Dude sits down next to me on the bus ride home.
He’s all punked out, complete with drab-colored clothing, funky facial hair, and so on. It’s the uniform for the hip, I guess. Not impressed.
He’s dying to engage me in conversation for some reason. I am in the middle of a great book by Shermer, and I really do not want to be bothered. Pluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuus, I just ripped the Toadies' Rubberneck disk to my Ipod (I Burn rocks my socks), and it’s fucking smoking good (as I remembered). To no avail.
He hands me a newsprint zine, asking if I want it. It’s punky enough, and it is more of a pamphlet. Right away I see the requisite picture of that piece of shit Che Guevara. I simply do not get the fascination with a military wanker, an advocate of mass murder. It’d be like college students walking around with Hitler t-shirts. Don’t get it. Yeah, Hitler was a Nazi, and he and the party killed on the order of something like 6 million Jews. Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut, Stalin was a Communist (as Che was), and he and his party killed something like 20 million! What the fuck? Are all the public school graduates in-fucking-sane? You really think Cuba is admirable? North Korea? China?
Damn, you’re stupid.
Damn, you’re stupid.
The rest of the pamphlet/zine is all about some kind of return to a primitive environment, eating organic, and riding only bikes. Seriously. That’s the point. They’re WATERMELONS, mostly green on the outside, because that is popular, but RED on the inside (commies).
Crazy shit.
Crazy shit.
Look, if YOU want to ride your dumbass bike around town, while eating free-range carrots, GO FOR IT. But I don’t want to. I like dead animal flesh. Yep. Baby seal burgers (the ones with the big eyes taste best), freshly clubbed, are divine. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Hahahahaha. I like cars. Yeah, automobiles. Trucks. Much as you and your lame group are super cool, once you’re hit by a car … you’re really not going to want to be driven to the hospital on BIKE. Hahahahaha. And those evil doctors who all drove to the hospital in CARS, who don’t eat organic, will have to take care of you. Please refuse. Refuse, so that your genes can be pulled from the evolutionary cycle. Hahahahahaha. Die, you fuckers, DIE. Better yet, move to Cuba! Pleeeeeeeeeease. Go be a communist WITH communists. You can all starve and ride bikes together. Yeah! Hahahahaha.
Calmly, while all of the above is going through my head, I flip through this agit-prop, this Occu-tard type philosophy and non-logic. Yuck. Feh. I close the zine/pamphlet, and ink stains are now on my beautiful fingers.
Handing it back to my super-cool, hipster buddy, I ask, How did your bike parts get here?
He looks at me quizzically.
That’s your bike, right? I pointed to the bike swinging on the bus’ rack in front of us.
He nods. Where did all those alloys, those metals and rubber come from? I ask again.
He then launches into a Critical Masshole speech about the evils of roads, highways, oil, and all the rest. I let him finish. This is his religion. In any other time, in any other place, he’d be a glorious Witness to Jehovah or a Brown Shirt. This is very important to him.
He finishes, nearly breathless.
I ask him the question again.
And as I do, my stop has arrived.
Exiting, I answer for him, ALL your bike parts were made and brought to you using oil, electricity, and automobile transportation. Have a great day.
*
Craig Edward Kelso is the author of Anarcho-Capitalism (2014),
a primer on the philosophy of peaceful, stateless cooperation. His
curriculum vitae include a Bachelor of Arts in Political Science from
San Diego State University, and a Post-Baccalaureate secondary education
credential in both Social Science and English Language Arts. Kelso
taught for nearly a decade in the American public school system, and was
voted by colleagues Teacher of the Year, twice in his short tenure,
earning numerous accolades from chambers of commerce, mayors, state
assembly persons, governors, congresspersons, senators, and even
Wal-Mart. Currently he struggles to earn an opportunity to be employed,
working as a laborer, dishwasher. He is deliriously happily married to
Myra Kelso, living in Southern California with their adorable children.
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