Nothing to Trash but Trash Themselves

Dear Dr. Bones,

¡Feliz paleosábado!

Speaking of which, it seems to me that it is, ultimately, the Eclipse of Christojudæanity that brings us the pious baloney ossía blasphemous viennasausage

5 Behaviors That Make You Trash Posted By John Hawkins On May 18, 2012 @ 1:10 pm (...) People aren’t trashy because of who they are, they’re trashy because of how they behave. That means the cast of Jersey Shore, Perez Hilton, and the Kardashians didn’t pop out of their mamas’ wombs wrong. To the contrary, they all had to learn how to be as trashy as a Louisiana landfill. Now trashy people have always been around, but the difference is that in our “any attention is good attention,” 15-minutes-of-fame society, a lot of people consider “trashy” to be an asset if it gets more people looking in their direction. Having every eye in the room on you isn’t worth it if the word “trash” is going through every head at the same time. The good news is that it’s easy to avoid the sort of behavior that gets you labeled as trash. 1) Profanity in Public. (...) 2) Letting Your Brats Run Wild. (...) 3) Having a Nasty Yard. (...) 4) Sleeping Around. (...) 5) Dress for Failure. Ever seen a slut walk? The whole “idea” behind it is supposed to be that dressing like a slut doesn’t mean you “asked for it” if you get raped. That’s very true. But it does mean that you’re asking to be looked at as trash. If you’re a woman walking out of the house in an outfit that would fit right in at a Hollywood Halloween party — or if you were to stand on the corner for five minutes, the odds are high that some guy will stop and offer you money for sex — then you’re dressed trashy. On the other hand, men tend to go in a different, but possibly even more disturbing, direction. When I was a couple of years out of college, I worked at a group home and was highly amused that some of the kids there complained that security always seemed to follow them when they walked through a store. Well, they were juvenile delinquents. If security was following them, they had their eyes on the right people. This gets into the whole Trayvon Martin “hoodie” controversy. If you dress like a thug, people will treat you like you’re potentially dangerous. If you want your neck tattoo, your hoodie pulled up over your head, and your pants sagging down below your behind, expect people to get nervous when you get in line behind them at the ATM machine. It’s not a race thing. If you’re a white guy dressed like a punk extra from Mad Max, you’re going to get judged just as harshly. People pay attention to the messages you send them with the way you dress. If that message says “slut,” “thug,” or even just I would fit right in at the people of Wal-Mart website, expect to be treated that way by people around you.

graciously hawked to us by John Freelord Hawkings.

Back in Ye Goode Olde Days when the Revs Mather, Increase and Cotton, made sure that every little Sassenach in New Iceland, nay, children of every age all across the Heimatland G*ttes from ME to NA [*], knew all her goodstuff, his freelordship would have been put down as an Arminian instantly.  Papism, even Pelagianity, cannot altogether ruled out.

Young Goodman Brown and Little Goodie Twoshoes may not have known a mobile home from an Initial Public Offerin’ (whether by devout Aztecs or by Hire Mammonites), but when it comes to systematized dogmatic mythology there has never been a generation like unto theirs. It's been all downhill since, with "the (selfblurbed) blogosphere's premier interviewer" only the latest milestone marking our sad decerebration in divinity. "¡Jamestowne, thous hast conquered!"

Removing a few stylistic caps and bells in memorary of the said Revs’ sadly failed attempts at sumptuary legislation, Paddy and Eye would have you mark, Dr. Bones, how his freelordship takes for granted, quite in the manner of the late Brother [2] Pelagius, that it is ‘behavior’ that has caused so many trailers to be crammed with trash.

Increase and Cotton and everybooby else orthodox in Massachustetts knows better, knows, as Brother Kilmer might have sung it,

that Only [Father Zeus] can make a tr[ash].

The most one can admit without damanable error is that somevolks do appear to be engagin’ in strenuous efforts in the trash-selfcreation direction.   Such appearances must, however, be deceptive. They are to be disregarded, even when one cannot spot the flaw. Either disregard, sir, or have the decency to go back to the Religionism-of-the-Month Club and try another lucky dip.

Of the five specific freelordly hawkings, only Articles I and IV, I think, would make sense primâ facie to the Revs. Mather as matters to be thundered against from the bullpit. They, too, did not much recommend usin’ Ye N*me in vaine and sleepin' around.    To be sure, ‘profanity’ covered a lot less turf with them than it does with his freelordship, and they insisted on a jesuitical (so to speake) distinction between ‘adultery’ and ‘fornication’ that his freelordship an’ the vast majority of selfservative kiddies have long since evolved ’round the bend an’ well out of sight of. Lemme see, that leaves the lovely Cindy from Wasilla, paramour to Master Wallace Wombschool III, with (II) her brats runnin' wild, an' (III) a well-littered space in front of the trailer where the formal garden ought to be, an’ (V) "walkin’ out ... in an outfit that would fit right in at a Hollywood Halloween party." [3]

All very deplorable, I guess, and I further guess Increase and Cotton would have guessed so also, but if they had, it would have been rather on grounds of the general unseemliness and unsightliness of the thing rather than specific violation of MA Orthodoxy. [4]

Happy days.
--JHM

___
[1] New Amsterdam. Obviously. ¿What else could it be?

[2] "Jerome (Praef. in Jerem., lib. I & III_) ridicules him as a "Scot" (loc. cit., "habet enim progeniem Scoticae gentis de Britannorum vicinia"), who being "stuffed with Scottish porridge" (Scotorum pultibus proegravatus) suffers from a weak memory.. . . weighty reasons for the hypothesis that the true home of Pelagius must be sought in Ireland, and that he journeyed through the southwest of Britain to Rome. Tall in stature and portly in appearance (Jerome, loc. cit., "grandis et corpulentus"), Pelagius was highly educated, spoke and wrote Latin as well as Greek with great fluency and was well versed in theology. Though a *monk* and consequently devoted to practical asceticism, he *never was a cleric*  &c. &c.

(( ¿That is too much of that to quote at a School- an'’ perfesser-hatin’ hole like Pajama Junction NJ?

(( I know, I know. But ¡Ain't we got fun, O Bones! Begorrah, ’tis ¡a heresiarch Mac-and-O was behind all those splendidly fuss-filled teacupa and centuries! Maybe even a proto-pajamaclad, if the reader can be persuaded to lean extra heavy on corpulentus and imagine a Dan Quayle brand (©) potatoe couch in the background. ))


[3] Amateur whight-wing Social Scientism does not often come our way, apart from Don Davidito de Brooks y Podhòretz of the New York Times Company. Rarely if ever do we get the product in a quality this inferior to the Brooksian. ¡Talk about ‘rotgut’! So Paddy and Eye think we should take advantage of our opportunity and mark even small details of the Hawkin’site M. O. as potentially memorandumbworthy:

(3a) Observe how his freelordship assumes that Ms. Cindy is in fact pulchritudinous, able to excite concupiscience under Article IV an' (Eye believes) deliberately attemptin' to do so under Article V. "Dressed for failure" cannot refer to failure to get as far as the concubitus. If it did, Article IV would be so pointless that even a Johannes Freiherr von Hawkingen would have to notice that he has painted himself into a verbal and conceptual corner.

(3a.01) Considered as factious agitprop rather than wannabe SocSci, the intent of the freelordly scribble is a little puzzling to Paddy and Eye. Uncertainty of targetin’ comes out at a number of different seams, here in the form of Massa Wally becomin' a target too  By the last paragraph, poor Mizz Cindy has lapsed out of sight altogether, which would inspire one to say "That is no way to treat a lady," except, of course, that ....

Workin’ in Comrade Trayvon is the *immediate* occasion of this rhetorical genderbender. Our friend Internet Critic advises us that it would take a truly remarkable occasion to justify derailin’ the whole previous train of ‘thought’ (let's call it) just as that train is about to cross the bottom line. What his freelordship seems to be tryin’ to do with his smash-up at the caboose end *could* be done well, we assume, but if it were, there would have to have been clues planted along the tracks in advance.

(3a.01.A) It would probably have been a better scribble technically if his freelordship had zeroed in on Comrade Trayvon all through an’ given Mizz Cindy a pass, partial or total.

To win the applause of the pajamaclad masses, ever yearnin’ to take back their Freedumb, by shootin’ at Cindy from Wasilla is a very tricky _shtyk_, one that only a great virtuosoe of agitation-propaganda could pull off. The audience at Pajama Junction NJ is full of [*] self-narcissistic ladyvolks only too likely to suspect that the "Ms. Cindy" up on stage may have somethin’ to do with themselves in reallife. Whereas the distance between such less exalted Party neocomradesses an’ a fiend like Trayvon Martin can be measured in dozens, even hundreds, of astronomical whightyears.

[*] Well, no, not "full of."

Here at the all-effulgent Dawnin’ of the Age of Breitbartius, cuttin’-edge whightism such as his freelordship hawks is an ideoproduct decidedly more marketable to males. There are A LOT of frathouse babes inside the frathouse, but not so many as to warrant "full of." Should the tippin' point ever be reached at which the whight-wing frathouse becomes a whight-wing ‘sorehouse’, all bets would be off. We students of Neocomradology would have to start over almost from scratch. Fortunately for almost everybooby, the North Atlantic will have turned into vintage Château Fourier before that ultimate genderbender coms to pass.

[4] At this juncture one could really give Dame Digression her head, and trot off after Herr Prof. Dok. Max. Weber, inventor/discoverer of the Prod Ethic: "¿How comes it, exactly" wondered the jesting pilot, "that carnal prostitution cannot be practiced with edification in the spirit of innerweltliche Askese?"