LBB goes international with a question
from a reader in Odessa, Ukraine.
Dear Little Bald Bastard,
SORRY!I know English very BED!but - what is BASTARD??? - This is NAME?or other!???
OHAAI - this is STATE!???
BY!!!
- Platon Grant
Dear Platon Grant,
Don't worry about your "bed" English, Platon. You're slightly more intelligible than your average teen l33t-5p34k moron. If it helps, you know far more of English than I know of Russian.
In English, "bastard" is an old, insulting term for a person whose parents are not married. In modern America, children of unmarried parents have become more common and accepted, and the word has come to mean a person (usually male) who is rude or unfriendly. Add it to the list of nouns that have one meaning, but are also used to describe people you don't like. "Dick," "bitch," "asshole" and "fucktard" are all examples.
In my case, "bastard" is used in the second, less literal sense. My parents were, and are still, happily married. It's almost creepy. When I call myself a "bastard," I'm telling the world that I am a cranky, ill-tempered misanthrope. Also, "Little Bald Cock" sounded like the title of a bad, basement-made porn movie.
30 March 2007
29 March 2007
You finally did it, didn't you.
Alright, you sons of bitches. I've studiously avoided taking this step, but I finally broke down and did it.
Ask the Little Bald Bastard now has a fucking MySpace page.
Please bear in mind that I will absolutely not be using this as a regular hangout/friend tracker. It's the Internet equivalent of a short bus, intended to drive the "special" users of the Internet to my column. That said, if any of you want to add me as a fucking MySpace friend, you can find me at http://www.myspace.com/lbbastard.
26 March 2007
Dear LBB,
My boyfriend has been reading "The Secret" -- with a highlighter and taking notes! Is he trying to tell me something?
Thanks,
- Jen
Dear Jen,
Whether he's trying to or not, you boyfriend is telling you that he's a credulous, vacuous fucktard. Unless he's a book reviewer, or he's taking notes for an article debunking its obviously frivolous claims, your boyfriend is falling hard for the silly notion that the "Law of Attraction" will allow him to acquire things simply by thinking really hard about them.
You should ask him exactly what he's trying to attract. If he's wishing hard for the money to buy you a wedding ring, then he's telling you he loves you. He's a credulous, vacuous, romantic fucktard. If he wants the Universe to drop a busty blonde in his lap, then his motives are far more suspect. He's a credulous, vacuous, unfaithful fucktard. Unless, of course, you're the busty blonde he's wishing for. In that case he's a credulous, vacuous, horny fucktard.
In other news, I've discovered that it is impossible to overuse the word "fucktard."
Dear LBB,
When the hell will modern science finally find a way to replace my brain's ability to store and recall the original "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" theme with the ability to, say, learn Mandarin?
Slowly losing my mind,
- Bryan
Dear Bryan ,
Don't blame that shit on science. If you'd spent a decade studying Mandarin for half an hour a day, you'd be speaking fluently. Instead, you're firing up your Livejournal to compare the TMNT movie unfavorably to the original animated series. (No Shredder? The horror!)
That said, I too am eagerly awaiting the day when I can replace my faulty wetware with some good old fashioned flash memory. I'd gladly Johnny Mnemonic things like the loss of my virginity, the first time I got fired, or high school to make room for my mp3s. Unlike my iPod, I can't accidentally run my jacket through the wash with my brain in the pocket. The only condition I have is that whatever software runs by new silicon brain can't be a Microsoft product. That would give "blue screen of death" a literal meaning that I'm not ready to sign on for.
Tales from SEPTA
Spotted on the Blue Line on Friday afternoon: Blow-dried, hair-gelled preppy douchebag. Reading The Secret. With a highlighter.
In case you've missed the latest bee in Oprah's metaphysical bonnet, The Secret is a new self-help book/DVD that purports to contain a "secret" that successful people have been keeping for years. Apparently, you can influence the Universe to give you literally anything you want, as long as you want it hard enough. This proposition is supported by a sprinkling of quotes from famously successful people, such as successful anti-semite Henry Ford, and the guy who "wrote" the Chicken Soup for The Soul books. Also, the pages have been weathered with highly sophisticated dyes, for that "ancient tome" look. Nothing says authenticity like artificially yellowed paper.
A typical scene from the DVD shows a little boy drawing a picture of a bike over and over again. This illustrates just how hard the boy wants that particular bike. Then, he opens his front door, and a smiling old man is standing there with the same exact bike the little boy drew, minus the shaky grasp of proportion and perspective in the crayon doodles. Curiously enough, the toothy gentleman (grandpa, molester, or both?) is absent from the drawings. I hope that doesn't mean that every wish the Universe grants also comes with a complimentary smiling septuagenarian. You'd think there'd be a disclaimer about that.
The real secret, of course, is this. In addition to being another spoonful of the pseudo-inspirational pablum that Oprah force-feeds her viewers, The Secret is an absolutely perfect scam. Think about it. Tell the preppy douchebag that he can have anything his heart desires, as long as he just wants it fervently enough. If he gets what he wants, then it worked! High five! If his wish doesn't come true, then it's his fault. He obviously didn't want it hard enough.
It's classic. If you win, they win. If you lose, they still win, because they can blame you for your failure. You didn't get that promotion? Your husband is still seeing that Brazilian hooker? Grandma's still in that wheelchair, wearing those diapers? You didn't get your crudely drawn crayon bike? Too bad! The system works. You just didn't do it right.
Guess what? Life sometimes sucks, and no one every gets everything they want. The real secret is that there's no psycho-babble trick to wring tasty treats out of the Universe. The Universe is not Domino's Pizza; it doesn't deliver. You'll get what you want (or not) like the rest of us, through varying proportions of work and luck. If wishing super-hard for something really made it happen, your daughter's room would be full of unicorn shit.
By the way, The Secret obviously isn't working for Mr. Blow-dried, hair-gelled preppy douchebag. Under all that shellac, his hair is still thinning.
