MattMaroon.com

There are a lot of different political philosophies that people subscribe to out there. I’ve always been sort of lost as far as those go since they’re a little too black or white for my taste. But I’ve finally invented one I can call my own. You’re welcome to share it with me.

My inspiration came from thinking about all of the different political affiliations you can choose from. There’s liberalism, as embodied by the Democrats, which means you believe the world should be one giant commune where everyone magically contributes what they can to society and has the same standard of living. It’s basically Communism minus totalitarianism. I never liked that one because I realize that while humans all deserve equal rights, the idea that they are equal in any other sense is total bullshit.

Then there’s modern conservativism, as embodied by the Republicans, which pretty much means you believe everyone’s life should closely resemble the third season of Leave It To Beaver. You’re 100% sure that your God exists and are committed to forcing everyone to at least live by the standards written by your favorite theologians over a thousand years ago. I never really fit into that group either because I have a thought process.

And then there’s libertarianism, which means you subscribe to the “live and let live” philosophy and believe government exists only to protect the freedom of the individual. That’s far too confusing for the average American because it is the exact opposite of everything we know. We’re taught from the moment we arrive at kindergarten that authority exists mainly to enforce the will of the majority on the minority. Libertarianism therefore requires deep thought sometimes, and because libertarians are, almost by definition, very bad at organizing, there’s never one there to help you at the ballot box. It’s a great idea but the sales pitch is basically impossible.

So I’ve come up with my own political philosophy. It’s the easiest and most accurate way to determine who or what you should vote for ever devised. I call it antisouthernaccentarianism.

Antisouthernaccentarianists have only one fundamental belief, which is that if more than two-thirds of politicians in favor of one side of a debate have a southern accent, the other side must necessarily be correct. Let’s show some examples.

Emancipation: they didn’t have much in the way of voice recording technology back then, but it seems safe to say that well over 2/3 of politicians who opposed freeing all slaves had southern accents. That’s the way it is in every documentary. Ken Burns wouldn’t lie.

Evolution: Which states keep trying to teach “intelligent design” and prevent our children from learning about the greatest biological discovery of all time? Where was the Scopes trial? Need I say more?

Homosexuality: Notice how every time someone blames gay people for catastrophes like 9/11 or Hurricane Katrina they have a southern accent? Same whenever someone calls gay marriage a threat to the institution of matrimony. I know for a fact that one is bullshit because when my fiancée first started bugging me to propose I tried to stall by telling her “why bother getting married? Gay people are just going to do it too and ruin the whole thing anyway.” and she punched me in the face. I’m still hoping that the rednecks turn out to be true and gay marriage really does put an end to the whole thing, preferably some time before June 29th.

So there you have my new philosophy. Go forth and multiply, antisouthernaccentarianists!

I had a few interesting experiences in Las Vegas already. For one, on a trip from Caesars Palace to Wynn I encountered three beggars. I’ve been here more times than I can count and have never seen one before. I asked one “why don’t you learn to play a card game for your money like the rest of us?” Sure he had no legs, but his arms worked well enough to hold out a sign.

A few blocks later I was approached by four very thuggish guys. And by thuggish I mean they made Little John look like Winnie the Pooh. They tried to sell me a CD which they described as “the 12 hardcorest gangsta rap tracks” I ever heard. That wouldn’t have been so odd, except they singled me out of a large number of passers-by and I was wearing a bright orange cable knit sweater from Brooks Brothers and khakis. I don’t think I could possibly have looked any whiter. I was dressed like the kind of guy who might say yes if you offered him a Barry Manilow CD, and yet they chose me out of a crowd to peddle their hardcore gangsta CD to. I guess it’s true what they say, game really does recognize game.

When I politely declined one of them asked me where I was from. I told him Ohio and he said “Oh, I’m from Chicago. Midwest in the house!” and then gave me that new version of the high-five that the kids all do these days where you bump fists. I really feel like he and I bonded too, because there are only maybe 100 million people living in the Midwest. It’s not that often you encounter one. I imagine it’s a bond on the level of the one people who stormed the beaches in Normandy together have.

Then at the Wynn I was talking with some friends in the high limit slot room. It was a really noisy place and my voice was almost entirely gone from my cold. I looked over and saw the back of a guy’s jacket that said “Got Game?” One friend finished a sentence and I said “But the question is, do you got game?” Sure enough at the exact moment I said it every machine in the entire casino stopped buzzing and my vocal chords decided to function for the first time in hours, so of course the guy heard it.

He looked over and everyone started laughing. Everyone but me of course, because I saw that he was Asian and immediately started to worry that he might be a ninja. You really can’t spot a ninja until they sever your head with one quick chop, so I knew right away that I had to be on my guard. Luckily he was just another degenerate and I escaped unscathed.

Also, one friend cut his own hair using nail-clipper scissors on a break during a poker tournament. I don’t have a punch line for that. I can’t. I’m just not that funny.

One thing that’s nice about not being destitute anymore is that I don’t have to break up with my girlfriend before gift-giving holidays. Back when I was in college I once did that three times in one year largely because I had no money with which to buy a gift, flowers, or even a card. It’s the sort of thing that’s not easy to pull off once, because it only works if you manage to get the girl to get back together with you a few days later, and twice is extremely tough. Three times with the same girl, in one year no less (Christmas, birthday, and Valentine’s) is practically heroic and definitely worthy of entry in a record book.

On one hand, I kinda felt bad doing that, because the girl didn’t really do anything wrong, other than date a loser. And let’s be honest, girls willing to date a man with no money and no prospects are the salt of the earth. I shudder to think what life would have been like without them. Most of us have been there at one point or another, and a lot of us never leave.

But then on the other hand, I didn’t feel too bad because I was the one who had to pay for my gas with nickels. That has to be far more humiliating than having your seemingly happy significant other stage a fight by blowing something trivial way out of proportion and breaking up with you.

It was then that I patented what I call the Lion Tamer Dating Technique. See, a lion tamer’s entire career is based on illusion. He wears bright clothing, yells a lot, snaps his whip, struts around, and uses a lot of props to bewilder and frighten the lion into doing as he wishes. The lion is so confused and scared by the odd creature that seems to be in control that the great cat totally submits, and gladly jumps through hoops of fire and allows heads to be inserted into its open maw. The sheer force of the tamer’s confidence is just too much for the mighty beast to handle, even though the tamer knows without a doubt that if it ever came to blows he would be ripped apart like a Dan Brown novel at a local Mensa chapter’s book club.

When you’re a loser and dating someone way too good for you, your natural tendency is to cling on for dear life and just do whatever they want. (Some people’s tendency is abuse, physical and/or mental, but most of us aren’t capable of that and wouldn’t want to be, so I’ll ignore that for now.) But then the other person is in control and will quickly realize that they can just go find someone better, especially if they’re female. They’ll have no respect for you because you don’t respect yourself.

The best way to keep them around, at least for the short term, is to be the lion tamer. Be cocky, strut around. Your whip is the breakup, let them know that you aren’t afraid to use it. Praise is your treat, use it sparingly but effectively. You’d be amazed at how long a girl who is a perfect ten, in every sense of the word, will put up with a guy who is a perfect zero if he does this well. I’ve seen relationships like that last for years.

I suspect women could use this technique to equal effect on men. I don’t know, because I’ve never known any women to date a guy who was too good for them. If I ever meet one though I’ll gladly advise her just to see if it works. I’m almost positive it does.

Of course, the Lion Tamer Dating Technique is basically the exact opposite of what you’d want to do if you were looking for a future with someone. It’s pretty much the worst possible way to manage a long term relationship, and highly unrecommended for that, but it’s extraordinarily effective when used for a certain purpose. If you’re a loser, though, and your girlfriend isn’t, give it a shot, you’ll be amazed. And if you sense someone doing it to you, wait for them to stick their head in your mouth and then bite it off.

Ask A Ninja is not funny. I repeat, Ask A Ninja is not funny. Ever. Nothing they say is funny, and whoever is doing the video editing has ADHD. If you think it’s funny, I suggest you go see a doctor and have yourself tested. You might be an idiot.

Now for ninja-related hilarity go check out this site. Be sure to read the screenplays.

I just spent the last six hours driving through the sort of snowstorm that you usually hear old men tell their grandchildren about years later, with the word “Great” preceding it and the year in which it occurred appended to the end. It was the sort of weather no sane person would ever venture out in, but I figured “Fuck it, I paid a small fortune for a car with 9 airbags, I might as well get my money’s worth”.

There’s nothing more fun than doing a 3 hour trip in 6 hours. Ok, there is one thing that’s more fun, and that’s when you turn your wheel to change lanes and nothing happens. Or when the same thing happens as you go to take a curve. I did learn the hard way that my electronic traction control beeps when the shit really hits the fan. There’s nothing you want to hear more than an ear-piercing wail when your wheels are pointing 60 degrees to the right but you’re just sliding in a straight line. Apparently “beep” is computerese for “OH SHIT!” No worries though, it only happened three times, with no major incident.

One nice thing about GPS that I had never thought of before is that it allows you to fly by instruments when visibility is low. It’s nice knowing there’s a sharp curve in the near future when the snow is coming down so hard that you can’t see more than 20 ft. ahead, especially when driving on roads you don’t know very well.

And I came up with a new law for when I become emperor of the world. No double brake lights. One truck I came upon had two round lights on each side of the back of its trailer, two on the right, two on the left. But the two on the right were completely burned out, totally throwing off passing motorists’ depth perception. So in the driving snow, long after dusk, I saw two small lights very close together and thought it was a car somewhat far away. By the time I realized it was a truck with non-functioning double brake lights I was able to tilt the wheel (and luckily my ECT chose not to just beep at me and cover its eyes in horror) and miss the bastard by inches.

Also, people are stupid. That doesn’t help. I realize that with 6 inches of snow on the road you can’t see the lines, so maintaining a lane isn’t always easy to do. But when you’re on a highway that’s obviously two lanes and there are two guide rails along the sides, it’s a pretty safe bet that if you’re directly in between them, in the exact middle, equidistant from both rails, then you, sir, are a jackass.

Tomorrow maybe I’ll write about the strange land the natives call “Canada” from which I was driving. For now I need a shot of Don Julio Reposado. I’d go get a lime to go with it, but I had to ram my car through a four foot bunker of snow (which I then had to shovel because it was blocking the sensors) just to get into my garage and I’m not sure if I can do the same in reverse.

So apparently Anna Nicole Smith is no longer with us. Everyone is wondering what she died of, my guess is that it starts with “Trimspa” and ends with “, baby!” My question is, exactly how bankrupt will the diet pill companies be if/when they are determined to be the cause?

My favorite headline comes from the Associated Press, via Yahoo news: “What drew us to Anna Nicole”. My guess would be those volleyball-sized funbags. That’s definitely why my brother and I rented a really bad movie on-demand back in 1996. I still remember trying to explain that one to my mom, claiming we thought Joey Travolta was John Travolta.

Come to think of it, what better way could there possibly be to honor Anna than to form a campaign to vote her infamous movie, To The Limit, up from a 2.5 on IMDB? I already cast my vote. Hell, it was at least a 3.5 just for the bathtub scene alone. Spread the word.

Also, I love how they can’t write an article about any celebrity without insulting Paris Hilton. Maybe that’s why she’s the most frequent search subject. Hell, I’m about to Google her myself and figure out what the hell she has to do with any of this, right after I stab myself in the eye with this rusty fork.

In another stunning example of checks and balances, the Defense Department has finally concluded its investigation into whether or not its intelligence gathering in the run-up to the Iraqi war violated any laws. Surprisingly the DoD found that no, the DoD did not commit any crimes at all. Sleep easy tonight knowing that your government is working hard to ensure that the people accused of crimes are rigorously investigated by themselves.

I think Bill Hicks summed this one up perfectly:

Go back to bed, America. Your government has figured out how it all transpired. Go back to bed, America. Your government is in control again. Here. Here’s American Gladiators. Watch this, shut up. Go back to bed, America. Here is American Gladiators. Here is 56 channels of it! Watch these pituitary retards bang their fucking skulls together and congratulate you on living in the land of freedom. Here you go, America! You are free to do what we tell you! You are free to do what we tell you!

You know what is always hilarious? When people list their age as, like, 100 years old on their Myspace page. Bahahahahahahahahahahah. I don’t care how many hundreds of times you see it, it’s still funny. Ha ha ha ha ha. That is all.

From The Onion