Anger, like alcohol, is only bad if it’s abused. However, if used for right reasons and in right amounts (as the inspired Psalmist once said about wine), it can “make the heart merry.” Anger might not make you glad as quickly as a second glass of merlot can, but if channeled correctly, it will make you giddy about something you desire, but can’t get—until you get angry.
For example: say you’re an unemployed, 28-year old guy who does nothing but sit on your butt playing Xbox, smoking weed, living with mommy and dating 19-year old girls and guys. You know what? You should get angry with yourself because you, clearly, aren’t the coldest beer in the fridge. You do not have a life, and it should make you mad that other people are actually productive—unlike you.
Need another example? Say you’re overweight. Remember what it used to be like to walk across Walmart’s parking lot without having to be gurneyed to your minivan by Randy Mantooth? Remember the joy of not being able to hide small toys and half-eaten sandwiches between the folds of blubber on your body and being able to actually see the toilet when you use it? Remember those simple pleasures? You do? Does it make you mad that you don’t get to enjoy them any longer? It does?!? There you go . . . see how positive anger can be?
Folks, this righteous wrath not only works for personal improvement, but it can also change for the better all aspects of our society—if we’ll get righteously P.O.’d in a precise direction. And there’s the rub . . . Our neutered nation tells us it’s a big no-no to get mad anymore.
That’s right, being angry is forbidden in our currently castrated culture—unless it’s something that the liberal thought police thinks you should be ticked at, and then you’re forced to fume also or you’re . . . you’re . . . you’re a . . . a Nazi!
Nowadays we’ve been forced to memorize this mantra of postmodernism that being nice and accepting of anything and everything—even if it is utter, uncut and unmitigated BS—is our duty. And it just so happens that BS is the chief characteristic of our society these days. We’re inundated with it but not supposed to be upset by it, which is convenient if you are the seller of it.
Because we have allowed ourselves to be programmed by “them” to be nice and not heat up (unless, again, it is at something that upsets the left), we don’t even blink an eye when we see the base and the vile; instead we force a smile. What a bunch of hooey we’ve been sold vis-à-vis this whole uninterrupted “nice” wave we’ve been told we’re supposed to surf. Today, people can do something appalling, say something contemptible and delve down the funnel exalting the lowest parts of humanity—and what’s to be our response? We’re supposed to say, “Well, all righty then . . . Okey Dokey . . . have a nice day.”
Why do we show mock civility towards things that mock civility? Well, because “anger is bad.” And we don’t want to be bad, do we? No, we want to be nice. We’re supposed to be a chilled-out group of pleasant and complicit prawns who do the Miss America wave no matter what kind of insanity gets shoved in our faces, up our tail pipes or down our throats.
Now, before I get misunderstood about how we should carry ourselves as perturbed people, let me clarify a couple of things:
1. Don’t unleash your anger on your loved ones, friends or pets (unless you have a cat).
2. Don’t waste your wrath on the inconsequential. For example, I wanted to get really peeved at the people down here in Miami who are screaming for the government to take care of them post-Wilma because they did not take care of themselves pre-Wilma as they were warned to do. Instead of getting wound-up, I decided that I would chill out with one of my stockpiled Coronas and a beautiful Cuesta Rey #9 in my hurricane-shuttered, generator-powered, canned-food-filled, fully armored home. Remember, soldier, anger has a shelf life. Use it sparingly and wisely.
So, what do I get freaked over since I am a selective rage-o-holic? Whither doth my anger arrows fly? How can I make the most of my bellicose spirit, and where will I lead my readers to direct their rage?
Well, being a Christian concerned about my continued religious liberty, being a traditionalist concerned about the continuity of our nation and its original intent, and a being a parent concerned about leaving my kids and grandkids a nation that doesn’t resemble a Hustler superstore, I have decided to direct my wrath at the ones who advocate on behalf of cultural truth-decay, namely the ACLU. Why waste my time exposing punks when I can go after the skunk that’s stinking up the place?
Therefore, on and off for the next few months, I’m going to be writing a series of columns that will hopefully stir you, the conservative reader, to righteously recoil and revolt against what the ACLU (which I think stands for Asinine Carping Lunatics Unhinged) spews.
We’ve got to get P.O.’d, people, or our nation is going to be unrecognizable. We must meet those with anti-American sentiments and their insanity everywhere they raise their garlic-knotted heads and solidly beat them on their own turf. Otherwise the things we love as traditional Americans are going to end up as relics in a museum in a country that resembles Amsterdam.
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