SHOWING HERE! Lot 666, then: a manifesto in pieces. Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Unabomber: a mystery never fully explained. We are told ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very manifesto which figures in the famous disaster. Our workshops have restored it and fitted up parts of it with a series of tubes for the new electric internet, so that we may get a hint of what it may look like when re-assembled. Perhaps we may frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination.
I put my newspaper down and shook my head in amazement. “The Federal government is selling off shit from Ted Kaczynski?” I shouted incredulously.
Then, belatedly, I added, “I gots to get me some of that!”
Yes, the Unabomber is back in the news. Even though he’s locked away in the slammer (a federal maximum-security prison in Florence, Colorado) serving a life sentence with no possibility of parole, the Unabomber can still bring his 15 minutes of fame.
The Justice Department has announced that it will auction 51 lots of personal property that belonged to the Unabomber, including a sweatshirt with hoodie, sunglasses, and the original handwritten copy of his manifesto. The Justice Department apparently discarded the notion of selling the items together as part of a “Unabomber Starter Kit,” instead opting to sell them as separate lots.
The auctions will have no reserve bids and no price ceilings. One way or another, the items will be sold, at whatever price the “market” is willing to bear.
Being a curious sort, I once located Kaczynski’s “manifesto” online and tried to read it for myself. The actual title is “Industrial Society and its Future.” I’m not ashamed to admit it was a tough read. I found it very hard to follow and ended up reading very little of it. My sense is that if you’re going to go to all that effort to call attention to yourself, your manifesto better damn well be easy to read. Know your audience!
Here’s an excerpt from the manifesto:
The Psychology of Modern Leftism
Almost everyone will agree that we live in a deeply troubled society. One of the most widespread manifestations of the craziness of our world is leftism, so a discussion of the psychology of leftism can serve as an introduction to the discussion of the problems of modern society in general.
But what is leftism? During the first half of the twentieth century leftism could have been practically identified with socialism. Today the movement is fragmented and it is not clear who can properly be called a leftist. When we speak of leftists in this article we have in mind mainly socialists, collectivists, “politically correct” types, feminists, gay and disability activists, animal rights activists and the like. But not everyone who is associated with one of these movements is a leftist. What we are trying to get at in discussing leftism is not so much a movement or an ideology as a psychological type, or rather a collection of related types. Thus, what we mean by “leftism” will emerge more clearly in the course of our discussion of leftist psychology.
Even so, our conception of leftism will remain a good deal less clear than we would wish, but there doesn’t seem to be any remedy for this. All we are trying to do is indicate in a rough and approximate way the two psychological tendencies that we believe are the main driving force of modern leftism. We by no means claim to be telling the WHOLE truth about leftist psychology. Also, our discussion is meant to apply to modern leftism only. We leave open the question of the extent to which our discussion could be applied to the leftists of the 19th and early 20th century.
The two psychological tendencies that underlie modern leftism we call “feelings of inferiority” and “oversocialization.” Feelings of inferiority are characteristic of modern leftism as a whole, while oversocialization is characteristic only of a certain segment of modern leftism; but this segment is highly influential.
If that doesn’t warp your brain then nothing will.
My manifesto is still in progress. I hope to begin shopping it to publishing houses soon.
Hi, kids! It’s time for another episode of “What the Fuck is That?”
To win, simply identify this object:
Hints: Arachnophobia, venom, bite, insectoid, circus, idol
When you are ready to admit abject failure, you may click here for the answer.
If you don’t follow my Twitter feed you’re only getting half of the story…
Sometimes events so important will happen only in Twitterville so they must be told again.
This is one of those times.
Pants pulled down
Around ankles on the ground
On the toilet I sit
Good taste dictates that I omit
Hang on for the true story of what happened this very week.
This post has been rated DNR (Do Not Read) by the BPAA (Blog Post Association of America).
Warning: This post is intended for infantile audiences only. It may contain violence, sexual content, drug use and/or strong language. You must be IQ 17 or higher to read this post. By reading this post you are certifying that your IQ is at least 17. Do not read this post around meal time.
This is what I call a NEXUS post. How does a post get elevated to NEXUS status? It must meet a stringent set of criteria as specified by humble Abyssian scientists. These criteria are:
Only a post that meets all criteria will justify the NEXUS designation. This is how we work to guarantee a quality reading experience for you, our loyal reader. We are committed to entertainment.
Sadly, what you are about to read is true. No embellishment or artistic license here. Not this time. (Yeah, I’m breaking the rules just this once.)
I started the new job back in October 2010. Like the little engine who thought he could, I thought I could avoid the bathroom. I tried and tried. I really did. But after a few weeks I finally gave in. What can I say? I’m only (partially) human.
The first thing I noticed was the door handle was broken. It wouldn’t lock.
As spooky as that was, things went fairly well. If the door was closed and the fan was on (it’s tied to the light switch) then you knew the room was in use. You didn’t go in.
Until seven months later. Until this week.
Tom B. Taker
At last my training is complete. Coworker just walked in on me using the toilet. Door has broken lock. Get me off this fucking planet!!!
11 May via Twitter for iPhone
Yep. Female coworker, walking around like a brain-dead idiot, flung the door open to the restroom while I was … erm, how shall I say? Doing my best thinking!
Yep. Believe it.
Yep. There is a Hell. And I’m already dead. I’m a permanent resident. And I’m looking forward to next week’s annexation vote. Be afraid if you already live within Hell’s urban growth boundary. You’re next, motherfucker.
Remarkably I took it fairly well. I imagine it was a much worse experience for her than it was for me.
Yep. Seven fucking months with employees and it never once occurred to the boss to get the lock on the bathroom door fixed. So yeah, I blame him. I blame him hard. Hate isn’t supposed to be good, but it’s a healthy hate.
You’d think an incident like this would be enough to spur him into action. You’d be wrong. He’s the slob of the century. Reminder: He felt compelled to tell the rest of us why washing your hands after using the restroom is a “waste of time.” One time he was in the bathroom and I heard the toilet flush. Within half a second the door opened and he hopped out. Yep. No sounds of running water. He then came directly to me, held up his hand and said, “High five!”
Holy shit. Who thinks up scenarios like this? Not only am I an atheist, I actively pray there isn’t a God. Because, let’s face it, I don’t want to meet whoever thought this shit up.
But wait. There’s more!
Tom B. Taker
Holy mother of God!!! The toilet walk-in thing just happened AGAIN. This time by the boss. I love being surrounded by zombies. #walkamongus
12 May via Twitter for iPhone
This time the boss himself graced me with his presence. Yeppers. I shit you not. (Although I was shitting at the time.)
This one got me. It got me good. I was so fucking pissed.
I came out and the boss was gone. Coworker filled me in. “He went to see the landlord about fixing the lock.”
YOU FUCKING THINK?!?!?!?
I was so pissed I got the shakes. They went full throttle for about two hours. I had to get out of there. I took a late lunch. I left the building That helped a little. But four hours later, I was still so upset I still had the shakes. Did I mention I was fucking pissed?
God I hate that fucking place. Oh look! It’s time for me to go there again. Ta ta for now!
When you flush, please stop and think of me. I’ll be there!