Wednesday, May 2, 2007

Crudity = psychic pollution; Don't spare the brain bleach!

Has anyone else noticed just how more coarse and crude our culture has become the last fifteen years or so?

Item: I was at my doctor's office recently, and there was a young man sitting in the waiting room there who wore a an incredibly crude, obscene shirt. How bad? Bad enough that I do not even want to link to the design, much less look at it. Suffice it to say it depicted people engaged in sex acts and alluded to others.

Now, I'm no prude. Far from it. I consider sexuality to be sacred, something to share with one's partner(s) and with nobody else. Things like this step waaaaay over the line. I needed brain bleach to rid my psyche of the grungy residue.

Item: The very large number of chat conversations in World of Warcraft punctuated by (%$#@&,
&$#! and *%#@)*&%*)!@ (yes, folks can mask obscenities in the WoW GUI, thank the gods . . .). Fortunately, I'm playing in a wonderful guild where this kind of thing is simply.not.tolerated . . . and all I need to deal with the at-large f-bombers and other jerks is to use my old friend, "/ignore (jerk's name)" -- and stay out of the Barrens Stranglethorn Vale.

Of course, some of you might say to me: "He doth protest too much." After all, this blog is "Operation: Mindfsck." Yes, the "fsck" as I useit here is a replacement for the infamous "f-bomb" word. However, there is a deeper meaning: "fsck" is a *nix command that checks the consistiency of a computer's file system. As one does the fsck command to validate the filesystem integrity of the filesystem on a computer HD, a mindfsck validates the integrity of one's mind.

Sheer, undiluted crudity and psychic pollution: yet another reason to fight to preserve my splendid isolation.

2 comments:

fionn320 said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
fionn320 said...

Of course, then there was the lovely young college coed on Patrick's Day. I had a certified letter that needed signing for, and so I rang the bell. She answered the door, obviously almost ready to go to a party, dressed in a black miniskirt, thigh-high green and white striped stockings and a very clingy t-shirt that read "F**k me, I'm Irish" (f**k was not edited). After she signed for the letter, I very politely and offhandedly said, "Nice shirt." I still wonder how that party went.