X wants to throw up.

X is fasting and praying for REAL hope from the lord!

X is shaking her head. Poor America.

X is not supporting our new president and you cant make me

X says are you kidding me? obama makes me sick.

X is going to move to another country.

X gives up on America

This is what is flashing across my screen tonight. Hate and apathy that rival even my worst. Amidst tears of joy and grave faces of acceptance are you; you who cry not inward, but outward, and show hues that no patriot could accept in any flag.

I'm not one to mince words, but I think today a hearty 'fuck you' won't suffice. I was rooting for Barrack Obama from the onset; that makes me biased for him, but I would put forth that my judgment of these people is fairly objective.

America is not ruled by the president; it is not ruled by an administration. America is not ruled by Congress, the Supreme Court, or any other branch of government. America, so long as her ideals are alive, is ruled by you the people. You are the people who espouse the ridiculous nationalism I hate, but I must respect because it is what keeps this country alive, in part. It is you who elect and under law have the power to remove officials. It is you who rule the nation.

This brings us to the precipice. You whom I debated with such passion for weeks, you who I received so many accusations of treason and ignorance from, just as I claimed so much negativity of you, you who claimed you loved your country more than I: Don't let my accusations of hypocrisy stand.  I hope those of you who fall accused have not let partisanship or my overt hatred of your responses sway you away to huddle in reddened colors and pantomime the bickering of some Hebraic Exodus. You are only abandoned as you are detached from your beliefs.

Those of you who claimed doom upon your nation, who claim freedom has abandoned your nation: You are your nation's rulers and your edict is absolute. The pride of your nation is intangible, but it is palpable. It is creatable, but more importantly it is always, always, always precarious. If you love your nation, then do so, for if we are our nation then shame is self deprecation.

Now behold it.

Better yet, just look at the damned pictures.

The "beauty contest" is enraptured with its name's contradiction. Let us take Miss America. I'm an amorous man, a lusty epicurean who'd never pass up the opportunity to eye the beautiful aesthetics of an ass or the finer points of a breast. Yet, even in my most libidinous youth, the firm postured gait of a spray-painted American beauty clothed in a tatter of spandex and make-up could not lift my spirits, let alone anything else. Somehow, even as a pubescent hiding his conscience with his awkward erections, I understood on some level that this was exploitation. These women were not attractive because they'd, in a sense, lost their souls, sacrificing everything so that they could whitely smile at a vacuum and tell us they cared about third world nations to gain some self esteem their father never gave them.

How could we make that any worse? Any lewder? As if our hearts of hearts don't know the answer. If we cannot get enough of our base instincts, things so awful that there exists no public group or friend who would ever admit to such as furry art, ephebophilia, pedophilia and myspace (all in order of severity least to greatest), where do we go to do this? You know the answer as well as I. The land of passive-aggressive avarice, jealousy and utter anonymity; the internet.

It all started innocuously enough. I am the significant other, or boytoy, or sexual adonis of CallMeQuell. She's always had an infatuation with Xanga for reasons that plague me, but are, ultimately, of no consequence. By this time I'd accepted that she was going to be speaking with weird online fellows with neckbeards who use avatars which they've selected with criteria like "the one that makes me look the most like a ninja and the least like a lonely overweight man with a neckbeard." unknowing that both photos encompassed the same meaning. She'd also be communicating (cordially!) with the most insipid girls imaginable. The sort that didn't watch There Will Be Blood because they thought it was either; like weird, had too many mustaches, had something to do with history or 'might have blood.'  I had, somehow, accepted all of this and not thought less of her.

Enter Figure A.

Now I had to accept that she was entering a contest (a beauty contest!...online!...on a BLOG SITE) judged by a base and dimwitted cretinous man named TheBlackSpiderman. He appropriately heralds himself as the "Weapon of Mass Instruction" and I couldn't agree more. A weapon being an implement to harm, and mass instruction being a propagandist slew of ignorance. A harmful slew of ignorance. With a fittingly stupid jaunty hat. There we are. And so it began.

Raquel began by insisting that she wouldn't involve herself too much in the competition, and for a while, all was well. She even was gracious to ask if I wanted her scantily clad swimsuit photos on the internet, and I zealously said no. Suck on those eggs internet. What, internet? You mean you already have an egg sucking fetishist site? Never mind internet, suck away as you do.

Things began then, to spiral downward. Granted she entered a beauty contest, but Quell hadn't really thought beauty would be a factor. Soon every comment about her looks was pointed, and ever comment about someone looking better was pointier. She halfheartedly shook it off in a crude accordance with our agreement of relative neutrality. Soon enough though the internet was spilling its slimy hentai tendrils out onto the earth and entering reality. Quell was constantly moaning to me about the rigors and idiocy of the contest, how she didn't feel pretty, how her confidence was diminishing. Now Raquel has a slight problem in that she sees that the internet is stupid, but fails to recognize neither the degree, nor the triteness of said idiocy.

I was once a latent internet addict, started with online games, moved to forums, and then on to the heavy stuff, Xanga included. Due to a latent ex-fat nerd complex I had the need for the power that internet anonymity provides, I saw the darkest reaches of the place, and through means that were most likely divine, quit the abomination. In the end, I came to view most of the internet as a masturbatory pillow, some Sodom to enact all your nastiness, and all your fantasies. I had no respect for the people that took it seriously, and not much has changed. Raquel started taking it seriously. I took that seriously.

Visions flashed through my head of Raquel in some seedy joint doing livejournals off of a Macintosh's ass. I couldn't let her become some digital Amy Winehouse, and so I hopped aboard my wheezing white horse and thought perhaps I could lance the internet's boils and sores. Help her realize the error of her ways, get her to quit riding the silicone dragon and end it all after school special style with a quick PSA about blogging addiction.

And that's why I opened Xanga at 3:30 am and started writing a blog. Some ride that was.

Truth is, I ended up wrapped up in it too. Somewhere between a million stories about BlackSpiderman's endorsement of BlueMarsupial's "like ToTALly randum" surveys and the legion of shallow whores with ugly layouts, I started caring. I'd ask about the latest stage of the contest and the more I heard the more of that old fashioned internet hate brewed in my heart.

And now a retrospective and a brief character sketch of figure B. StephanieMarie7891


By the time people were reading the surveys all hell had broken loose in Raquel's psyche. After she showed me what people favored, I couldn't blame her. The thing that bothered me most of all, more than the stupid surveys, more than the fickle judging proles that sauntered to the shortest and cheapest thrills, and even more than a certain lamprey-faced blonde was the fact that several of these girls wanted to bring all of the swirling tomfoolery up, speak out against it and make a futile attempt to save their little community...but their lips were sealed by their insecurity and their insecurity birthed by their own participation. Put short: Somebody needed to make adequate fun of this crap because DMV was sick.

The fact that my loving girl was unable to stand by her tongue's acidic bath of her ignoramus opponents made me angrier than ever. She wasn't one to be silenced (online at least) for her opinion. I, the noble paramor and pillar, (and it saddens me that these are both shitty bands)  was powerless against this. Bathe her in base make-up and slap an orthodontic smile on her face...she had become Miss Brazil...destroyer of worlds.

And then came her. They had 666 all wrong. The devil changed his vote to 7891. StephanieMarie 7891 was immediately the most reviled creature I'd ever seen. Sure, there had been others, like PurplePixiePoo, who didn't realize that purple was a color of regality because only Kings could get away with such an ugly ass color without getting lathed. Also she's a whore. And there was AntiSoccermom who ironically read like a page of Women's World meets internet cliches. There was also some really fat chick who I wish made it further so I could have as much material as she carried. There existed a menagerie of flouncy whores who deserved illegitimacy as a politician deserves justice...but StephanieMarie was special.

StephanieMarie was, is, the epitome of every blonde bitch antagonist I've ever seen. I could almost forgive it if I pretend that she's some genius troll who's somehow managed to create a composite of the bossy blonde whore from Mean Girls, Bratz, Heathers and every other movie that was set in a high school or involved competition in an inferior women's pseudo-sport. She's that girl, but older, thinner. She has become a whore deferred, dried up like a raisin in the sun. She strives for that glint of adoration that every beauty queen wants, harder and harder as she shrivels the more.

And she's a terrible writer. A recent posting:

Really StephanieMarie? You know I can smell the digital paste from your copy. Posting an ancient shitty internet joke, leaving it uncited as if the dulled cogs of your mind came up with it, and then having the audacity to make it the entirety of your entry is worse than posting song lyrics. No. No it's worse than posting self penned poetry. Any xanga writer worth his or her salt knows that's a low blow, than a hight blow, and probably just as many blows as Stephanie has given this week.

Here's another wonderful snapshot of her:

"I also have problem when people tell me I'm just a white girl with no
idea of minorities and race. I'm happen to be a minority too. I'm part
Cherokee indian, which happens to be a minority in this country, and
I'm proud to be partial Cherokee blood. My great-grandmother died on an
Indian reservation in Oklahoma, she was probably called a savage in her
time. We don't call people savages anymore, we don't use the term.
Maybe it's time to let the n-word go too."

Maybe I take it back. The unbearable strife of being a minority could easily explain her rampant superficial ignorance. All satire aside, blonde blue eyed white girls who justify themselves as minorities, are sort of...minorities. So are mongoloids.

Unfortunately I can't go into a diatribe about why she sucked on Miss Xangamerica because she privatized all her posts. Including one referenced in the above comic. Sufficed to say, all you need do is read through her drivel with a critical mind and I'm sure you can imagine the atrocities she posted.

My personal favorite is the fact that in order to win over voters she consumed one oreo for each person who sold their miserable soul by supporting her. She ate far too many oreos (whoreos?). It was essentially culinary prostitution and she didn't even down a kielbasa. After she did that she was to (though has yet to as I've seen) chug a gallon of milk if she won. It's exploitative smut. At least she swallows.

And the best part? When hit with flak that she was just as obsessed as every other little contestant she claimed that she thought it was all trite to her. She said it was a "silly contest." I'll let your indigestion and distended gut retort.

When the contest finally came to a close, she'd won, and we are left to wonder how. BlackSpiderman had taken it upon his magnanimous self to self impose a culling of any "suspicious" votes, and if numbers are any indicator, he did a great job of it. Votes from people, several of whom I know have authentic accounts (because I know them in person) had votes that were eliminated. When the contest ended the results were turned upon their head and BlackSpiderman's symbiote stupid suit had gained full power over him. While I won't put them out in front, several exchanges between Stephanie, BlackSpiderman, and Quell suggest that even this was not all that was lost from a first, second, or even third glance. We'll never know exactly what happened, but it's suspicious to say the least.

And you're a faggot, you might be saying to me. The truth is, yeah, kind of. To me this contest is petty as a goth's poetry. I don't take stock in internet people's opinions, I'm not a huge fan of influencing them either. I like that sweaty palmed high personal interaction gives me, that ability to stick in someone's craw with some wit and a look. Etherial comments and recycled moronics don't cut it for me. The internet is a toy.

However, I'm not a girl and even if I was a girl I'd be off boning a dark haired artist with a detachment from the internet, I wouldn't enter a beauty contest. I'm not a girl, but all the girls that entered this contest, it is my sincere hope that they are girls (aside from StephanieMarie who I theorize is an shaven animal with a pavlovian instinct for vapid speech) probably cared about it to some extent. BlackSpiderman probably didn't realize that by making a shoddily judged contest that favored mass appeal ignorance over actual talent and class he was offending, and perhaps hurting a lot of women. He hopefully did not realize that quite a few women actually did view this as a valid competition, and hence expected a retreat from favoritism and superficial riff-raffery.

In conclusion, the lot of you are so obsessed with the pleasantries of internet life, that you've forgotten that the internet is anonymous. A good relationship should focus on honesty, and if you can't speak honestly to your internet friends, than they're as much trash as you are in your malleability. Be honest with each other, brutally, because you only get one internet, you only get one soapbox, and you can always meet more 'friends' there. So speak your mind, hold discourse, cuss that trashy bitch you hate out. Be yourselves here, because judging from you, I sure as hell don't want to see you being yourself anywhere else.

Oh...and to all you dames who hate StephanieMarie and bad beauty contests as much as I do. Here's to you:



Because you all deserve better than what Stephanie Marie got:

God...I don't even want it for satire. It's like the Battlefield Earth of logos.

PostScript:

I'll let Raquel edit this and add what she wants to add later...so you can double your pleasure, or triple it, since you like her so much.

"But I believe it's a lot easier to change the Constitution than it would be to change the word of the living god. And that's what we need to do -- to amend the Constitution so it's in God's standards rather than try to change God's standards so it lines up with some contemporary view."
-Mike Huckabee

!

Honestly...who the heck wants this? I try pretty hard to be amoral and sinful as it is, but when the level of rebellious insubordination means I'm breaking laws...I'm going to get really tired sinning. Honestly Huckabee, I can't fornicate and debauch that fast. I once watched a Pauly Shore movie all the way through just because the tape said "Be Kind Rewind" if my devotion to rebellious subversion is that fervent than I can't imagine how bad and terribly fun Godly constitution breaking would be...Twit politicians and their reverse psychology.

Well. Just so all you people know...before prohibition hits I'm firing up my sill and jacking, among other things, up my prices.