber of the mothership, a honeycomb laser grid fired across the entire compartment. Slowly, it began to inch towards the Earth.

Dirt off a golfball.

Just like Dr. Sagan warned.

Penetrating the atmosphere, the laser grid first came in contact with New York City. As it lowered onto the town, stretching across the sky to every horizon, it began to sift through the Manhattan skyscrapers. Had there been anyone left in the skyscrapers, they would have been instantly vaporized. However, most of the population was panicking in the streets or fornicating in smaller apartment buildings.

The first humans to be disintegrated by the attack from Tau Ceti were a teenage couple losing their mutual virginity. So, there is some comfort in knowing that the first casualties died with smiles on their faces.

As the sweep moved deeper through the planet, more and more New Yorkers were singed into ash. The process was quite humane despite looking rather gruesome. When the sweep hit human flesh, every molecule was instantaneously converted to pure photonic energy. People died in a brilliant glow of serene light and the process happened so quickly, there was no time for the human nervous system to register any pain or discomfort. Genocide had never been gentler or more compassionate.

Ω

Grandpa Steiner and Tyrese retrieved their personal items in the chaos and walked out of the jail.

Grandpa Steiner tried calling home to have someone pick him up, but there was no answer.

“I guess I’ll have to take a bus.” Grandpa Steiner observed.

Tyrese noted, “Yeah, if the buses is still running. Would ya’ll still be driving a bus if the world was ending?”

“Good point.”

“Tell you what, homie. I’ll give ya’ll a ride. I just gotta reach my old lady. We’ll give you a lift.”

“Would you do that?”

“Sure, man. Least I can do.”

“Thank you, Tyrese.”

After calling his “old lady” (Grandpa Steiner was never sure if she was a wife or a girlfriend) Tyrese pointed across the street.

“Gonna take her a half hour to get here. How ’bout sum coffee?”

Grandpa Steiner agreed and they headed to the coffeeshop.

“If bus drivers abandon their posts at the end of the world, won’t baristas do the same?”

“Nah, man. Hipster kids ain’t got nuthin’ better do do!”

“True.”

Thinking about his inability to take a bus, Grandpa Steiner thought of taking the subway, until he realized that would be inoperative as well.

“Too bad the subway is out too.”

“Don’t worry none. I’ll get you home soon.”

“You know I had to take the subway one night a few years ago. I don’t even remember where I was coming from. While I was standing there, this group of very rowdy black kids got on the train.” Grandpa Steiner chuckled to himself.

“That right?”

“Oh, you should have seen them. They were hilarious. They were obviously rough kids, but they weren’t out to hurt anyone. They were just out to upset old ladies and uptight men in business suits.”

“What was they doin’?” Tyrese wondered as they crossed the street.

“They were just being really crass and loud. It was harmless. They were saying all kinds of crazy things. Nothing upsets conservative whites and Asians more than black teens yelling craziness.”

Tyrese chuckled.

Grandpa Steiner explained, “‘Mutherfucka done stole my blankie!’ One kid kept yelling.

“‘SO WHAT, NIGGA?!’ Replied his friend. He was actually saying ‘nigger’ but, you know, Ebonics makes the word come out a bit different.”

Tyrese slapped his knee with laughter, “Motherfucker stole my blankie? Nigga really said that?”

“Yeah. It was funny. They’re shouting this on the subway! A timid business suit white guy tried to get off the train, but didn’t make it in time, because the kids had been blocking his way. He sheepishly stepped back to his seat, resigning himself to wait for the next stop.”

“No way.”

“Yeah. Then this old Asian lady was by the door. The black kid looked at her, ‘Bitch, you steal my blankie?’ She said nothing. Fearfully, she just turned away.

“I’d never seen anything like it.

“These kids were not threatening these people.

“They were goofing off.

“Nevertheless, all these adults reacted as if the teens were pulling knives on them.

“It was a bizarre thing to witness. To see how easily people are manipulated into being submissive sheep.

“Far be it from me to judge, but I had the distinct feeling these kids were not on their way to Harvard or Yale anytime soon.

“I found their antics bemusing.

“They threw the word ‘nigger’ around with the ease of DiMaggio throwing a baseball. That alone seemed to frighten these uptight and conservative riders of the train to the point they couldn’t move.”

Tyrese kept on laughing, “White people is crazy.”

“The kids didn’t bother me at all. Funny, isn’t it? They picked on everyone but the old white man.”

“Probably ’cuz you was the only one who knew they was full of shit and just pullin’ muthfuckas chains.”

Ω

“Damnit!” One of the alien technicians hit an EMERGENCY STOP button on the mothership.

Looking at his readout, he repeated, “Damnit!”

Ω

The grid vanished just short of singing the naked butt hair of a New York boy fucking his 29 year old English teacher in the backseat of her Chevy in the school parking lot. She figured why not spend the last moments of her life banging the hot 15 year old? As the light from the grid subsided, she realized she might have some serious explaining to do.

Ω

Tyrese told Grandpa Steiner as he sipped his coffee, “You know, Grandpa, the easiest way to encourage hate is to give people a shitton of ignorance. Ya’ll feel me? Look at them redneck trailer trash and ghetto niggers. These folk hate each other, man. Both sides, done filled with ignorance.”

“That’s true.”

“Only the dumbest of folks are filled with hate. Like some kind of damn cockroaches, those white trash motherfuckas are just the same. Just as evil. Just as hateful. Just as ignorant.”

Grandpa Steiner nibbled on a biscotti, “Hating each other over skin tones, and that is their only difference.”

“Amen, brotha.”

Grandpa Steiner looked at the sky and back to this new friend, “You ever stop to think that people who try to take away our liberties and spew hate are not human beings. Maybe they are monsters, demons in human disguises. Could they be devils from an ancient curse, seeded into the world to poison all the world? Trick us? Test us?”

Ω

News of the emergency stop echoed throughout the mothership as the technician came running to the bridge.

“Sir! Sir! We have to stop!”

Commander Johann Bayer spun around in his seat. “What the bloody hell are you screaming about, man!? Stop for what? Did you order the emergency stop?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What the bloody hell did you do that for!?”

“Cacodaemons, sir.”

“What!?”

“Cacodaemons.”

“What of them?”

“Scans of the indigenous sentient lifeforms indicate they appear to be infested with them.”

Grabbing the readout from the engineer, the Commander looked it over. “A cacodaemon infestation!? Are you sure? There are no cacodaemons in this corner of the universe!”

“Yes, sir. I’m sure. Look. Right here. These bald monkeys do have weak energies. Ideal hosts.”

“Bugger! Bloody fucking cacodaemons. I was so looking forward to a jolly rousing extinction!” The commander of the invasion fleet immediately radioed down to the control room, “This is the Commander. Cease the purge immediately.”

“I already did that, sir. The emergency stop.”

“Oh, fuck all, I know that! Damn cacodaemons!” Turning to his aide, he added, “Get me Dr. Sagan up here this instant!”

Somewhat flustered, the captain turned in his chair and sent another broadcast over the earth after clearing his throat (which was an uncharacteristically human thing to do).

Loudspeakers again rocketed into the atmosphere.

The countdown clock ceased.

“Attention everyone! Bald monkeys of Gia! Humans of... whatever. Listen up, now! Hello? Terribly sorry about that. We have some developing information which may or may not spare humanity from eradication. Looks like you may be infested with an awful parasitic... oh, well, it doesn’t matter. Don’t get your hopes up too high. You will most likely still all die. But, until then, as your destruction may no longer be imminent, feel free to carry on with whatever you were planning to do with your day. Thank you! We shall be in touch again soon. Cheers!”

The speakers remained in the atmosphere and the entire planet was put on hold to the sound of “The Girl From Ipanema” by Herb Alpert.

Ω

Grandpa Steiner and Tyrese smiled and toasted the sky as they sat on the patio outside the coffeshop.

“Well, that’s good news!” Tyrese said, his smile dazzling.

“Maybe we won’t all die after all!”

“Amen. This coffee tasted good when I thought it might be my last, but it tastes even better if I find out there is plenty more to come!”

“I feel you, my man!” Grandpa Steiner chuckled.

“You know, my little girl loves your stuff.” Tyrese beamed with fatherly pride.

“My stuff?” Grandpa Steiner was shocked to meet an actual fan. Or at least the father of one.

“Oh, yeah. She reads all yo’ blogs and shit. Ya’ll really inspire her. She started writing some shit too.”

“Really?” Now Grandpa Steiner was beaming. To think his efforts were inspiring others was something he never considered. He was especially happy that it was Tyrese’s daughter. If a young black and Asian girl could enjoy the writings of an old white man, maybe there was hope for the world after all. Too bad Tau Ceti might not give them the chance.

“Hell, yeah. Check this out.” Tyrese pulled out his cellphone and showed Grandpa Steiner the blog her daughter had been writing.

Ω

“Pigments & Vocalizations & Shipping Pants”

by Chaunte Washington

I can’t abide the ignorance of our culture to attempt sterilizing language, while at the same time doing things that are highly offensive and crude.

We live in a culture where people say “the n-word” and “the r-word” instead of saying “nigger” or “retard”, for fear of offending someone. Yet, at the same time, it’s perfectly acceptable and “cute” to have a commercial on national television where children and grandparents are implying they’ve shit their pants?

What the hell is wrong with people?

How is our culture becoming so incredibly immoral, yet overly sensitive all at the same time?

We’re living in a very strange time where entertainment from television to movies to musicians grows more and more crass, vile, and tasteless everyday; Each passing generation throws one more curseword into popular music, and music videos get slightly raunchier and push more sexual boundaries year after year; people were once shocked that Elvis gyrated his hips and 30 years later musicians like Madonna came on stage in her underwear while the Red Hot Chili Peppers wore nothing but socks on their dicks and 20 years after that, Lady Gaga and Miley Cyrus simply took off all their clothes and went completely naked; While at the same time, people become more and more terrified of offending people for their race or religion or sexual background.

Where is the logic in this?

How can a culture simultaneously stretch itself to both extremes?

More puritanical with regard to insulting any culture or lifestyles.

Yet far more raunchy and crude with movies and music and media.

These dynamics are completely contradictory.

These days, people can get fired from their jobs for using the word “faggot” on an Internet profile, but you can watch a prime time television show with nudity and cussing, while commercials show people who insinuate crapping themselves, and that’s perfectly acceptable.

I honestly do not think society is evolving.

I honestly do not see how this is “forward” progress.

Once a culture of bigoted bullies idolizing uptight racists?

Now a culture of overly-sensitive pansies worshiping trashy idols?

How is that an improvement?

The world is changing. That doesn’t mean the world is improving.

We’re just as full of shit as we’ve always been. We’re just sculpting it into a different shape, painting it gold, and pretending it’s not shit anymore.

I may be a black girl, but personally, I miss the days when white folks could say “nigger” without losing their jobs and television would never dare to show naked tits and ass.

Ω

“Attention citizens of earth. I am the President of the Galactic Counsel and it appears I am tasked to be the bearer of both good news and bad news. Bad news is, many of you are unknowingly infested with cacodemons. Hideous little buggers. To put it in terms you will understand, they are a bit like parasitic cockroaches. Turns out this is why so many members of your species are uneducated and self-serving assholes. Not your fault. Cacodemons. Morally speaking, we can’t eliminate an entire race just because you are infected with a malady. That wouldn’t be right. However, since the demonic possession is being done inside bald monkey hosts, our species eradication system can not pinpoint and exterminate the demons. Now for the good news. We can retag all the demons into your visible light spectrum using a transdimensional radiation signature modulation, so that way, you can at least see the little bastards and kill them yourselves. Unfortunately, this too will mean the death of the hosts, so you will still lose a majority of your population, but their extermination is irrelevant because thanks to the parasitic infection, they are already dead inside anyway. We’ll send down a few battalions to help you fumigate. Good luck to the monkeys!”

Before anyone could fully grasp what the hell he just said, the video transmission was gone.

Not a second later, a blinding pulse of red light slammed into every inch of the Earth, all at once. The light penetrated any depth of stone and wood and metal and poured through the very core of the planet like a sieve. The light pulse was so bright, it hit the eyes of every person as though it were a bathroom light flicked on in the middle of the night, momentarily blinding each soul on Earth.

Then, a second later, they appeared.

As the flash faded, within some people, shining straight through their clothing, residual light glowed like red wireframe neon, deep inside their bodies, forming the outlines of imps and devils. Unmistakably vivid, people appeared to have laserlight skeletons of demons inside them. The strangest part of all was that the people who possessed this gruesome skeletal illumination didn’t seem to be aware of it in themselves or in others. The only people who could see the neon glow of cacodaemon skeletons, were the people who weren’t possessed by them.

Ω

“What a relief! My family won’t be killed after all!” Grandpa Steiner cheered.

“None of us is!? Right on! Right on!” Tyrese slapped Grandpa Steiner a high five.

“That’s some fine writing your daughter did too. From what the aliens told me, if there were more girls like her, they wouldn’t have tried wiping us out in the first place.”

“Why thank you, Grandpa. That’s mighty nice of you to say.”

As Tyrese and Grandpa Steiner sat at their table, a frenetic pair of hipster kids came scrambling out of the coffeeshop. They each had some hideously trendy tribal tattoos and an exorbitant amount of earrings skewered through parts of their face that wasn’t their ears.

The kids were glowing with demonic neon shapes as a crowd of people slowly began to chase them out of the shop.

Grandpa Steiner stood up and uncapped his coffee.

With one swift motion, he threw it in the hipster demon boys face. As the kid started screaming and holding his eyes, Grandpa Steiner spun him around and threw him into oncoming traffic. The boy was instantly plowed over by a boxtruck doing a good 40MPH.

Grandpa Steiner was the first person to kill a cacodemon.

People cheered him on and chased the screaming girlfriend down the street, her glow lighting the sidewalk as she ran.

He almost pulled out his 1911, but decided to save the ammunition.

Tyrese clapped, “Good move, Grandpa.”

“Damnit. Need another coffee.” Grandpa Steiner headed back into the coffeeshop. “Culture of damn sissies, Tyrese. Damn hipster sissies.”

“Yo, this one is on me, Grandpa.” Tyrese followed.

Tyrese went back to their conversation. “I was going to say, The Civil Rights movement fought for we colored men and women to have an education. You know, Grandpa? Them men and women, they wanted us to rise above petty hate and ignorance. Lots of brothers and sistas embraced these opportunities. Right? They gone on to become well-spoken and civilized members of society.”

Grandpa Steiner rubbed his nose, “Absolutely. Unfortunately, the percentage of such educated people is tiny, and most remain gutter trash who are spending a week salary on gold chains and are shooting each other in the street over a bag of weed. They honesty think graffiti and Ebonics encapsulate their culture.”

“Brother, I knows it! We is a proud race, descended from mighty kings and queens and savannah warriors. Brothas have been reduced to marking their territory with spraypaint like dog piss and asking, ‘Yo, what up, nigga?’”

Ω

A National Guardsman blasted an SUV with a rocket launcher, slamming the vehicle into the building across the road. The family of five, all glowing with cacodemon neon, were killed instantly.

Tyrese covered his coffeecup to prevent dust from falling in it. As evil people glowing with cacodemons ran down the street for their lives, Grandpa Steiner smiled.

He had feared this day would mark the end of the human race.

Instead, it appeared to be the very beginning.

Being attacked by the aliens was the greatest gift ever given to humanity. For the first time in history, people stopped being offended or proud of being called whites and blacks and Jews and gooks and spics and kikes and niggers and wetbacks and honkies and pricks and whores and chinks and Christians and dykes and crackers and queers and Buddhists and rednecks and towelheads and white trash and Israelis and bitches and faggots and Mexicans and jigaboos and redskins and Palestinians and spearchuckers and limeys and sluts and pollacks and cholos and sandniggers and Muslims and fucking retards and all around assholes and just started acting like human beings.

One race.

One cause.

One common threat.

Ω

Inside the coffeeshop, the television reported a breaking story from Maryville, Missouri.

“You may recall this past January, a 14 year old cheerleader, Daisy Caleman, had been drugged and raped by Jordan Zach and Mathias Barnett, football players at her local highschool. When one of the rapists grandfather, Roy Barnett, a powerful politician in the Federal government, bribed the local courts to have the case dropped, it was feared by many that Daisy would never see justice. Thanks to the invasion by the aliens from Tau Ceti, young Daisy Caleman was finally able to have the payback she so righteously deserved.”

The newscast then cut to home movie footage taken by Daisy and her older brothers going to the nearby National Guard armory.

“Her brother Charlie, a soldier in the National Guard, was able to procure a tank and machine guns to help his sister obliterate the entirety of the demonically possessed Barnett family off the face of Earth.”

The video went on to show the smoldering ruins of the home where Daisy had been assaulted as the newscaster concluded, “After exacting justice on their household, Daisy and her brother proceeded to visit the boys who passively stood by while she was taken advantage of and they too were found to be infested with cacodemons and were consequently exterminated.”

Ω

“Good to see those rapist motherfuckers got their due.”

Grandpa Steiner poured a little sugar into his tea and stirred. “You got that right, Tyrese.”

“Any boy hurt my daughter like that, I’d skin that little bastard alive.”

“Skin him alive? You are too merciful, Tyrese. That would be a kindness compared to what I would do. Looks like justice is finally served.” Grandpa Steiner raised his cup in a toast. Tyrese joined in.

“Sad nobody taught those boys what they done was wrong. They all shoulda known better in the first place. Sad they had to die to figure that shit out.”

Grandpa Steiner shook his head, “No, Tyrese. They never figured it out. Scumbags like them died thinking they had done nothing wrong. Highschool footballer player rapists in the midwest? They never know right from wrong. They’re human garbage. Just remember, there is no sorrow or tragedy in the death of any of these rapists or petty criminals or uneducated drug addicts. This seems to me a time to celebrate a purging of the gene pool. Their demise is ridding the world of selfish filth, so the beauty of good, pure souls may have a better planet in which to blossom. Good riddance to them all, my friend.”

“Damn, Grandpa you all talks like a poet. Like a poet!” Tyrese raised his cup on high again.

As the two men sat at the coffeeshop, a tourbus for The Viewpoint television show came hurtling down the road, dodging debris and rubble from crumbled buildings and the husks of burned out cars.

Tearing past Grandpa Steiner and Tyrese, the tourbus brakes locked, sending up foul clouds of skidding white tiresmoke. Slamming into reverse, the tourbus ran back to the coffeeshop and the door flung open. The Dyke poked her head out.

“Grandpa Steiner!?” The Dyke yelled.

Tyrese and Grandpa Steiner looked even more baffled than she did.

“What are you doing here?” Grandpa Steiner said, slowly lowering his cup back to the table.

The Blondie jumped out of the tourbus. Grandpa Steiner loved that she was there too. He liked her the best. Tossing her blonde locks, she asked, “What are you doing here having coffee? We thought you were still locked up! We were on our way to bust you out of jail.”

“Bust me out of jail!? Why would a bunch of TV stars come bust an old man out of prison?”

The Jap smacked Blondie in the arm. “I mean interview!” Blondie corrected herself. “I mean, bust out an interview with you.”

“An interview with me? Why? I was just on your show.”

“Exactly!” The Dyke nodded. “Now the whole world knows you were telling the truth! Every news outlet in the entire world will want to interview you.”

“Here!” Blondie tossed a pump-action shotgun at Grandpa Steiner.

Catching it, the metal receiver rang solid in his palm as he asked, “What’s this for?”

“Killing cacodemons, obviously.”

The Dyke waved him over, “Come on! We have to get you back home.”

Grandpa Steiner and Tyrese shook hands and bid each other farewell. “Go save the world, Grandpa Steiner.” Tyrese saluted.

“You need a ride?”

“Naw, man. I’m good. Fight the power, baby!”

His shotgun by his side, Grandpa Steiner gave a quick nod and jumped into the tourbus.

Ω

“Good to have you with us, sir!” Howard King swiveled around in a captains chair.

Bill Stewart greeted him as well. “Hello, again, Grandpa Steiner.”

Grandpa Steiner was taken aback. “What are you two doing here?”

They exchanged an uneasy look and Howard said, “Do you remember Mr. Grey?”

“Mr. Grey?” Grandpa Steiner had no idea what he was talking about.

Bill Stewart brushed the topic away, “It’s not important. We’re just helping The Viewpoint ladies.”

As it raced away, The Viewpoint van careened through the streets back to Grandpa Steiner’s house. The radio reported that every fraternity house on every college campus had been fumigated for cacodemon infestations.

Most sorority houses were now completely abandoned as well. Conflicting reports suggested that there may have been anywhere from 2 to 6 sorority sisters in the entire country who were not possessed by evil demons from hell.

Ω

“Mom!” Jerome burst into his house with his dad, covered in ash and holding a crossbow.

Sophie was sitting on the couch, crying, watching the news on television and seeing the attacks all around the world.

“Honey!” Her husband shouted, brandishing a massive laser rifle which had been given to him by Dr. Sagan.

As Sophie turned to face her family, she jumped off the couch, “Oh, thank goodness! I couldn’t reach you on your cells. Where have you been!? They’re killing all these innocent people on television!”

Jerome and Ryan raised their weapons.

Sophie stopped in her tracks. “Wha - What are you doing!? Where did you get those! You know I won’t have guns in my house!”

“Dad! She’s one of them!”

The red glow from beneath Sophie’s skin tinted the couch and carpet and even spilled up to the ceiling.

“No!” Ryan cried, trembling behind the trigger.

“Ryan, what are you doing!? Put that thing down!”

He squinted at his wife. All of it began to make sense now. He braced the rifle in his shoulder. “No. Step back, Sophie. You are one of them. You have been infected. You were infected before I ever met you. Oh, now it all makes sense!”

“Infected!? With what!? Ryan, are you crazy!? Jerome! Don’t you dare point that thing at your mother! You’re both insane!”

“No, Sophie! You’re insane. Insane for encouraging other mothers in the neighborhood to walk their kids to school, because you think there are pedophiles behind all the bushes. For insisting every child wear a bicycle helmet, because your overprotective fears think brain damage is imminent with every tumble. For never letting a child climb a tree, because every slip means a broken bone. For the evils of giving children ‘play-dates’ instead of giving them the freedom to go outside and play all day long. For signing them up for soccer practice, instead of allowing them to get muddy exploring the creek. For teaching poor boys like Jerome that he shouldn’t fight back when he is attacked by bullies. For punishing kids with ‘time-outs’ instead of grabbing a wooden paddle and spanking their candy asses like they deserve, and all the other heinous evils that became ‘parenting’ after 1989. For all this and more, Sophie, you have to die.”

A blue energy blast pulsed from over Ryan’s shoulder and instantly vaporized Sophie. Dr. Sagan appeared in the doorway, the energy residue still fading sparkles in his arm. “Less speeches. More killing.”

Grandma Steiner, arriving just behind Dr. Sagan, shrugged at the spot where her daughter had stood. “Come to think of it, she did start to become a prissy bitch when she was about 12 years old.”

Dr. Sagan nodded, “For your species, that’s usually when it would begin. I’m sorry I never suspected the cacodemon infection. This will mean the end of my tenure for certain. Come. We have more cleanup to do.”

Ω

The worldwide battle raged for hours.

Nations fell.

Cities obliterated.

Penitentiaries in first world countries destroyed.

Ones in third world countries liberated.

Most politicians and lawyers rendered all but extinct.

Decent families the world over watched on television and the Internet as the mixed forces of guerrilla humans and alien battalions carried out the last of the cacodemon exterminations. The hordes of human beings who had to be wiped off the earth were innumerable. From pimps and rapists and dictators, to bankers and Wall Street investors, to people who watched reality TV shows, they all had the red glow. While the whole of civilization crumbled and every society was toppled, Commander Johann Bayer took a shuttlecraft down to Washington DC.

Ω

News and media microphones fanned across the stairs of the Lincoln Memorial like a bouquet of black and gray flowers.

George Carmichael, the Secretary of Veterans Affairs, and the person sixteenth in line as the successor to the Commander in Chief, was the only politician still alive to step in as acting President of the United States.

President Carmichael and Commander Bayer stood before the crowd which numbered only into the hundreds, and not the tens of thousands one would expect.

As the shuttlecraft carrying Dr. Sagan arrived, Grandpa Steiner and his family peeked out the windows across the Reflecting Pool, which swirled dizzily below them.

Ω

“Hank Steiner. In recognition to your service of both this great nation of ours, and the entirety of the human race, I present you with these distinguished medals of valor. The highest medals of civilian service that can be bestowed by our military branches. It is my great honor to present you with the Department of Defense Distinguished Civilian Service Award. The United States Army presents you with the Decoration for Exceptional Civilian Service. The United States Air Force presents you with the Air Force Decoration for Exceptional Civilian Service. The United States Navy presents you with the Distinguished Civilian Service Award. In addition, I present you with the Congressional Gold Medal and finally, the Presidential Medal of Freedom with Distinction.”

As the acting President Carmichael pinned the last of the medals onto Grandpa Steiner, he felt like a Christmas tree.

With fires sill smoldering around the Capital, there were an awkward few claps and cheers from the sparse crowd.

Commander Bayer motioned Grandpa Steiner to the podium. The alien was eager to share his speech with Grandpa Steiner on the world stage.

“We have wonderful news! Although we decided your species was worth sparing, you have proven yourselves entirely too stupid to sustain your cultural equilibrium in vast numbers. Therefore, instead of destroying the entirety of the human race, we simply used eugenic-based algorithms to eradicate a majority of the human race.”

“Yes, you explained that.” Grandpa Steiner grinned uncomfortably.

“Oh, no. I’m sorry. I’m not making myself clear? I’m afraid you misunderstood. The cacodemon infestation only accounted for about 70% of the human population. We decided to wipe out far more of you beyond that. Enough to reduce your population down to manageable numbers.”

A murmur shuffled through the crowd. The President looked uneasy as well. “What!? How many is ‘far more’!?”

“92% to be exact. Don’t worry. Most of the collateral damage was done in third world countries and the Far East where they had far too many people already anyway.”

Grandpa Steiner angrily faced the Commander. “Wait. What are you saying? You murdered 92% of humanity!?”

“Give or take a smidgen. Yes, instead of the previous 7 billion people inhabiting your planet yesterday, we have left you with 600 million - the approximate world population you had in your year 1723. Presuming you repopulate at the same rate, and you comply to the 87% probability that your species shall fail to embrace the wisdom of incorporating stringent breeding regulations within your societies, that leaves you approximately 300 years to get your shit together. There we are then. Fine and dandy. Your invitation to join the Intergalactic Counsel is hereby officially revoked. Learn to stop being such fucking pricks. We’ll be back in the 24th century to either welcome you into the intergalactic community or eliminate you for good.”

“But you said our ignorance wasn’t our fault! The cacodemons were responsible. Not humanity. How can you still judge us now that they’re gone!?”

“You’re still susceptible to infection. We have reduced your population to those who are somewhat capable of thinking for themselves and who were not infected. Your species might stand a wee bit of a chance now! Just think of it! Population reduction was the only chance your species had. There were simply too damn many monkeys.” The aliens laughed as if they had heard such a joke many times before.

Continuing, the Commander added, “By the simple act of reducing your numbers, every sociological problem faced by your species has been eliminated. No more worries about food supplies or environmental destruction or terrorism or military conflicts. There are no more people who are poor or starving when the world now has so much abundance for everyone. Disease and communicable illness are nearly gone. Even your petty and bizarre arguments over skin colors have been wiped off the face of the planet, as there are no more minorities. There are now equal proportions of Jigaboo and Gook and Honkie pigmented monkeys on your world!” With a sidle he added, “Don't worry! All the religious zealots and dirty sand niggers are gone! They smelled funny with that curry food. In fact, your Middle Eastern deserts are now completely unpopulated.”

Another delegate whispered to the Commander and he quickly corrected himself, “My apologies. There are apparently eight people left in the Middle East, but they happened to be German tourists.”

A horrible silence fell over the people and Grandpa Steiner alike. The thought that there were only 600 million people left in the entire world was unfathomable. Nearly one hundred times fewer people in the world? Can you imagine for every 100 cars you see on the road today there would only be one?

The world would be a ghosttown. Ghostplanet.

“Oh! One last thing!” The Commander turned to President Carmichael and grinned a politicians smile. “During the skirmishes, a few of our soldiers have sustained injuries requiring medical attention. Since moving them back to our ships could do them greater harm, you wouldn’t mind giving we aliens some medical attention while we are occupying your country? Do you?”

Without hesitation, Grandpa Steiner cocked his shotgun, pulled the trigger, and blew Commander Johann Bayer’s face off. Blood splattered across the podium and slathered the President as the aliens dead body hit the ground. Nearly every living human being watched him die on live international television.

“Get the fuck off our planet! Now!” Grandpa Steiner yelled at the remaining Tau Ceti delegates. Kicking the corpse of Commander Johann Bayer, he added, “And take this fucking garbage with you!”

“Illegal aliens asking us to give them free medical care? Can you believe the audacity? Talk about a false sense of entitlement! Surprised he didn’t take out a television commercial.”

The President was stunned. Grandpa Steiner apologetically wiped the alien blood off the President’s collar and cheek. “Oh! Terribly sorry about that, Mr. President.”

“I’m, no, I’m, it’s fine. I’m fine,” said the trembling President.

As the alien delegates quickly departed back to their ship, with multiple military weapons fixed on them, the President motioned Grandpa Steiner towards the podium.

“What?” Grandpa Steiner stared at the intimidating peacock of microphones. “No. No. I couldn’t.”

“Grandpa,” Jerome whispered. “The President wants you to make a speech.”

When the eyes of the world are fixed on you and the President of your country asks you to say a few words, how can anyone refuse?

Ω

Despite his experience on talkshows and radio and inadvertent Internet fame, Grandpa Steiner was visibly nervous as he walked up to the microphone.

Not only was he addressing an international audience from the capital of the United States, but he might very well be addressing every surviving member of the human race.

What do you say when you are expected to talk to every living soul?

That thought alone made his voice quiver a bit.

Had he given himself too many spare seconds to think about the full implications, he would have likely run for the hills.

With a quick, gravelly clearing of his throat and an unnecessary microphone adjustment, Grandpa Steiner began to address the people of the world. “Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Hank Adolph Steiner and I want to thank both the American public, and people around the rest of the world, for the great honor and respect and hero’s welcome you have shown me. I wish that circumstances hadn’t caused you to deem me worthy of your praise. I wish I had been nothing more than a crazy senior citizen. I wish I had been wrong about the alien invasion. I wish my efforts to warn the world had been nothing more than the senseless ramblings of a senile old buzzard. Regrettably, they were not. The illegal aliens of space invaders were, as the entire world has witnessed, all too real.

“Knowing what we have all endured together as human beings, knowing the unspeakable tragedy that has befallen the human race, I can only take comfort in knowing that we were truly helpless against their invasion. There would have been no preparation, no fortifications, no weaponry and no militia that could have made any difference or defended the lives of those people we lost. Even if my warning had been heeded, there was nothing any of us could do to prevent the holocaust they brought upon us.

“Yet, out of this, unarguably the greatest tragedy in the history of our race, humanity has found our greatest blessing. For the first time in history, we finally stand united. No longer as a world of nations and genders and religions and races, but as a single species. We are the generation whom Fate has chosen to be the witnesses to the single most defining moment of human memory. We are truly the custodians of this planet, not in a metaphorical sense, but in a literal sense, as members of an intergalactic community. And for the first time in all of recorded human history, we know we are part of that community. We know we are not alone in the universe. We are only a small piece of a much greater whole. May this knowledge serve to disseminate our quarrels and cultivate our humility.

“We are the first generation of the new world. Young and old. Boy and girl. Man and woman. We all have the honor of being the first souls to rebuild the human race from the ashes of our condemnation. A truly advanced and evolving culture never alienates nor disregards their elders, nor their children. Genuinely evolved beings regard every age of life as a singular experience. There is no differentiation between childhood and adulthood and the elderly. Evolved beings recognize that life simply ‘is’ and regardless of outward appearances, the value of the human spirit never diminishes.

“The very record of time itself has changed with these events. The first standard year of the new calendar is upon us. Let us mark our coming days, and this new roll of pending centuries, with love and caring and a gentle regard for all life on earth.”

Ω

Deep in a bijou, somewhere in the depths of Alabama, a brown-toothed and wiry man shouted, “Mary Jane! Turn that shit teevee off. Can ya’ll believe that!? Stupid old man dun just said he brought them golldamn aliens here. You heard him!?”

“I sho ’nuff did, Pa!”

“Golldamn alien lovers!”

Inside his torso, a small speck of red light began to glow inside of Pa.

A glow that Mary Jane couldn’t ever hope to see.

Chapter Twenty One

Weeks after the invasion, Jerome and his friend were swimming in Grandpa Steiner’s pool when the doorbell rang.

A few moments later, Grandma came out to the patio, escorting an entourage of a dozen people. Looking very confused, she said, “Grandpa? There’s some people here to see you.”

Grandpa Steiner sighed in his lawnchair but didn’t turn around. “Yes, honey. I know. I was expecting them.”

“You were?”

As the group of visitors reached the screen porch, they stood waiting for Grandpa Steiner to acknowledge them. From the crowd, a black woman in a security guard uniform stepped forward and said, “Captain Steiner? It’s time to go.”

“Yes, Ms. Hayes. I’m aware of that.”

Grandma Steiner suddenly recognized the woman and angrily chided her, “Ms. Hayes? Are you that woman from the drugstore!?”

Speaking perfect English, her Ebonics accent entirely gone, Ms. Hayes responded, “Yes, Mrs. Steiner. Terribly sorry about that.”

Grandma Steiner began to recognize other people in the entourage. Some were strangers, but Howard King was there and so was the woman that Grandpa Steiner kept calling The Dyke from The Viewpoint.

The Dyke announced, “Captain, their scouts will be doing a sweep of Gia in the next 2 hours. We really must be going.”

Jerome and his friend had come out of the pool and they were looking at Grandpa Steiner with the same confusion that Grandma Steiner had.

“Grandpa? What’s going on?”

Grandpa Steiner kneeled in front of Jerome, “Hey, butch. I’m sorry. I really need to be leaving.”

It broke his heart to say this to Jerome, since his mother Sophie had just died only days before.

“Leaving?” Grandma Steiner asked. “What’s this all about?”

Grandpa Steiner stood and looked at his grandson and wife, “Sweetheart. Son. I’m afraid I have to return to Planet Ten.”

“Planet Ten? What the hell is that?”

“My homeworld, Jerome. You see, I was sent here to try and save humanity. My people knew, once the Intergalactic Counsel discovered how useless most of humanity happened to be, we’d have to intervene.”

Jerome and Grandma Steiner were shocked.

“Sweetheart? What are you saying?” Grandma Steiner asked.

“I’m sorry, honey. I don’t belong here. What we have done is quite subversive. If our plot is discovered, not only would it endanger our homeworld, but it would put Earth in jeopardy again too.”

Jerome’s friend braved the question, “Whoa. Whoa. Hold on a second. You mean, you’re an alien too!?”

“Precisely.”

“Sweet!” Jerome’s friend punched Jerome’s shoulder, “You never told me you were part alien!”

“What?” Jerome stared stunned at his friend, “No. I’m not. My grandpa isn’t an alien!”

“Yes, butch. I’m afraid I am. Always have been.” Realizing they were confused, Grandpa Steiner waved off the misunderstanding, “Oh, but I’m still human. So are you, Jerome. Don’t misunderstand. I’ve still lived here on Earth since I was a little boy.”

“Wait. What? You’re human but an alien? That doesn’t make sense.”

“I’m human, but I was born on Planet Ten. We all were.” Grandpa Steiner motioned to the entourage.

“How could you keep a secret like this from me?!” Grandma Steiner squealed.

“I didn’t know myself. I was a sleeper agent.”

Grandpa Steiner told them the story of what had happened weeks earlier, after he had stopped writing his blogs...

Ω

Grandpa Steiner awoke in the middle of the night to take a leak.

On his way to the bathroom, a blinding light blasted in the hallway window. Taken aback by the dazzle of it, he rushed (as easily as he could “rush” while half asleep) downstairs.

Halfway down the steps, the light vanished just as silently as it had appeared. When he reached the kitchen, Santa Claus was standing outside, gingerly knocking on the patio doors.

Only he didn’t look anything like Santa Claus.

Sure, he wore a red suit trimmed in white fur and a hat to match.

But he wasn’t human.

His head looked like all of those alien abduction cliches. Inverted raindrop shape. Grey skin. Bald. Giant black and bulbous almond eyes. A mouth puckered tighter than Twiggy’s asshole.

Upon seeing the startled Grandpa Steiner, the little mouth smiled and Santa waved. He pointed at the door handle. “Hellooo! May I come in?”

At this point, half asleep, Grandpa Steiner figured he was still dreaming. So, he merely chuckled and invited the alien into the kitchen. “By all means. Mister?”

“Oh! Grey. You may call me Mr. Grey. From Planet Ten. Pleased to meet you.”

They shook hands.

Mr. Grey from Planet Ten felt surprisingly warm to his three-fingered touch. Grandpa Steiner was a bit startled by how real this dream felt.

“Hello, Mr. Grey from Planet Ten. I’m - ”

“Oh, yes, sir. We know who you are, Captain Steiner.”

“Grandpa.”

“Grandpa?”

“Not Captain.”

Mr. Grey apologized with a droop of his chin. “Of course.”

“Won’t you sit down?”

“Thank you.”

“Why are you dressed like Santa Claus?”

“Oh. This?” Mr. Grey raised an arm in a floppy oversized sleeve. “We always feel our physical appearance can be startling to humans. Therefore, it’s standard policy to always make our first contact using an outfit humans are comfortable with. Santa Claus. The Easter Bunny. Something harmless.”

Grandpa Steiner wasn’t sure how a creepy alien Easter Bunny was less disturbing than an alien, but he didn’t argue the point.

Mr. Grey continued, “Besides, my people have gained such an unfortunate reputation during our recruiting process.”

“Recruiting process?”

“Yes. You know. All those alien abduction stories.” Mr. Grey’s shoulders shudder when he says the words “alien abduction”, as if they were an offensive racial slur. “Unbeknownst to us at the time, one of our scientists was a kinky little bugger. A little too obsessed with the butt sex, if you know what I mean. Next thing you know, a few to many anal probe stories get blown way out of proportion, and we have a whole public relations nightmare on our hands! Of course your queers loved getting rooted like that, but no one else did. Awful way to treat one’s neighbors. ”

“Neighbors?”

“Well, yes. Planet Ten is a sister planet to Earth. None of your astronomers know we exist, because we are in direct lock-step orbit on the opposite side of the sun. So you have never seen us. Humans are so busy gazing into the universe for aliens and here we are! Right in your own backyard!”

The tiny mouth smiled a row of tiny teeth. Mr. Grey seemed extremely pleased with himself. Grandpa Steiner couldn’t help but snicker at the unintentional double-meaning of this trespassing gray alien, landing in his backyard. “I see. So; Santa Claus. To reassure abduction victims there will be no anal probing?”

“Precisely.” The tiny mouth grined again and it filled Grandpa Steiner’s exhausted mind with disturbing visions of teeth in Twiggy’s asshole.

Grandpa Steiner quickly changed topic to make the smile go away, “Would you care for something to drink?”

“No, thank you, Grandpa Steiner. I can’t stay long.”

“So you’re abducting me?”

“What? Oh, no! No, no, no. Just here to chat a bit.” Mr. Grey reassured with a fold of his creepily long hands.

“Uh, huh. And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Well, sir, it’s your blogs. We need you to start writing them again.”

Grandpa Steiner chuckled as he poured himself a glass of orange juice and joined Mr. Grey at the kitchen table. Visits from little green men (or grey as the case may be) make you forget about needing to piss. At least for a little while.

“I’m sorry? That’s funny?” Mr. Grey asked.

“Oh, yeah.” Grandpa Steiner replied, dripping with sarcasm. “You’re an alien from another planet and you have shown up in my kitchen dressed as Santa Claus to ask me to keep writing a blog?”

Grandpa Steiner loved repeating the whole thing that way.

Made it ten times funnier to him.

He giggled into his glass as he drank the juice.

Mr. Grey nodded, “Well, yes. Your planet is being monitored by Tau Ceti and we fear your blog may be the only thing keeping them from attacking you.”

“Oh? Obviously. Say, by the way, why do you have an English accent?”

Mr. Grey explained, “As I’m sure you know, it was the Olympics broadcast in Berlin that first sent the strongest signals from Earth into space. We happened to learn German first. Caught a few British broadcasts quickly thereafter.”

“Okay. So, an alien British Santa needs me to start blogging again to save the earth? Why would you care?”

“Pardon?”

“Why would you care if a different set of aliens wipe us out?”

Mr. Grey smiled with his asshole mouth. “Just neighborly. If you found out someone was going to blow up the Johnson’s house across the street, would you warn them?”

Grandpa Steiner shrugged, “Okay. Valid point. Anything else?”

Mr. Grey from Planet Ten pondered a minute and folded his hands. “Nope. That about covers it. I mentioned the Easter Bunny?”

“Yes. You mentioned it.”

“Ah, so I did. No. Nothing else. Keep blogging. Save the earth. Carry on.”

“Great. Thanks.” Grandpa Steiner was too tired to ask why his blog would save the earth. He was just ready to end this weird dream and go take a piss. He still had to go. Orange juice was a bad idea. And he knew if he pissed while dreaming, he’d probably wet the bed in real life.

“You’re welcome.”

“Listen, I really need to pee. Can you let yourself out?” Grandpa Steiner motioned to the door.

“Of course. Thank you for your hospitality.” Mr. Grey stood and did a quick, slight bow.

“No problem,” Grandpa Steiner called over his shoulder as he left the room.

“Pee well. Have a good evening. Don’t forget the blog!”

Pee well? “Blog. Right. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Captai - er, Grandpa Steiner.”

Mr. Grey exited the patio and mumbled, “And don’t be mad about this.” Touching a watchlike device on his wrist, a tiny missile, no bigger than a pencap, fired back into the house and stung Grandpa Steiner in the neck. The nanoserum instantly activated in his bloodstream, at which moment he remembered everything about his secret mission from his homeworld within seconds. As the memories came back in a flood, Mr. Grey vanished in the same blinding beam of light he arrived in.

Ω

“Grandpa. You’re not making any sense. How can you be recruited by one of the aliens and be one of the aliens at the same time.”

“Oh! That? Well, I didn’t actually remember I was an agent until this morning.”

“Huh? Wait. What? You didn’t know you were an alien until this morning!?”

“Yeah. Most of the nanoserum got pissed out, right after I was activated. So, even though I remembered everything for a few moments, by the time I woke up that morning, I still figured it was a dream.”

Ms. Hayes murmured a few words into a cellphone and interrupted again. “Captain. We must be going.”

Jerome panicked, “I don’t understand. Why do you have to leave?”

“Being a newly reactivated reconnaissance member of Planet Ten leaves a DNA trace the Tau Ceti aliens would detect. Now that our mission is complete, we can’t remain or the secrecy of Planet Ten will be revealed.”

“And we just don’t want those douchebags to bother us.” Ms. Hayes explained.

“That doesn’t make sense! How can aliens with ships so big they can devour the Earth, not know there’s a sister planet on the opposite side of the sun?” Jerome’s friend asked.

“Cloaking device. You can’t find Planet Ten unless you know it’s there.”

“What?”

From out of a clear blue sky, a blinding flash of light fired into the patio. As it vanished, Mr. Grey was standing there in an Easter Bunny outfit which flopped awkwardly on his spindly limbs, clearly two sizes too big.

“What with their recruiting efforts, they are a bit like the Jehovah’s Witnesses of the universe. Best to keep our address private.” Mr. Grey explained, elaborating upon Ms. Hayes remark.

Jerome and his friend were astonished. “Whoa!”

“Holy shit!”

Grandma Steiner was shocked too, but after the events of the last few days, she was a bit less phased by materializing aliens than the boys.

Gritting her teeth, Grandma Steiner pulled her husband aside and said, “I am not leaving our home to go to some crazy alien planet!”

Mr. Grey cleared his throat and shoved a wiry arm between them, holding a folded brochure, “Oh, I think you will love it, Mrs. Steiner.”

Taking the pamphlet and squinting, she unfolded it.

Inside were images of a tropical paradise, rivaling the finest accommodations on Earth. Turquoise waters. Sugar white beaches. Grandiose levitating villas of glass and wood.

“You and your husband shall be well treated on Planet Ten, madame. I think you will enjoy it.”

“Oh, my!” Grandma Steiner exclaimed.

“All of you here are part of a historic mission. You saved your own species from extinction and helped our planet continue to maintain its secrecy. You will have no less than a heroes welcome!”

“You can’t leave!” Jerome cried. “Take me with you.”

“I promise we’ll visit.” Grandpa Steiner reassured him.

Mr. Grey snapped his fingers and waved the entourage into the house. “Come, come!”

The group began a bucket brigade into the house, removing all manner of items from the Steiner home. As various sets of furniture and clothing were dropped into the backyard, the beam from the unseen spacecraft would blast onto the lawn and transport the items to the ship.

“Oh, be careful with the plants!” Grandma Steiner instructed.

“Do you want this?” The Dyke asked, holding a vase.

“No. You can leave that behind.” Grandma Steiner conceded.

“Grandpa. Please don’t go.” Jerome asked.

Grandpa Steiner sat down with his grandson. “I know you want me to stay, butch. But my time here is done.”

“No it’s not. It’s not for me.”

“Yes, it is, son. You’re a big boy now. You’re doing fine on your own.”

“You’re never coming back, are you?”

“I said we’ll visit.”

“I know what you said. But you’re not really. Are you?”

“I plan to.”

“Right.” Jerome knew that wasn’t a “yes” and if it wasn’t a solid “yes”, it was the same thing as “no”.

Grandpa Steiner hugged his grandson.

“You know, I never really tell you this very much, but I love you, Jerome.”

“I know. I love you too, Grandpa.”

“They will be back, you know.” Grandpa Steiner looked to the sky.

“The Tau Ceti aliens?”

“No,” Grandpa Steiner rubbed his neck, gazing back at his grandson. “The possessed. We haven’t rid the world of hateful and selfish people forever. The seeds will germinate again. They always do.”

“I know.”

“Remember, son, you are the lineage of the guardians of this world. You have a great deal to uphold. Your children and your children’s children will always be an elite family among the Earth.”

Jerome hadn’t really thought of that. The implications were intimidating, yet, somehow, hearing his grandfather say it out loud made it less worrisome and instead he squared his shoulders and started to feel a bit of pride in wearing the mantle.

Grandma Steiner came over and rested a gentle hand upon her husband’s shoulder.

“Oh! Wait!” Jerome ran over to the table and pulled out his phone to shoot some video. “Say goodbye to Uncle David.”

Mr. Gray pointed a finger at the cellphone and a light zap of energy sizzled it out of Jerome’s hands.

“Hey!”

Mr. Gray waved a finger, “Whoa! Now, now. No pictures. We must keep your grandparents departure a secret. Remember? We’ll stop by your uncle David’s house in person.”

“Sorry.” Jerome apologized.

Hugs and kisses were exchanged between Jerome and his grandparents as Jerome’s friend shook hands with the old Steiner folks.

The entourage of people gathered in a circle in the yard as Grandma and Grandpa faced the kids.

“Farewell!”

“We’ll see you soon!”

With one last beam of light, they were gone.

Jerome and his friend stood in the empty yard, the only sound on the wind was a gurgle from the pool filter.

Ω

After the last transport, the ship was visible just above the clouds. Jerome and his friend watched as the craft flew away, carrying Grandma and Grandpa Steiner to Planet Ten. When it had vanished out of sight, the young boys turned their bicycles down the street and headed home.

No one heard the shotgun rack or noticed the pickup truck with Alabama plates as it parked in front of the empty Steiner house.

The Steiner lawn became a spittoon as Pa angrily sauntered up the walkway, humming with a dim red glow.

“In a world where debate has kind of fallen away and given away to shouting and bullying, the best thing is not just the idea of honest debate, the best thing is losing a debate. Because it means you’ve learned something and you’ve changed your position. The only way, really, to understand your position and its worth is to understand the opposite. That doesn’t mean the crazy guy on the radio who’s spewing hate, it means the decent human truths of all the people who feel the need to listen to that guy. You are connected to those people. They’re connected to him. You can’t get away from it.”

- Joss Whedon

Creator of Firefly and Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

2013 Wesleyan Commencement Address

Epilogue

This is author Eric Muss-Barnes and for those of you who may have missed it in the proem, let me remind you again, this is a work of fiction. The story isn’t real. Okay?

This story is a work of fiction.

Let me repeat that...

THIS STORY IS A WORK OF FICTION!

That means it’s not reality.

That means the conversations and events herein never happened.

That means the opinions and views expressed by the characters do not reflect my views and opinions of the world. They are made up. Fake. Phony. Imaginary. Makebelieve. Fabricated. Illusions. Bullshit. Hogwash. Malarkey. Lies.

Got it?

This book is a literary version of Internet trolling.

The story was designed to spark some reactions in people, because I find the human response to most sociological issues to be intrinsically bemusing.

I see a character like Grandpa Steiner not as a mirror for the values of a living person, but as an alternative version of Howard Beale or Archie Bunker - a caricature of a real person, a fictional man not intended for anyone to emulate, but to spark conversations. To inspire discussions. Grandpa Steiner holds the kind of philosophies that guarantees he’ll say something you have a problem with. I love those sort of people. They make you think. They make you question. They make you wonder. They make you fight for your own beliefs. That type of conflict is wonderful to encounter in real life. Those people help us to become more lucid in our reasoning and more articulate in our speech. When realized in a fictional character, the capacity of the individual to stir up eloquent emotions can become even more palpable.

Bigotry in others allows us to identify it in ourselves.

Most readers, I would imagine, might think I saw myself as Grandpa Steiner. After all, he talks the most in this story. He has the loudest voice. His opinions drown out all others. Thus, readers might presume to think his beliefs reflect my own. That would be wrong to assume.

I am not Grandpa Steiner.

If I, as the author, am present anywhere in this book, I am present in the reports of the aliens from Tau Ceti. I’m looking down on the culture (along with the metaphorical implication of deriding it) from my spaceship and finding myself a bit perplexed by the odd behavior of this weird species of apes. I don’t fully grasp most of the sociological bickering these bald monkeys are so fond of, and I just tend to think, “Well... what do you expect from a bunch of monkeys?”

Finishing this novel was difficult because the news and the media provides an endless source of inspiration. Each time I’d see some story on a horrible injustice or ignorance in the world, I’d want to incorporate it into my tale. I saw stories about a woman suffering skull fractures, by being repeatedly bludgeoned on a public street in Venice, as cowardly bystanders did nothing but record the brutal crime with cameraphones. I saw stories of politicians (Senator James Inhofe) who publicly state that humans can’t alter the climate, because only “God” can. I saw stories on a second-grade boy (Aiden Steward) being expelled from school for “terrorism” because he brought a ring to class which he claimed was magical. Not to mention all the pestilent scum and lawyers who seek to sue and bankrupt small businesses in America, simply because the company owners exercised their right to deny service to customers. Hell, I even saw a story about “standardized testing” in schools where 9 year old children (Sydney Smoot) were forced to sign papers saying they would not discuss the tests with their parents. Schools instructing kids they can’t talk to their parents!? That’s some goddamn scary and evil Hitler Youth bullshit right there. No school will ever have that kind of authority, but our children are being brainwashed into compliance. As I’d read these stories, the horrors of how apathetic and imbecilic our society has become would fill me with rage and sorrow and I’d want to say something about these fuckwads. But, I slowly realized, the fight was eternal. These braindead zombies would never go away. The inbred buffoons are only multiplying. Sooner or later, I’d have to put those idiots aside and finish this story. If I tried to criticize every mindless act of our culture in my tale, this book would never be complete.

At the time this book was first published, in 2015, the culture of the Western world has become very censored and fearful; thankfully, not in a totalitarian or dictatorship sense; but regrettably, in a self-imposed sense. The horrifying truth is that this oppressive mindset didn’t arise like it has in science fiction and fantasy novels. We were always told that a culture filled with censorship and oppression would stem from the evil dictatorship of a dystopian government. That isn’t the case. This oppression is fast becoming reality and it is coming from the citizens themselves. People are voluntarily suppressing thoughts and opinions. The society itself is the source of the enslavement. Enslavement to a homogenized, “politically correct” school of thought where no one may offend anyone and the slightest controversial statement gets turned into a scandal.

Thirty years earlier, people could make jokes about different races and religions and creeds without fear of repercussion. Unfortunately, by the turn of the 21st century, to say anything disparaging about anyone, for any reason, became taboo. People lost their jobs and ruined careers and became social pariahs for making jokes or comments that would have been ignored as innocuous only two or three decades earlier. Perversely, this devolving puritanical righteousness was called “progress” by society at large. But as anyone with a brain can tell you, social progress stems from changing patterns in what a society at large believes, not by merely suppressing what everyone still wants to say.

There used to be a great old proverb often repeated in America:

In her 1906 biography on Voltaire, Evelyn Beatrice Hall (known by the pen name Stephen G. Tallentyre) wrote the phrase: “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it” (which is often misattributed to Voltaire himself) as an illustration of Voltaire’s beliefs. I love that saying. That represents the very spirit of America.

Sadly, the evil “social justice warriors” crowd has warped this into:

“I disapprove of what you say, so I will ruin your life and criminalize your right to say it.”

These evil people hide behind the lie of “caring about the feelings of others” when in truth, they are simply using their own emotions as an excuse to push selfish agendas and rob you of your freedom.

Those who seek to censor people are an evil bunch. The ones who want to take away your rights are nothing more than devils in disguise. At the time this book was written, there was a demented faction of people in America who were determined to take away the First and Second Amendment from all people. Scary when you are surrounded by citizens who believe you should be prevented from speaking your peace and relinquish your right to defend yourself. Those “people” are indeed some monsters in human form. The idea behind this book, that the vile and hateful people of the world are nothing more than demons, is a lovely fantasy. How easy it would be to dismiss the most horrid of human beings by simply labeling them as something less than human.

The truth, of course, is much more painful and terrifying.

These monsters are people.

Our demons are fellow humans.

And by that measure, the kindest souls among us have the capacity for a kind of cruelty that decent citizens must defy, condemn and abhor.

Perhaps I am being naïve, but I like to think our culture is moving beyond a lot of our past ignorance and stupid choices. In some ways, it seems that self-imposed oppression may be fading. The backlash has begun. Part of the reason I wanted to write this book is to have it serve as a time capsule for this era in our culture. My hope is that a lot of the social issues presented in this story will become outdated in another generation. I want readers to look back at this book and say, “This is crazy! People back in 2015 were arguing about these things!? How petty and ignorant their culture was!”

I want people to remember this senseless crap we argued about.

That way, hopefully, no one will do it again.

And, more importantly, I want people to remember the important crap we argued about, so we will push aside petty concerns and keep fighting for the meaningful things.

The best way to keep doing things the right way is to remember how awful things were when we did things the wrong way.

These “politically correct” ideas are supposed to become outdated.

That’s kind of the whole point.

It will be a wonderful day when we return to a world where everyone can be equally ridiculed, without fear of scorn from the “politically correct gestapo”. How fantastic it will be on that day when the Declaration of Independence and The Bill of Rights are passionately defended and upheld by all American citizens. How glorious it will be on that day when we evolve to the point where people can again share blonde jokes, and Polish jokes, and black jokes, and redneck jokes, and Mexican jokes, and Chinese jokes, and gay jokes and no one will cry about feeling “bullied” anymore.

People are all the same, man.

Doesn’t matter who you are or where you come from.

We can be black or white or rich or poor or men or women or children or grandparents or heterosexuals or homosexuals or German or American or Asian or Buddhists or atheists or Christians and we all want the same things.

We just want a good life.

We want to feel like we matter.

We want to be treated with respect and kindness.

We don’t want people to hassle us or fuck us over.

So, if all people want that same shit, why is it so hard for us to give that to each other?

Why do we make that so difficult?

Don’t treat people like crap because you think they’re too stupid, or too ugly, or too poor, or too wealthy, or too religious, or too nonreligious, or too strange, or too different. Because in the end, remember, we are all sharing this very same little blue globe, just spinning around the sun. This is all we got, kids. There is nothing else. This is home.

We’re all in this together, folks.

Will we ever start behaving like it?

- Eric Muss-Barnes

March 2015

Biography

Raised by the 1940’s swingkid generation of his maternal grandparents, Eric Muss-Barnes was born in Cleveland, Ohio. There he spent the first 32 years of his life, before picking up and moving to California, with no job and nowhere to live, in the spring of 2003.

During the course of five decades, Eric has spent years working at Walt Disney Studios; piloted hang gliders over 6000 feet above the Earth; dated fashion models, rockstar goddesses and glamazon actresses; been thrown and dragged by horses (arguably similar to his dating experiences); earned a living as an American Greetings toymaker and a Hollywood game designer; ridden motorcycles through mountains and desert sandstorms (make that “over” mountains, he’s not Buckaroo Banzai); produced, directed and edited numerous music videos and an award-nominated film; briefly wed a tattooed MENSA astrophysicist chick; crewed on an Academy Award nominated movie; skateboarded in pools all around California with XGames medalists and documented his adventures in an online video series which has garnered over 4 million viewers; written an epic series of vampire tales plus standalone speculative fiction stories and imaginative literature (for a total of 8 books, including 5 novels); photographed numerous Playboy models and sold his images in several art gallery showings across the nation; been published in multiple fiction/non-fiction anthologies; served 12 years hard time in parochial schools; purchased 10 acres of land (while unemployed) to began a technologically-advanced, off-grid, dreamouse project, called “Luthorville”, in the Mojave desert; and created and programmed a blog called “InkShard” where you can see videos and essays about his life as a writer.

He’s been 1000% clean and sober his entire life.

Never done drugs. Never had alcohol. Never touched a cigarette.

As a card-carrying member of the National Rifle Association and the California Rifle & Pistol Association (and a firm believer in Constitutional Carry), Eric is ready for the illegal alien invasion from space and will stand proudly beside his fellow human beings to fight those bastards and cacodaemons... unless the Tau Ceti chicks are really hot, then he might go all Captain Kirk for a little while first.

Books authored by novelist
Eric Muss-Barnes
www.EricMuss-Barnes.com

Voodoo & Loveshadow
by Eric Muss-Barnes

Ever since he was a little boy, Rusty Stratford always believed he was destined for great things. Now, with his 40th birthday fast approaching, Rusty is starting to suspect he might only be destined for mediocre things. A bachelor with few family members and fewer friends, life hasn’t quite panned out the way Rusty hoped it would, and he’s beginning to resign himself to being alone and unimportant.

All that changes the night he meets the precocious ghosts of his unborn twin daughters, Isabeau and Oona. Quickly, he comes to discover the universe is a strange brew of fate and happenstance wherein Isabeau and Oona only have a small window of time during which their spirits can be born. Can the little girls help their father find the woman destined to become their mom? Or will Isabeau and Oona miss their chance to exist?

If you squandered decades of your life awaiting “one true love” who never arrived, if dreaming of an idyllic “soulmate” kept you alive through your darkest hours and they didn’t show up, this magical tale will comfort your heartache of missed chances and abandonment with an empathy like you’ve never known. Voodoo & Loveshadow kindles hope in the loneliest of hearts, assuring when the world has given you up for dead, you may still conjure reasons for life, love and laughter to prevail...

The Gothic Rainbow: Beginning Volume of The Vampire Noctuaries
by Eric Muss-Barnes

Helle Tompkins has reached the end of her days as an outcast, suburban teenager. Ever since her beloved father killed himself, and they released Helle from the mental hospital for trying to join him, she’s been in a place where her pain is far deeper than high school melodrama.

No more hiding behind black lipstick and a mohawk. Now she’s playing with pagan charms, Wiccan rites, and the scrying sorcery of her Ouija board. It’s the perfect distraction until she summons the attention of a charming and sinister faerie prince. A seductive spirit lurking in the shadows of treebranches shimmering upon her walls, he may be something much more horrible than he claims.

Will she succumb to bewitching promises and find salvation in his cruel embrace, or will his own agonizing secrets draw Helle into even deeper heartbreak?

“...The Gothic Rainbow by Eric Muss-Barnes is, frankly, one of the most absorbing novels that I have read in quite some time. ... I’ve found the book well worth my time, and I hope you will give it a shot. ... At the end, I think you will agree that Eric Muss-Barnes will be a name to watch...”
- Christopher T. Miller, Book Stacks Unlimited

“... The Gothic Rainbow gives solace and escape for those who feel trapped in a messed-up world full of heartaches and misunderstandings. There is plenty of sex and violence to stimulate, but it’s the delicate beauty and passionate writing of this novel that will touch your soul ...”
- Octavia, Outburn Magazine

“... if you’ve ever listened to The Cure in the dark, danced to The Dead Milkmen, lost a loved one, hung out with skaters, hated your parents or hated preppies, or if anyone’s ever called you a “freak,” I think you’ll find a little of yourself in this book. Its honest representation of this subculture - from the music to the fashion - is spun throughout the web of fantasy ...”
- Cynthia Conlin, Implosion Magazine

“... it’s quite a page-turner, with lots of shocking vampiric escapades. This book, on the whole, is extremely well-written with a wonderful poetic style. I’m glad I didn’t let the slow start scare me off ...”
-Susan Moon, The Nocturnal Lyric

“... One aspect of the writing that I appreciated is that the author uses different styles of writing throughout this novel. Muss-Barnes excels in his literary descriptions of buildings, character dress, and dreams. ... the choice of words and inflection of mood hit dead on at what I anticipated I would find when I first picked up the book ...”
-Dan O., IndustrialnatioN

“... Eric effectively blends elements from different genres and literary styles in a duet between mortals and Fey. Highly unique, believable characters, and a musical playlist to boot! I found the book compelling and charming (in a twisted way), and would gladly read the book again ...”
- Chelsea, Thistle Magazine

“... I’m utterly mystified that this book worked as well as it did for me. It’s written for readers with a firm grasp of the Goth subculture (I don’t qualify); it doesn’t attempt to have a plot as such; and the vampires are hopelessly larger-than-life, with their expensive cars, outrageous acts of violence, and nonstop scorn for mortals. (In fact, the vampires consider themselves so godlike that pronouns referring to them are capitalized, a typographical idiosyncrasy that I found rather disconcerting.) Perhaps the book’s appeal lies in the sheer honesty of the narrative. ... Self-serving but sincere, The Gothic Rainbow is definitely worth checking out ... I know that’s a strange kind of thumbs-up, but The Gothic Rainbow is a strange kind of book. It’s certainly not for everyone. ... It is a book of dreams and fantasies, power and pain, and bittersweet Goth-flavored wish fulfillment ...”
- Catherine B. Krusberg, Sphere Fantasy Online

Annwn’s Maelstrom Festival: Concluding Volume of The Vampire Noctuaries
by Eric Muss-Barnes

Fetishes claw inside of you. Ones you dare never admit. Desires you could never reveal. Claims of being free of all their taboos has never made you stop fearing your own carnal wants... For none could ever endure your passions and live.

Whips and chains are for prudes.

Fangs. Talons. Blood of full moons. The darkest hungers never die. Tell us the tale of your lusts. Succumb to the story of your deviance.

Or pretend this isn’t you at all. Wonder how far burns the flame, but fear to melt the wax. No matter. We have you eternal. Wondering. Wanting. Trapped with no escape from the blackest scenarios you envision.

Know no remorse. Submit to this dread sensuality.

Mock my every word, for still, this is you.

There is a vampire legend within us all. You have felt it for years. Yearned to hear of it. To read of it. See it in a tangible form. Live it. Hungered. And yet no one has ever even spoken of it. No one has ever given that saga a voice... Until now...

This is the myth of the vampire as you have always dreamed it should be told. The one we have all secretly shared, but never expressed.

Hear how she wants every boy and girl?

The dawn of eternal night has come.

More than 17 years in the making, Annwn’s Maelstrom Festival is the long-awaited conclusion to The Gothic Rainbow. When you thought the shadows could become no darker, Annwn’s Maelstrom Festival: Concluding Volume Of The Vampire Noctuaries takes you further into the tale of Elric and Helle DuBois. Told from Helle’s perspective, the story picks up where The Gothic Rainbow: Beginning Volume of The Vampire Noctuaries ended. We learn the true motives of Camillia, and the mystery of mortals played as Pawns, in centuries-old Killing Games, by the insidious DuBois sisters.

The secrets grow deeper. The passion becomes stronger. The fury knows no limits. There is far more to Elric and Helle than they have ever dreamed. Welcome to Annwn’s Obsidian Sideshow & Maelstrom Festival, where the love of Elric and Helle will cause dominions to fall and tragedy and death be left in their wake.

How You Can Get a Job at Walt Disney Studios Without a College Degree
by Eric Muss-Barnes

Working for Walt Disney is a childhood dream, shared by millions of people, from all across the world. Since the founding of the studios in 1923, only a small fraction of individuals have ever experienced the bliss of making that dream coming true.

After working at the illustrious Studio for more than 6 years, author Eric Muss-Barnes shares his story of how that wish-upon-a-star came true for him, starting from humble beginnings in a bluecollar family in Ohio.

Told with warmth and humor, you learn every job, every experience, every career move he made. Starting from his childhood paper route during Cleveland blizzards, he explains how he journeyed all the way to sitting with Minnie Mouse, as a Cast Member, at the Disney Studio lot, on a warm Summer day.

How You Can Get a Job at Walt Disney Studios Without a College Degree is not merely about landing a job at Disney. Rather, it’s a tale regaling every trial and tribulation which lead Eric to Los Angeles, told in the hopes of inspiring you to continue the pursuit of your own dreams, whatever they may be.

You still have time to make your dream come true too. It’s never too late.

As Jiminy Cricket promised, if your heart is in your dream, no request is too extreme...

The Page of Wands
by Eric Muss-Barnes

Legend has it, an ancient walking staff, known as “The Wand”, first presented itself to old widow McCreadle, along with The Three Rules.

1. You may use the magic wand for 3 days.
2. You may only use it in your profession.
3. You must secretly bequeath it to an anonymous stranger.

As the power of The Wand is entrusted from one Los Angeles resident to the next, randomly falling into the hands of noble and corrupt citizens alike, the city is brought to both bliss and ruin. But, when things finally spiral out of control in neighborhoods infested with aliens, dragons, dinosaurs, and superheroes, can a misfit group of townspeople set the world right again, before The Wand must be passed on once more?

Grandpa Steiner Saves the World (from Illegal Aliens (from Space))
by Eric Muss-Barnes

Grandpa Steiner offends everyone. He doesn’t mean to. It just happens. During his youth, his attitudes were commonplace and perfectly acceptable. As the conventions of society change around him, and more and more of his opinions become derided as obsolete, Grandpa Steiner decides to start a blog, to vent his frustrations upon the Internet.

Little does Grandpa Steiner know, when a race of space aliens secretly decide to obliterate mankind, they regard his blog as the only redeeming quality of humanity. Grandpa Steiner inadvertently causes the aliens to reconsider, thereby sparing the world from annihilation.

But when his popular essays cause a media backlash and his family convinces Grandpa Steiner to stop his politically incorrect rants, will the prevailing “culture of damn sissies” spell doom for the Earth?

Schooling Your Boss To Not Suck
by Eric Muss-Barnes

Schooling Your Boss to not Suck takes a fun and sarcastic journey into tales of horrible bosses. There are countless books on improving the workplace, but nothing quite like this.

Is your boss a supervillain? Need a superhero to straighten him out? Instead of being written by another stuffy “expert”, author Eric Muss-Barnes (who barely squeaked out of high school, let alone finished college), offers a lighthearted slant on leadership from the viewpoint of the common worker.

True stories. Real experiences. No silly parables here, folks. No “puppydogs and rainbows” like those other motivational books. Just genuine events of piss and vinegar from the American middleclass workplace.

Eric is just an Average Joe, like yourself, telling it like it is. If your boss sincerely wants to learn how to motivate and inspire the people, it’s time the boss stopped listening to other leaders and started listening to what regular people like you have to say. It’s time someone stood tall, whipped off those mild-mannered glasses, and schooled your boss on how to not suck!

Forever Loving You
by Eric Muss-Barnes

Years ago, after author Eric Muss-Barnes had the cover photo for this book taken, a friend ridiculed him and said, “Who do you think you are, Michael Bolton? This looks like a cover for an album of rock ballads. ’Eric Muss-Barnes, Forever Loving You!’” Twenty years later, instead of an album cover, it became a book cover for a compilation of cheesy lovepoems.

Colophon

Printed Editions Colophon

• HP Pavilion dm3t 1100 Notebook PC (3GB RAM / 160GB SSD)

• Windows 7 Professional 64-Bit OS

My trusty dead-silent SSD laptop was used to write this novel. I also wrote 3 other novels, reformatted 2 others books, and composed 2 memoirs on this very same computer. Indeed, it has served me well. I intend to continue writing books on nothing but solid-state laptops for the rest of my life. I’ve used typewriters, notebooks, and desktop computers and the thin-profile laptops are definitely my favorite. They are really my element. The nice thing about writing novels is that you don’t need a ton of drive capacity either. You can easily fit a lifetime of work on a 160GB drive with room to spare.

• Notepad++ 6.4.5

• Open Office 3.2.0

My initial outline was written in plain text using Notepad++ simply because I like doing outlines in plain text. The files stay clean that way. Uncluttered.

Once the outline was done, I moved into writing the actual manuscript in Open Office, so I can compose the book in the final format including page layouts and font choices. This way, no time is wasted converting a final draft into a final format. Instead, every single draft of the novel is the final format. I can concern myself with nothing but writing. The formatting is already baked in to the process. Once I choose the ideal formatting for a given story, I never have to think about it again.

• Adobe Photoshop CS2

The cover image is something I built from scratch in Photoshop and created with the intention of reflecting 1950’s science fiction movies. I had quite a clear vision of what I wanted. Although, I was considering using a photo of my grandfather from his days in the Army during WWII, instead of a shot of him as an older man. However, the version I used makes more sense for a title with the word “Grandpa” in it. Yes, the man on the cover really is my maternal late grandfather (although his last name is “Muss” not “Steiner”) and that photograph was taken in our driveway sometime in the late 1970’s or early 1980’s, I believe.

My “late grandfather” sounds odd. I’ve always been perplexed by the use of the word “late” for “deceased”. I guess “dead” just sounds vulgar. “Late” has a more respectful ring to it. Funny, my grandpa once told me that I’d be a writer and write books about my life and my experiences. I thought he was crazy at the time, because I was about 7 years old and had no interest in reading, let alone writing. But he was right. I do love writing now. I bet he never would have imagined he’d end up on one of my book covers!

• Fonts: Lora, Mrs. Monster, Jack’s Candlestick

Once upon a time, I read a question on a website from an author who wondered what font to use in printing her books. This made no sense to me. As an author, you don’t use “a” font to write all your books. The aesthetics of a font should be reflective of the tone of a story. Fonts should be different for every book an author writes, so long as the tone of the story always changes.

This body of this book uses a font called “Lora” simply because I liked the way it echoed the feel of this story. It has a traditional serif look, similar to Times New Roman. Yet, it also has a bit of a modern flair with stylish spacing and leading and wonderfully vivid italics. This font really fits the “old school” mentality of a character like Grandpa Steiner, yet it also has a modern and progressive vibe, more akin to the science fiction elements of the story.

The cover uses two different fonts:

“Mrs. Monster”

“Jack’s Candlestick”

I picked them for no reason other than the fact they reminded me of classic 1950’s science fiction movie posters, which is exactly the feel I wanted for the book cover.

eBook Editions Colophon

• HP Vostro 400 Desktop PC

• Windows XP Professional OS

As with my past titles, the eBook editions were created on a desktop computer, converted from the original Open Office .ODT files used in the printed version of the book. For whatever reason, I simply prefer doing my HTML programming on a desktop computer and my novel-creation on a laptop computer. I think because my first novel was written by hand and a laptop is close to recreating that feeling. Whereas I’ve made a living as a programmer and I am used to doing that as a desk job. Hence, the reason I make printed books on a laptop and eBooks at a desktop.

• Notepad++ 6.4.5

• WinZip 9.0

In order to make the book available to readers digitally, the original Open Office .ODT files were rebuilt as an .EPUB file. Being a programmer, I engineered and constructed the .EPUB files by hand - coding all of the CSS, XHTML, OPF and NCX files in a plain text editor. Once that was complete, I used WinZip to package my .EPUB file which was then triple-validated against epubcheck 3.0, and Sigil 0.6.2, and finally in Flight Crew 0.7.2.

• KindleGen 2.7

Using the command-line utility KindleGen, I converted my .EPUB file into .MOBI format for sale and distribution online using Amazon and other .MOBI-based eReader systems. This is also the way I create my free MOBI versions that people can download for nothing and pay for via donations later.