for 5 July 2000. Updated every WEEKDAY.
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Filler: More Frictionary Subject: frattitude Dearest Polly, Wait, I have actually heard frattitude before. In fact, I think I may have actually said it. I was always under the impression that you made up all these words yourself; is that the case, or do people actually SAY these things? If so, to whom can we credit "reimagineer"? Bored at work, Matt Singerman <messt66+@pitt.edu> I thought of all that shit myself. Except for "socialist butterfly", which someone sent to me, and I meant to credit him but I lost his name. (Sorry man!) If you thought of fratitude, too, I'm not surprised. Bored-at-work minds think alike. Also bored, also at work, Polly  Subject: Dream Weaver I just discovered Suck this week and I have been reading you Filler back issues exclusively for a few days now just to catch up to what level of self-referential hyperbole you're up to so as not to alienate you by my greenness. After a few hours of browsing through your collected musings, I had this dream, which I sent to the guy who draws the "Slow Wave" cartoon (and draws dreams). I copied it from what I sent him and pasted the description below. This was a long involved dream, but here is the gist: New York City (and the rest of the country) was taken over by a clever yet narcissistic group of young hip urban people who have their own web site. Their intelligence is what wrested power from the masses, but their ignorance was what was causing a reign of terror, because they had absolutely no practical knowledge on how to run a society of regular people, who they enjoyed watching suffer because they weren't as great as themselves. They decided to manifest some of their ideas of deliberate irrationality into the mainstream in order to destabilize the static perspectives of the average citizen. The only one I remember was when in the dream, I was trying to escape from capture, and I went into a subway station in Queens and instead of tokens or metrocards, there was an older man outside the booth cutting up black bowties into little pieces, handing them out to the frustrated commuters while muttering gibberish. The infrastructure of the subway was the same, so the shards of bowtie material did not affect the turnstiles at all, yet the law was unwavering in its stance and a subverted mass hysteria ensued. Later in the dream, I met with this oppressive oligarchy at a board meeting and they were ready to meet with me the way Stalin may have had an audience with someone who wished to argue party politics with him before he was sent to the gulag. They were just a bunch of 20somethings who dressed down and looked smugly satisfied with their new accomplishment, especially their leader, who looked like an arrogant pseudo-intellectual faux frat-guy. I decided to just say flat out that they were wrong, and he tilted his head in his hand and gave me that "oh really?" gesture. I tried to express at the same time that I understood their desire to have society question its presumptions, but I did not think that the way they were doing it would convince anyone of their merit, and in fact it would lead to resentment if anything. I believe I woke up after this. Thanks for nothing, Love, Jimmy Hmm. A clever yet narcissistic group of young hip urban people who enjoy watching regular people suffer because they (the regular people) aren't as great as them (the young hip urbanites). Already, I'm finding the premise unrealistic. Here's why: People enjoy watching another group of people suffer not because that other group is inferior, but because that group is either superior or has some kind of power over them or threatens a way of life that they hold dear. For example, racists enjoyed watching blacks suffer either because a. they felt blacks might "take over" or "pollute" their lily white population, thereby threatening their ability to be unsavory white racists swimming in a sea of unsavory whiteness and racism forever and ever, Ahhmayen, or b. they (racists) felt (quite reasonably) that blacks were so superior (better looking, stronger, less lame and square and white) that if they (blacks) were free to pursue happiness, etc., maybe they'd end up running off with all the best white women, and they'd have beautiful honey-colored children with pretty curls and no huge objects lodged in their asses. Or, at the very least, if blacks were even allowed to have a little money and some land, they'd make farming look so much more fun and so much cooler that all the white people would turn into self-loathing insecure little simps. Of course, it was only the self-loathing insecure little simps who became obsessed with blacks taking over everything in the first place. So the point is, only inferior people enjoy watching other people suffer. I mean, who would you like to see suffer? Someone who you suspect has something on you, no doubt. Someone who you suspect gets more attention or money or love than you do, for no good reason, of course, because they're totally lame and it's just plain no fair! Which is why pettiness and smug meanness is such a dead giveaway to either a. a weak little ego, or b. some sort of major damage or dysfunction emotionally. No, actually, that's bullshit. There's the personality type that arises from being raised in a falsely optimistic environment, a soup of enforced cheer (see also: American culture) that creates a sort of snarky meanness and cynicism in a kid, precisely because that cynicism is either ignored or harshly criticized, even when the snarky one is speaking the pure truth and nothing but the truth. Because we Americans are too insecure to handle the truth. Oh, I think I'm soooo smart, don't I? Anyway, you can let me jabber on, or you can read John Updike's Rabbit series. I'd suggest the former, but nine out of ten of my close personal friends and enemies would suggest the latter. Simpering insecure simp, Polly Dear Miss Polly, Thank you for showing me that I need to start taking hand basket weaving lessons so that I can have a nice one when we go to hell. Your "Filler" column this week was perhaps the most annoying, smug piece of shit I have ever had the displeasure of reading. I hate to be the one to inform you, but you are NOT Noel Coward, or Oscar Wilde, or George Bernard Shaw of the clever, witty bastards you are trying to be the modern version of. They use English, not the Pseudo-English Marketingspeak you use. Your ham-handed attempts at trying to create new language just prove that you have all the wit and genius of that Comdey Dynamo Rich Hall (The Sniglet Guy). It was moderately amusing then, it's pathetic now. You are overdrawn at the Sumg Bank, you are now officially annoying to me. You will also be happy to know that as a result of reading your repugnant column, I cannot make a fist. You column seems to have damaged my motor functions. When I am able to make a fist, I intend to print out this week's "Filler," eat a big meal of Indian food, and wipe my ass with it. Just thought you might want to know. Sincerely, Gary Rolin <garyr@GoTo.com> I was, in fact, quite certain that I was on par with Oscar Wilde or George Bernard Shaw, until I read your first clever line about - I get it! - going to hell in a handbasket! When faced with a true literary wit, I'm realize that I'm pretty much kidding myself here. Gary, did you read that last letter? I want you to remember that you are good enough, and smart enough, and people do like you. Ok, I don't really believe that, but I think you should try really hard to believe it yourself so as not to waste so very much time unleashing your simpering insecure attacks on others. Not that I/we don't appreciate it. I do, and our readers appreciate it even more. We wish many more people out there were as ego-damaged as you, my friend. But, malheureusement, few are. Oh, there I go again, using French and trying to act all smart! Bad girl! In fact, I'm so smug and yucky, I should start my day with the opposite of a Daily Affirmation. Maybe a Daily Negation! I could look in the mirror and say, "I'm not good enough, I'm not smart enough, and people most definitely do not like me!" I'm no Comdey Dynamo, I'm overdrawn at the Sumg Bank! Oh, but that was an attempt at cleverness too, wasn't it?! I can't stop it! I'm fucking repugnant! Help me! Bad, dumb, and loathed, Polly Dear Miss Polly, In reference to my earlier letter, I still mean every word. However, I noticed that I have misspelled the words "Comedy" in the phrase "...wit and genius of that Comdey Dynamo Rich Hall (The Sniglet Guy)." I have also misspelled the word "Smug" in the phrase "You are overdrawn at the Sumg Bank..." My spell check seems to suck stale air and blow dead elk. I apologize for any confusion these misspellings may have caused. I hope these clarifications help you to further understand my position. Sincerely, Gary Rolin Yes, yes, Gary, your spellcheck was just malfunctioning, we understand. You are good enough and smart enough! It was a technical snafu, a glitch! You are not dumb, you are smart, very very very smart, Gary! You go, smart guy! You're fucking smart, you! Polly News Hole While I enjoyed your "Suck" column of 6/26, I must comment on your garish mistake of utilizing the term "rogue state" in your description of such countries as North Korea. As of June 19, the State Department has replaced the term with the peachy-keen, touchy-feely "state(s) of concern." Perhaps you can use this linguistic slight of hand in a future column. Yours in nomenclature, W. Becker <becker@hermes.lfc.edu> Yes, and look for future acts of genocide to be referred to as "moments of unfortunate disregard for etiquette." Reinventing a whole language from the ground up... -a.b. Are you aware of any treaties that the US signed with the Austro-Hungarian Empire? I do hope we're not breaking them. Floyd McWilliams Principal Software Engineer, Aspect Development <floyd@aspectdv.com> And Austria and Hungary still have thousands of nuclear warheads? -a.b. You are my god. I am your priest. I worship the ground your feet do not touch. Write more. I hunger for inconvenient truth. Dr. Robert ( Not insane! ) <rss2@idt.net> If I'm your god, you're in deep, deep shit. I have to struggle to bring myself to pull on my boots in the morning. Anyway, I don't need a priest. I need a girlfriend. Ah, right: And a ticket home. But that's a whole long story. Thanks for the encouragement. Please ignore surly, dejected tone. -chris |
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