The Douchebag Bible (9 page)

Nearly a fourth of people believe that the Government was

responsible for the attacks of September 11th.

I suspect that people have always been terribly jittery

creatures, a race of idiots recoiling from their own shadows,

but there was always an “us” and a “them.” Us was a collective

of individuals that could be trusted—they go to the same

church as you, the have the same values as you,
they are you
.

Them was any one that belonged to any other group and

believed a slew on unwholesome, terrible things.

Now there is no us. There is only them.

We are a generation born to belong nowhere, a

generation charged with making out own clique, but we don’t

want to. And what is to blame for our reluctance? The

conformist mechanism, that component of our psyche that

tells us that we’re not to trust outsiders—but now everyone is

an outsider.

We do not function as a group. We do not have a

common ideology. We do not have a common system of values.

We run the gamut.

Is this a good thing? Can anyone hope to compete with

other social organisms when they haven’t one of their own?

Doesn’t anyone want to get together and march to war with

me?

Hell yes, you say?

But you want to lead?

Fuck that.

Never mind.

RAPE SURVIVOR

CHATROOM SURVIVOR

Rape isn’t fatal.

So imagine my indignation when I saw a chatroom

called “Rape Survivors.” Is this supposed to impress me?

Someone fucked you when you didn’t want to be fucked and

you’re amazed that you survived? Unless he used a chainsaw

instead of his dick, what’s the big deal?

I don’t mean to be horrendously offensive and

insensitive here, but everyone survives rape. Some women are

killed afterwards, but that’s murder, not rape. To say that

you’re a rape survivor is as meaningless as saying you’re a jury

duty survivor or a divorce survivor. Lots of things in life suck—

that doesn’t mean we survived them.

The word survivor applies to people who are alive after

being stabbed 73 times with an ice pick or mauled by rabid

wolverines, not to a woman who gets dick when she doesn’t

want it. Just because you got raped, you have to rape the

English language? You vindictive bitch!

Also, don’t you ever get tired of being the victim? How

many failed relationships are you going to blame on a single

violation of your personal space? I’m not making light of it. I

know that it is damaging, a reminder of your powerlessness

against the world—but it should be a wake up call. We are all

powerless against the forces of fate (or chance). We’re all on

different paths, but they all lead to the same place.

Life leaves no survivors.

NOTE ON THE ABOVE:
I just showed this writing to a

friend of mine, along with the question, “Is this too offensive

to release?” I was looking for a yes. I got one. So, I’ve included

it here. I’m here to cross lines. This is not The Amazing Atheist

from those cute little youtube videos you love so much—this is

the real me. And the real me doesn’t give a fuck about your

small-minded boundaries.

If you’ve been raped, does the above passage add insult

to injury? Does it make it hurt worse? How could it? If rape is

the paramount psychological trauma in life, then how could

my words aggravate it whatsoever? Too often in this culture,

we fear words. But even if my words are the height of

ignorance, they should elevate you. If you find them funny,

then you will laugh and dismiss them as a joke. If you find

them honest, you will respect my bravery. If you find them

infuriating, I will have given you power. If you find them sad,

then I have enriched you.

Words never make less of a person, unless they are

bland. If you feel something, then I’ve done my job as a writer.

SOMETHING HUMAN IN THE INHUMAN

I am a 35 year old mother of 4 sometimes in online chats. I

have a 13-year-old daughter and men tell me how they want

to rape her and I tell them how wet it makes my plump MILF

pussy to hear them say that. Sometimes I meet men who go

beyond that, who say they want to chop her young tits from

her body, strangle her with a jump rope, things of that nature.

My favorite scenario anyone ever conceived of was removing

the jaws of all my children (the youngest of when I claimed to

be 8) so that they would have direct access to their throats.

Other times I'm a strict father with two teenage

daughters. People write to me, asking for explicit details

regarding their spankings, offering hints as to what they want

to here. For instance, the question, "Do you make them get

naked for spankings?" should always be answered yes.

Sometimes I'm a 20-year-old girl named Kara who

wants to sell myself into slavery. Men tell me how they want

to whip me frequently, make me keep a buttplug in 24 hours

a day, force me to drink their piss and eat their shit, eventually

snuffing me on camera for the whole world’s pleasure.

How do the preceding paragraphs make you feel?

Offended? Excited? Amused? Depressed?

I feel all of those things at once. I am offended that no

one online ever rebukes me my perversity, but that they

instead actually revel in it. I'm excited by how many perverts

like me there are in the world. I'm amused because I know that,

like me, they're all talk and no action. I'm depressed because

I wish I had it in me to be all action and no talk.

Internet sex chats are where people go to lie to one