People are pissed off.

Posted by Pointman on February 25, 2016 · 12 Comments 

They’re pissed off at knee-jerk stereotype politics. At being regarded as nothing more than an already in-pocket demographic that can be safely ignored. At not being listened to. At being invisible. At having no effect. At being apprehended as being nothing more than some sort of unthinking zombie lurching towards a voting booth ready to scratch their X on a ballot paper.

At the politics of race. At being white – you somehow don’t count because you’ve already got this huge guilty sin of being born white. At being black – don’t worry or get in the way of our best intentions for you, we know what’s best. You’re weak, so we’ll positively discriminate your ass off into the despised tokenism zone. At being a Dago, sorry, Hispanic American, we’re totally in touch with your aspirations, despite doing fuck all about them for the last fifty years or so.

At being a helpless woman – we recognise your victimhood status already. We’ll keep on bitching on about men although you’ve already picked out one who strangely enough isn’t actually a rapist monster from hell.

At being a man, almost certainly a potential rapist, we know ahead of time you’re probably guilty of that. Who are these people talking about? Just shut the fuck up, we all know in advance you’re guilty as you’re going to be accused some day.

At not being delighted at some giggling trans-gender freak celeb fuckwit you’re supposed to have heard of, fêted for actually doing nothing of anything and trumpeted into yet another bloody reality TV programme you couldn’t give a flying fuck about, cooking the sort of shite food a working man like your dad would have regarded as something that dropped out of his nose onto a bare plate when he happened to glance down at it.

At being a blue-collar man being told by a bunch of high-end Fettuccini nibblers they’ll look after your interests. Yeah. Really? Like the way you did for all those poor bastards who used to work the car production line in Detroit? Or the men in Corby who used to cook hot steel?

At working at a place and slowly watching jobs disappear one by one to immigrants, who’ll work for edge of the hand scraps dusted from the table and not in your heart being able to blame those poor bastards who’re living eight up in someone’s back garage and working for almost nothing. That one burns. It really fucking well does.

At being stuck in some massive spinning Wurlitzer of multimedia insanity in which you seem to be the last solitary man left in the world with some sort of final fingernail fucking grip hanging over the cliff of what’s actually important. On what matters. Of something substantial. Of anything.

At worrying about your kids. Will they ever get a decent job, despite all the longing you see in them to get one. They believed you, and tried so hard and now all their options are just trade down shit. Your bad advice betrayed them. Enjoy your burger, it was flipped by a degree holding minimal wage type.

They’d have been better off just doing their apprenticeship like their grandfathers, digging ditches when they were twelve, never mind the third level debt-laden education they’ve now been saddled with and you’d mistakenly told them would pay off big time. All of it courtesy of bloody you. What a complete idiot you were.

At doing what you consider your duty as father, as a mother, as a patriot, as a soldier, somehow makes you an unthinking idiot. Pride in country, pride in family, pride in your community also somehow makes you a pawn on a chess board being played by patent idiots aspiring to be brain-damaged morons. Some shallow and totally transparent PR arsehole you wouldn’t buy a fucking second hand VHS tape from are begging for your vote and they’re offering their services to be your leader. Seriously?

Really? Seriously? What fucking planet do they live on? Who do they think we are? How much of that same year on year crap do they expect us to swallow without some kick back?

At politicians who are quite simply stupid and lazy, and it’s plain operate on the assumption we’re also both of those things, but of course at a lower, less slick and well-dined level. They think that by prodding our particular demographic, we’ll automatically react with some dead frog galvanic leg reflex when the electrodes attached to our genitalia are triple-A energised using some cheapo throw-away dollar shop batteries and we’ll of course vote their way.

Like Bob said fifty years ago, the times they’re a changing. You’re trying to sell the same old tired crap into a market where nobody is buying anymore. Once in a while I get to vote and I always do. Every time I do so, I hear the same smart people telling me how I’m going to vote and every time I ignore them and make up my own mind.

This year, there are going to be some big reminders of how the ordinary people of a democracy can actually think for themselves, despite the best efforts of a political-media complex with their collective heads up their collective arses.

©Pointman

Related articles by Pointman:

The loss of faith in the political class.

UK Election 2015 – The car crash of the chatterati against reality.

Click for a list of other articles.

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