Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Went back for a nostalgic puff of the crack pipe of John Devore... This shit makes no sense. He's still at it! What is this?

Monday, March 1, 2010

Friday, December 25, 2009

The Promised World: A Christmas reflection on custies, the year 2009, and fun

A recent public radio segment invited listeners to weigh in with their views on the changes the past decade has brought. The discussion shifted from 9/11 to Barack Obama to Facebook, but it wasn’t until a caller named Chris from Massachusetts decided to offer his perspective that I perked up. Chris explained that he had entered high school at the beginning of the double-zeros, worked hard, and gone to a good college, from which he had recently commenced himself. Yet he was having a hard time finding a job and generally navigating a landscape that was radically different from the one for which he had been preparing all these years. “Where…” bemoaned a bewildered Chris, “but where is the world you promised us?” Chris’ plight is not unfamiliar to me. One year out of college, I am back in my old bedroom in my parents’ house, working as a store clerk for a little over minimum wage, and bussing at a restaurant on the weekends. Sounds pretty bleak, right? Where, I might ask, is the salaried, benefits-included job that is supposed to be putting to use the many products of my elite liberal arts education? Where is my small but cozy apartment in a recently gentrified neighborhood? Where is the certainty that if I work hard I will get a raise, a better job, a purpose in life? Where, oh where, is the world that was promised to me? This train of thought has played through my head several times in the past year, and I have continuously come to a very important realization: the question we are asking is not only absurd, it is very wrong. It exemplifies everything I detest about that “promised world”: the sense of entitlement, the protestant work ethic, and most of all, the idea that the world “should” remain the same. Let’s just examine, for one moment, the remains of that which continues to crumble before our eyes. Was it really so desirable? Of course not! It is a world dominated by kraut, with their kraut aesthetic and kraut values (for details, please refer to Anastassia’s very thoughtful essay on the subject of kraut). Yet when we were presented with this single map, directing us on the path to becoming an “adult”, we came to rely on it as a definitive truth, a manual of sorts for living life. Rather than learning how to adapt, we learned how to get good grades. Instead of dreaming up the millions of different ways we might live our lives, we perfected our resumes and refined our business casual wardrobes (ok, I’m exaggerating, I never really put that much effort into my non-bondage wardrobe). My point isn’t that these are useless or unworthy pursuits, but that the emphasis on such skills has decreased rather than increased our flexibility. The fluctuations we have seen in the past decade are nothing compared to the changes we will see in the future. Our world is changing rapidly, and it is going to take all of our creative powers combined to adapt ourselves. This is serious shit. But does it have to be? In the past year as a wanderer, an unemployment statistic, a raver, a wife, a minimum wage employee, and a warrior, I have realized two very important things. First, it is the relationships I cultivate that give me joy, and as long as I make most of my life decisions around the need to build community, I am happy. The second is even simpler, and it is this: life is supposed to be fun. I know, we can’t control the family we come from, the country we’re born in, life, death, war, etc. But a lot of the un-fun things that we think we have to do are really just a trick. They’re a trick to make us into custies, to perpetuate that failed world we worked so hard to become a part of, and that world is collapsing not only because it is run by kraut. It is failing because it is NO FUN. The more I think about it, the more ridiculous it seems that “what do you do for fun?” is a legitimate question. Why is fun confined to weekends and holidays? Why should I not, instead of bemoaning my lack of “real” employment opportunities, revel in my daily activities? I chat with customers and co-workers, take pleasure in serving someone a beautiful plate of food. Cleaning my house isn’t a boring chore, it is an act that improves my surroundings, boosting my mood. Most of all, every interaction with my friends, family, or even strangers is real, interesting or humorous – even the difficult ones. Once you get into the habit of being fun all the time, it’s hard to stop. The possibilities spiral ever upwards; they branch outwards and grow deeper like roots. For instance, if I like gardening, why not spend time cultivating my own food? Each hour spent working is also an hour spent playing in the dirt, AND it’s one hour less that I have to work for a paycheck to feed myself. Perhaps I have a friend who does not like farming, but loves to produce music. Doesn’t trading tomatoes for dubstep sound a cuss of a lot more fun than buying each one from Hannafords or Itunes? I recently hung out with some friends who showed me a gallon of maple syrup they had traded for a certain homegrown crop. “Green for gold,” they said, with grins on their faces. So what am I proposing? That we teach ourselves to be flexible. That we learn to adapt to a changing world, hopefully before it’s too late. We need to stop asking where our promised world is, because we can create a world (a funhouse, perhaps?) that is better, more just, and infinitely more fun (especially since we’ve freed up all that time by not going into I-banking). On a more personal note, I would like to say that I have so much fun because I have such an amazing extended community of people to play with. You guys are my motivation, my inspiration, and the reason why I get up in the morning – be you best friend, lover, brother, or casual acquaintance (special shout-out to old and out-of-touch friends – let’s hang out more!). I am incredibly thankful for all of you, and I continue to marvel at each of your minds, talents, and perseverance. Your happiness is my happiness. Which is why I hope that 2010 will be the year when we all hang out more than ever before, have the most fun, and make every day the best day ever. Merry Christmas! All my love, Moriah aka Momo aka Dominatrix Girl aka Wifey aka Mo Lady Face Killah

Sunday, August 16, 2009

New Favorite Website

Jon Stewart recently featured this amazing site on The Daily Show, and I can’t help but to pass it along. I swear it is not a joke. My favorite part is the “Setting the Record Straight” section – make sure to check out the wealth of information it has to offer. Also, if anyone has an in with this fine group of people or any other ideas on how to become a member, I’m all ears. Jake Rister and I could really use a pair of tickets to one of their events.

My Prescription for America


Like so many barbarian hordes sweeping across the plains of central Asia, the healthcare debate has swept the nation with a surprisingly vicious force. As usual, we at Ruthless Ranting have many things to say on the subject, but I’m sure you’ve heard enough from every media outlet, not to mention every random-ass kraut-lite that has decided to weigh in with their oh-so-highly informed opinions. (If you’re interested in a real and informed take on healthcare, our friend over at Class Warfare does a great job of shedding light on the issues at stake – and for once I’m not being sarcastic). But there is one thing that I would like to address.

I may not be a doctor, but I do have a prescription for America: a healthy dose of RUTHLESS FISH BEATING is needed to counter the recent epidemic of CRAZY that has been circulating like wildfire around the country. The phrase “pull the plug on Grandma” in itself is so ridiculous that I can’t even mock it further… I literally have nothing to say to the people that believe this absurdity. Where did they get the idea that it is appropriate to take themselves so seriously and lose all control of their emotions at town hall meetings while sobbing that they want “their” America back? My cat Puscifer is a 3-month-old feline and he seems to have about a million times more control than the average American. Which is why they all need to be beaten with a fish.

Even Obama can’t believe that he regularly has to address this shit as if it’s a real issue. It’s like if a professor was hired to teach a college-level human biology class, only to discovery that half his students still think that babies are brought by storks. I mean, have you seen the man’s facial expression in his recent speeches? It’s like he really wants to make fun of the assertions that his health care plan involves a “death panel,” but since he can’t do that, he teeters between a desire to hug us and punch us in the face.

But what he should really do is beat the entire country with giant pickled fish. Maybe then, when we have pearly beads of fish juice running down our cheeks, we will cease to believe the nonsense being spouted by kraut royalty such as Bill O’Reilly and Glenn Beck. Speaking of which, I have some presents for Bill O’Reilly to reward him for spreading his holy gospel. One of them is black and furry, and the other one smells like fish.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

A Severe Case of Not-So-Straight Love

A faithful reader needed our help, and we were only too happy to comply. Send us your questions, we have many nuggets of wisdom to give.

Dear Ruthless Ranters,

I am having an issue with straight love. I’ve just moved to Arlington, VA; business casual attire capital of the world, ground zero for the Happy Hour, and homeland of the kraut preferred, mother approved, binary gender expression. This is the straight capital of Virginia and maybe the entire eastern seaboard (well, excluding Golds Gym’s Sauna around 10 on Wednesdays). Amid the sea of light blue J. Crew oxford shirts and khaki shorts I am finding myself increasingly attracted to the guy who stands out, Mr. Duke Lacrosse.

I see him in Georgetown. I see him at Whitlows and at the Clarendon Ballroom. I see him everywhere I go in his mesh jersey with the cut off sleeves. I hear him pontificate on how the captain of his team only acted with the best of intentions when inviting that stripper over for some fun with his teammates. Now I know without a doubt that he was falsely accused. So, in light of these developments I ask you, oh experienced one who’s stripped down, strapped on, and conquered more sweet laxers than she can count, how do I take this one down – is my straight love for him getting in the way of getting his legs in the air?

Please Help!
- Blue Shirt and Khaki Shorts

Dear Blue Shirt,

Your situation does indeed appear daunting: you are living amongst the filthiest of kraut, who, despite their prestigious liberal arts college degrees, probably still believe at the core of their soulless shells that sex and gender are the same thing. The “heteroflexible” craze that has recently swept across certain parts of the northeast has clearly penetrated no further into the Arlington scene than the occasional str8 gurl humming Katy Perry. Your love interest, our dear friend Mr. Duke Lacrosse, appears to be the height of hetero, and some might say to forget it. But I, my dear friend, know what it’s like to lust after such a man: how he smells (Polo by Ralph Loren), what he wears (same), and above all that beaming, rosy face (there’s something so sexy in the way his cheeks closely resemble a baby’s ass). My dear khaki-clad friend, you will be overjoyed to hear that I don’t have to make the acquaintance of this fine gentleman to know that he wants you too.

How do I know this? First of all, I think everyone is missing the point of the whole stripper mess: it’s clearly a cover. Better that these sweet laxers be a part of that time-honored tradition – the sex scandal – than let everyone know the only too obvious truth: they love the cock. Watch closely as the object of your lust takes a moment to greet his bros (a lot of ass-grabbing is involved). But this bro-love will never be consummated, because despite his strength, swagger, and that weird thing he does with his shoulders, this laxer has a secret desire: he just wants to be dominated. Coming from a fine tradition of rich white men, he has been taught his whole life to act as if he has personally just conquered the new world, but trust me, in his heart he wants nothing more than to be thrown up against a wall, tied to the bed, and ravaged by you. So invest in a whip or some handcuffs, and make some particularly intense homo eye contact the next time you see him at Starbucks. It won’t be long before you’re using his lacrosse stick to play a game on your Astroturf.

Go Duke!
- A fellow lax-lover

Saturday, August 8, 2009

John DeVore Quote of the Moment

"Unfortunately, I know what it’s like to smoke the crack pipe of infidelity. It’s all secret meetings, whispered promises, stolen moments, and forbidden sex in the backseats of cars, in stairwells with hands covering mouths, fumbling with belt buckles, lifting skirts."

Thursday, July 30, 2009

The Russian Strategy

Rodney Johnson is our newest ruthless ranter. Are his rantings conspiracy theories or cold hard truth? You decide. This week he weighs in on Russia. Be afraid.

Rodney Johnson

A lot can be said about Russians. They are certainly a ruthless, cutthroat people. They have little respect for all things non-Russian, although they do apparently like capitalism as much as the next asshole looking out for number one. And hockey? Pretty awesome. Oh, they also kick ass at organized crime. Just meet some Russian people, they’ll tell you. Especially the ones who aren’t obviously involved in anything, because you see, these people are taking part in the Russian strategy.

Organized crime is at the heart of a huge economic system that spans the earth and accounts for about a fifth of the world’s GDP. Drugs and prostitutes and all that other fun stuff are just consumer items to be bought and sold for a profit. I’d call it the purest kind of capitalism because there are no taxes, and the only barometer is cash. Using fear to influence people, as proven by Bill O’Reilly, is an excellent way to get what you want, and Russia, as a country, has a thirst for power that cannot be quenched. They don’t do anything small scale. Especially crime.

Any civilized nation already knows this, because anywhere that has been civilized is extremely susceptible to the kind of activity that characterizes the gangster lifestyle: Moscow has the highest number of millionaires in the world, and Grand Theft Auto was right – they really do love a fine Mercedes. Their government is no different. Maybe they don’t deal drugs, but they treat others like a gangster would, intimidating and using violence and extortion and whatnot.

Organized crime, being such a large activity in economic terms, can be a powerful destabilizing force in society. The Russians know this. Let’s give it to them, they are a very shady people, and they have not only accepted this fact, they have embraced it. Russian organized crime is now worldwide. There are no Five Families, or even necessarily a “mafia,” there’s just Russian organized crime – it’s too big to be grouped any other way. Since Russian people in general are aware, if not involved in, the scope of the crime (just ask one), and the Russian government is (to my knowledge), made up of Russian people, it seems a bit redundant to point out that the government is also aware of the power and reach of Russian organized crime.

Back to my second point. Ask a Russian about Russian organized crime. They will probably tell you how much you shouldn’t fuck with them and how they’re evil and stuff, the kind of talk that makes you think maybe they really are bad news. Telling you this instills fear, and fear is, of course, at the core of this whole long piece of bullshit. Your fear means they are winning. Because that’s how they are trying to take over the world – little by little, like a big red hand slowly squeezing the life out of a cantaloupe.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

John DeVore Quote of the Moment

"I remember telling one college girlfriend that we should “double bag” it before sex. Which meant wearing two condoms at once."

Stuff Str8 Gurlz Like #1: Feelings


Str8 gurlz love anything to do with feelings: they love having them, expressing them, and talking about them, and they want you to do the same. Simply having an emotion is enough for a str8 gurl, that feeling must be very intense and expressed in an equally intense manner excessive to satisfy her. Personally, if I ever catch myself having a feeling, I make sure not to bore others with my emotional drivel and promptly inebriate myself or consume some fish to remind myself how ruthless I am. However, I am also not trying to date a str8 gurl, so that is generally not a problem for me.

If a str8 gurl happens to be your friend or girlfriend, and you want to please her, the best course of action is to ask her about her feelings and nod sympathetically while she talks. She will also respond positively to arm or back stroking, and, depending on the nature of your relationship, occasional kisses. When she is done (this may take a very long time), it is your turn to express some feelings. If you are having trouble coming up with feelings to talk about, take a cue from her and talk about the strength and frequency of your emotions. Some common gestures that convey your feelings on an everyday basis are: resting your hand on the back of her neck while on an escalator or walking in public, anything involving flowers, and reinforcing “positive” stereotypes about her gender role, such as “it’s so cute how long it takes you to get ready!” Occasionally a str8 gurl may express frustration by crying… in this case, I have been told that you should rub her back while murmuring “it’s okay,” and maybe “I’m sorry.”

If you think that all of this sounds like too much trouble, you’re right. And if you are terrified by the volume of a particular str8 gurl’s emotions, give me a call and we’ll get drunk together. Don’t even think about having a feeling around me: the punishment for that in my world is a ruthless fish beating.