Earlier today, I assaulted Facebook and Twitter. This is nothing new: those are my tools for the most part when honking malevolently into the silence of net-space. It’s also how I keep in touch with friends, (some) family and the construct we all possess known as the “outside world.” At any rate, I came up with a plan which is utterly flawed but I am in love with. I said, simply:
New challenge: Go to the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History, balance carefully on railing, drop pants. Shit into the skull of the T-rex skeleton. Become an American hero.
Followed by:
Embrace heroism through utter stupidity. Make a stink, not a statement. Doomed are we, the generation of dino-defecators.
Now, I was clearly being extremely silly. And I recognized later the flaw in my artfully constructed neo-copro-anarcho-revolutionary plan: The fact that the Smithsonian has an elephant in the rotunda, and the National Museum of Natural History is the one with the T-rex. As seen in Night at the Museum. A startlingly fun film which sadly included no public feces-flinging (Arguably it should have, it was rife with monkeys! RIFE!).
At any rate, I began considering the idea of founding a revolution on ignoring the most basic of human decencies and found the idea continually amusing. Imagine, if you will, little emo teens picking dingleberries from their old lady cardigans. Imagine goths worrying that their vomit might somehow bleach the black out of their clothes. And imagine a bunch of too-hip-to-bathe folk not noticing a real difference! Or, knowing those people, becoming squeaky clean just to do what no one else was doing.
See, that’s the rub, right there. There’s already a bunch of greasy, unwashed assholes out there, ruining it for the true revolutionaries. The heroes. The would-be self-dehumanizers. They wanna claim they have no hygeine when, in fact, they get up in the morning, shower, then put a gelatinous goo in their hair to manufacture the look of filth! They buy shirts with bleach marks and pants with paint stains built in! They are the enemy! And they will be dealt with. When the revolution comes, and a tidal wave of body odor travels down 5th Avenue in New York City, making even the incense-swilling cab drivers gag and dry heave into their burnt coffee, they will see the truth! When the grease stains left on park benches begin to fester and go rancid, so much so that even the homeless won’t—Nay, CAN’T sleep there, they will see! When the waste accumulates so that the entire eastern seaboard looks like Staten Island: banana peels and little crunchy balls of mucous piled into heaps, the foundations of which are caramelized hair clippings and crusted socks and corduroy pants stained with God knows what and cans of beans with a hole punched in them just so they rot and swell and bulge uncomfortable beneath their putrescent labels—Deep breath—THEY WILL SEE. They will see that by carefully managing our descent into animal madness we can become that most human thing of all: THE REBELLIOUS HORDE.
Ahem.
Seems I got a bit carried away there. Sorry about that. I forget what my point was, if I really had one. Had something to do with crapping on a dinosaur being amusing. Lost a bit of time there. That’s a little unnerving.
Right. I’m not going to scroll up to find out what that was all about, so do leave comments, if you’d be so kind.
RJC
