mrs tool man

MRS TOOL MAN
I don’t think I’ve covered this before in its own article, but if I have you’ll need to forgive me.  When I first started writing twenty five years ago, writers block was a daily occurrence.  Since I was still unsure it was what I wanted to devote my life to in my free time, I used that as an excuse to write very little and not very often.  Once I was sure I wanted to woo the world with my prose, and I both applied myself and got enough practice in to overcome a subject matter eluding me, I could then devote nearly the next decade and a half to vomiting a prodigious volume of words.  Of course, every time I entered a period of a deficit of article/subject ideas, I panicked and worried I would be hit with my old inabilities.  Writers block can be blocked, mostly, by good habits, but it still is ready to strike at any time.   I’ve been going through a patch lately, and while I swear this is worse than any other time, I’m sure I told myself that on other occasions.  So, even if I’ve covered this before, at more than singular paragraph length, it is better than me throwing up my hands in frustration and declaring a no-work holiday.

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“War And Peace And War” is a kick ass book on the rise and fall of empires.  I’ve ready it several times and have decided it is one of those books you keep coming back to, such as the dog to his vomit ( you kind of have to feel sorry for canines.  They have absolutely no shame and will lick ass and or balls in front of God and everybody.  They get well fed and well loved, but then must sacrifice their lives at the first sign of danger, which in one respect is no better than a turkey being fattened up.  They can’t do simple things like keep eye buggers from bothering them.  And their idea of tasty TV treats are other dogs turds or a steaming pile of puke ).  The slowest chapter of the book is, conversely, one of its most important.  Some Arabian dude back like a millennium-back when Arab dudes knew advanced mathematics and used a zero instead of a crap ton of weird X’s or V’s and were anything other than camel humping sad sacks like today-wrote a book on the decline of empires himself.

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Remember, a thousand years ago, give or take, this was written.  A large part of what he said was, simply, an empire falls from decadence.  A barbarian king, practiced in low resource martial arts, takes over a place ruled by soft and lazy bastards who have allowed their military to contract due to lack of finances or other reasons ( such as, the population is soft and lazy and can’t be bothered to help defend the borders ).  Then, over time, the former barbarian’s heirs follow in the footsteps of those he conquered and are in turn overthrown ( we just discussed a similar book by a Brit written eighty or so years ago-can you guess where he got his ideas from? ).  The moral of the story of course is that marshmallow men get their asses kicked.  Which should be pretty obvious and self explanatory but seems to not be applied when a society is viewed rather than an individual.  One reason for this is that we ourselves are soft and lazy and will shortly be overcome by barbarians.

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The barbarian part we all see clearly-no murky crystal ball there.  How else is the stereotypical Black race rioting or biker gang town terrorizing such a staple of doomer fiction?  But nobody seems to see that the reason that fear so ingrained in us is that we are a bunch of lazy sods ( hat tip to one of the worlds best bands-The Sex Pistols.  Sid was probably partially so self destructive as he rejected both the fame and the society bestowing it.  Or, I’m being too analytical and he was just another wanker on drugs.  But I like to think the former rather than the later ).  Lazy humpers get their asses kicked.  So what is the response to the above barbarian threat?  Don’t stop being lazy, oh no.  Don’t reject luxury by any degree whatsoever, oh no.  Buy your way to countering the threat.  Spend money on magical talismans to protect you. 

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Do you think a true warrior fears your Big, Bad, Mighty And Righteous M-16 Killing Machine?  Does he care that you have mega pouches full of ammunition?  Your dumb ass can be taken down by a rock, because you’ll be so scared of fighting, never having done it before, that you’ll be focused on frantically searching for a target through your Grade A optic on said  plastic poodle shooter.  A true opponent, understanding that you don’t fight against strength but weakness, will use tactics that nullify any advantages your weapon has.  Now, very few of us can justify taking up a life of crime or becoming a mercenary to get combat experience.  Hell, most of us are getting to the crusty old bastard stage.  But the worst thing you can do about your inexperience is to add pussyness on top of that.  If you are toughened up to a degree, in shape and adjusted to some hardship, you have a heck of a lot less of a learning curve come the Killing Time.  Combat virgins who wallow in luxury and can’t stand the thought of discomfort?  They are walking dead men and don’t even understand why.

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A Marshmallow Man justifies his weakness.  He is working smarter rather than harder.  Not for him burning thousands of calories chopping wood when stored carbon fuels are up for the task.  But what has he missed?  The learning experience of deprivation.  The training to forego luxury.  He is following the multitude of fat, soft and lazy lemmings over the cliff.  No shame, as our whole lives we have lived under the assumption that brains alone was a survival mechanism.  And it was.  And it will be, until it isn’t.  Then you need to be less of a Dilbert and more of a Hagar.  But you need practice, don’t you?  I know you are smart enough to see that.

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