Category: Beating Back the St00pid

So what if Chick-Fil-A is now reporting that the amount of bigot-fueled money they raked in on "Chicken Appreciation Day" was record setting? Does that mean that the same troglodytes who took time out of their busy day of Bible Study and gay obsessing to stuff their pie holes with hormone-injected, genetically modified chicken tits are going to do that EVERY DAY?

I think not.

But what the professional gay-haters fail to realize is that unlike this one day spike, the continued avoidance of Chick-Fil-A by GBLTs and their supporters is going to affect their overall bottom line as time goes on—and had the added benefit of showing us exactly who our real friends aren't.

I will admit that prior to all this happening I'd eaten at the restaurant only a handful of times so I was never a huge consumer, but now, myself, friends and family have vowed to never set foot in the place again.

Enjoy your one day of hate-fueled financial splendor Mr. Cathy. It's not likely to repeat often enough to offset the business that your stupid, prideful pronouncements have permanently lost your company.

 

From AMERICAblog:

God is in the nuggets

The God of Gluttony smiled upon all those waddling through long lines at Chick-fil-a Wednesday to celebrate their pride in being heterosexual, bigoted and obese.

Sitting in their idling cars with the AC running, they waited their turn to take communion in the form of a typical American factory-farmed chicken breast laced with all the natural goodness of antibiotics, Benadryl, and arsenic (sorry, "organic" arsenic), then rolled in white flour, powdered sugar, butter, salt and deep fried.

In a culture that readily accepts highly-processed substances as "food," it was only a matter of time before we found people going to the same trough to meet their other needs, from spirituality to political expression.

In a matter of days, we've seen the meteoric rise of a brand new symbol of moral righteousness: the greasy fast food bag. Long thought of as mere garbage, this former agent of death is now the exulted symbol of a desperate people's moral compass (life imitates art). Politicians like Sarah Palin and Lindsey Graham proudly pose with it (oblivious to how gay their photo opps actually came off). I imagine Republicans will soon be signing pledges of loyalty to their chicken god.

The scenes were repulsive. Supposedly civilized people turning to the drive-through window for a super-sized order of malnutrition, warped spirituality, and bigoted political discourse.  (Obesity and arteriosclerosis all being part of God's plan, praise the Lord.)

Though not a God you or I might be familiar with.  Rather, a cheap fast-faith God who shares their prejudices, along with free refills of hate and intolerance

From Postmasculine:

Imagine you have a brother and he's an alcoholic. He has his moments, but you keep your distance from him. You don't mind him for the occasional family gathering or holiday. You still love him. But you don't want to be around him.

This is how I lovingly describe my current relationship with the United States. The United States is my alcoholic brother. And although I will always love him, I don't want to be near him at the moment.

I know that's harsh, but I really feel my home country is not in a good place these days. That's not a socio-economic statement (although that's on the decline as well), but rather a cultural one.

I realize it's going to be impossible to write sentences like the ones above without coming across as a raging prick, so let me try to soften the blow to my American readers with an analogy:

You know when you move out of your parents' house and live on your own, how you start hanging out with your friends' families and you realize that actually, your family was a little screwed up? Stuff you always assumed was normal your entire childhood, it turns out was pretty weird and may have actually fucked you up a little bit. You know, dad thinking it was funny to wear a Santa Claus hat in his underwear every Christmas or the fact that you and your sister slept in the same bed until you were 22, or that your mother routinely cried over a bottle of wine while listening to Elton John.

The point is we don't really get perspective on what's close to us until we spend time away from it. Just like you didn't realize the weird quirks and nuances of your family until you left and spent time with others, the same is true for country and culture. You often don't see what's messed up about your country and culture until you step outside of it.

(continue reading)

You know what to do.