Your Opinion Is Wrong

Alcohol Saved My Life

Written by Tom Z Wednesday, 21 January 2009 00:00

Hello boys and girls.  I know this website is usually all fun and games, but today I want to talk to you about an experience that changed my life.  This is the story of how I hit rock bottom, and how I pulled myself up from those depths to achieve a fulfilling and satisfying life.  I am sharing this story not because I want to brag or put myself on a pedestal, but rather as inspiration for any of you who feel your life is not as great or meaningful as it should be.

I grew up Catholic, going to church every Sunday morning.  Both of my parents were pretty heavy into religion, and each week my family would pile into the minivan and head off to hear a sermon about the miraculous workings of Jesus Christ.  I would sit there for an hour, listening to the priest talk about God and his creations. 

It started off innocently enough, just a way to spend time and bond with my family each week. 

But as habits tend to do, it slowly spiraled out of control.

It was pretty inconspicuous at first, just a weekly sermon and maybe a communion here or there.  Oh sure, I knew I hadn’t done confirmation yet, and I shouldn’t be accepting the sacrament, but I figured, “what’s the big deal, it’s just a piece of bread.”  Soon I was taking communion every week.  Unconfirmed.  And that’s not all.  I began attending Sunday School sessions in addition to the usual sermon.  As the years went on, things got worse, and I found myself skipping out on school to go to church and attend religious retreats.  My grades slipped as I gave more and more of my time and attention to God.  A former straight-A student, I was nearly flunking social studies.  My best subject.  At least three times a day, I would lock myself in my room and pray.  I can vividly remember blasting “The Chronic” in order to make my parents think I was in there listening to gangsta rap, but really, I was in there praying.  Praying for relatives, praying for myself, praying for world peace, praying for any and everything I could think of.  It eventually got so bad, I couldn’t even make it through a family dinner or a game of Super Mario 3 without praying.  I could beat Mario 3 with my eyes closed, and yet, I still prayed every game.  That’s when I realized that I had become a full-blown God addict.

As a child, you often don’t fully understand the extent or consequences of your actions.  Religion is such a seductive thing for a young man, and in hindsight it’s easy to see how I got hooked.  There was the sacrament, oh that sweet, sweet body of Christ.  The communion wine was plentiful and always flowing.  Sunday School was a brothel of attractive pre-teens in gorgeous sundresses.  It was such a natural high, what young man could resist?  Not me, that’s for sure.

Well, old habits die hard, and soon I had completely lost control of my life.  I knew I had hit rock bottom, when at the age of 17, I found myself curled up on the bathroom floor of my studio apartment, crying hysterically to no one but the rats that infested my current hellhole.  You see, my parents had kicked me out of the house when they caught me praying instead of taking out the trash, a task which I had been assigned on the “Chore Board” (a whiteboard magnetically attached to our refrigerator).  To make ends meet, I had begun selling bootleg Bibles door-to-door in one of the roughest neighborhoods in town.  I knew it was dangerous, but I foolishly believed that God would protect me from the inhabitants of the local crack houses.  One day, while peddling books, a stray bullet from a drive-by hit me in the shoulder.  There was blood everywhere.  I ran back to my apartment, my shirt soaked like a dark red rag.  I grabbed a bottle of Sunny D that I had been trying to ferment into sacramental wine and splashed it all over the affected area.  Nothing.  Defeated, I grabbed a slice of 3-week old Wonderbread, the only food in the house.  I placed the bread in a large spoon, and held a lighter underneath the spoon, attempting to create my own communion.  In my demented mind, I thought it was the only chance for survival.  I had successfully made this type of knockoff communion before, and although it wasn’t as good as the real thing, it was much cheaper and I was still able to get high if I took just a little more.  Unfortunately, this particular loaf of Wonderbread was infested with mold, and the combination of moldy low-grade communion and severe blood loss sent me into a coma.  Before slipping away, I grabbed the phone and tried to call for help, but sadly my phone had been shut off because I gave away all my money toward tithing and didn’t even have enough to pay the bill.

As I lay there, completely O.D.ed on God, I had what most people refer to as a near-death experience.  I walked down a white tunnel, and at the end I saw a giant glass with ice cubes and a strange brownish colored liquid in it.  I didn’t know what it meant at the time, but as it turned out, this vision would prove to be a foreshadowing of the moment that forever changed my life.

I finally came to after what seemed like an eternity.  I looked at my clock and saw that I had been unconscious for twenty minutes.  Later I would discover that I had been clinically dead for 8 minutes.  I got up and walked down the street to Jeremy’s house.  Jeremy was my one and only friend; the only person that didn’t abandon me during my downward spiral into religion.  Unless you’ve been there, you probably wouldn’t understand, but take it from me:  When you get that deep into God, you lose a lot of friends.  At first people say they want to help, but soon you notice that everyone is distancing themselves from you.  It’s like I’ve said ever since, “when you’re taking 12 communions a day, you find out who your real friends are.”

When I reached Jeremy’s house, I tried to explain what happened, but I didn’t have the energy to get the words out.  He took one look at my bullet wound and began to pour a strange liquid on it.  It burned at first, but shortly afterwards I began to feel better.  He then poured the same liquid in a glass and told me to drink it.  Wouldn’t you know it, within an hour I felt like nothing had happened.  I had the feeling of floating on air.  My head felt lighter, ugly women suddenly appeared attractive, and I was filled with a feeling of love for everyone around (except for this one guy, who was a fuckin’ douche and I wanted to kick his ass).  Then Jeremy took me to the hospital.

When I regained consciousness after the bullet-removal surgery, I woke up to see Jeremy’s smiling face.  He grabbed me, walked me to his car, and drove back to his place.  He sat me in the living room and proclaimed, “wait here while I get you a drink.”  I will remember this moment as long as I live, because it was this moment that changed my life forever.  When Jeremy returned, he was holding a glass filled with ice and a strange brownish colored liquid.  It was the exact image I had seen in my near-death experience.  I knew this was a sign.  I accepted the glass, took a giant swig, and asked Jeremy, “what is this magical liquid you bring before me?”  He looked at me, gave a half-smile, and said:

“That, my friend, is Bacardi and Coke.”

I was in shock.  This liquid that eased my pain, that blurred my vision, that made the average-looking chick next door to Jeremy appear very do-able…   this is what saved my life? 

Don’t get me wrong.  I had heard of Bacardi before.  Oh, I had even tried it a couple times, at parties in the woods or at some kid’s house whose parents were out of town.  But I had never fully embraced the idea of Bacardi before.  That’s when I realized there was a massive void in my life, that could be filled only by delicious alcohol.  All my life, what I had been searching for was right in front of me, up a couple feet and a little to the right, in the kitchen cabinet where my father kept his alcohol stash.  For years I had tried to fill that void with things like God and prayer, but I was only living a lie.  In actuality I was just hiding from what I really wanted:  booze.

That day, I vowed to change my life around.  I began drinking every single day, going to bars as often as possible.  I got drunk frequently, met tons of new people, had lots of fun, and hooked up with a bunch of chicks.  Life was truly amazing.  I was doing it.  I was living the dream.  It was a life I never could’ve imagined just a few years back, when I was lying to my family and holding up Bishops at gunpoint just to steal a little sacrament so I could get high.  Sure, it was a tough transition.  I won’t lie, I thought about God a lot at first, but eventually I was able to banish those thoughts, to the point where I could go months without even wanting a communion, instead focusing all my attention toward alcohol and partying.  As my liver’s capacity to function properly dissolved, so did my desire to pray.  It took a lot of effort on my part, as I had to leave my old ways completely behind and commit to a life of getting plastered on rum n’ cokes.  I had to find new people to hang out with, as I couldn’t be around the same God-pushing enablers that had led me down my original destructive path.  I had to start a brand new life.  But I did it, and now, I wake up every single day and thank the Bacardi Corporation for my newfound, meaningful existence.  Without their succulent light rum and delectable flavors, especially Limon, I might not be here today.  Hell, I probably wouldn’t be here today.

The point, kids, is that there’s always time to get back your life.  A few years ago, I was an absolute trainwreck and I wouldn’t have given myself much chance of living past 21.  Unfortunately it took me hitting rock bottom before I realized the error of my ways.  But I made a change, and now here I am.  Not just alive, but living well.  And I owe it all to alcohol.

No matter how bad things get, no matter how bleak the future may appear, always remember:  It’s never too late to turn things around. 

If any of you are trying to change your life, hopefully this story has inspired you, and I wish you the best of luck in your endeavor.  Before I go, I just want to thank my lord and savior, Carolina Bacardi.  In the name of the father, son, and the holy mojito.

Fall Out Boy Sucks

Written by Tom Z Wednesday, 12 November 2008 00:00

I just found out Fall Out Boy has a new album coming out in a month.

Fall Out Boy sucks.

Fall Out Boy is the worst band on the planet right now.  They only appeal to 14-year old girls.  14-year old girls are idiots, so therefore Fall Out Boy is pretty much worthless.  The only good thing about Fall Out Boy is that we’ll eventually get to see them fail and then we’ll be able to laugh about what a worthless piece of shit band they were.  It’s fitting that Pete Wentz married Ashlee Simpson, because she was the only person on Earth whose lack of talent rivaled his own.  Patrick Stump is a terrible singer and looks like a huge dork.  I almost feel bad for the other two guys in the band, but then I realized that they actively chose to be part of Fall Out Boy, and then I just hate them instead.

Of course it’s not just Fall Out Boy.  They’re simply the poster children for an entire genre of shitty music, emo.  All emo bands are shit.  The only good thing about being an emo fan is that you’ll eventually cut your wrists too deep and die, thus sparing yourself from having to listen to emo music.  Unless of course there is emo music in heaven, but then again, that would pretty much make it hell, so there you go.

And it’s not just emo music, either.  All new music sucks.  You’ve got Nickelback and the 80,000 Nickelback clones growling about bar fights and pussy and other stupid shit.  If I paid 5 cents to hear Chad Kroeger sing, I’d ask for my nickel back and then stab whoever tricked me into that terrible deal in the first place.  Every band whose singer has a deep voice is terrible.  These bands like Creed and Theory of a Deadman just sound like terrible Pearl Jam rip-offs.  And Eddie Vedder was just a shitty version of Jim Morrison, so that should tell you how awful Scott Stapp is.  It’s funny that Scott Stapp always does Jesus poses, because even God hates Creed.  It’s in the Bible, look it up.

And what about rap?  All rap music is garbage.  It’s just a bunch of thugs talking about guns and cars and necklaces.  They have nothing to say.  Older rappers like Tupac and Biggie used to have something to say.  Of course they were just thugs who killed each other so they suck too.  Rap makes society dumber and it’s destroying music.  Anyone who listens to rap has an IQ of 40 and will probably shoot your children.

And how about pop music?  What a pile of dog shit that is.  Fergie sounds like she stole her lyrics from a third grader’s pop up book, making the Clumsy video incredibly appropriate.  Sean Kingston is the musical equivalent of having someone drill into your cranium and then pour rubbing alcohol through the hole.  Britney Spears is famous for being famous and Christina Aguilera used to sleep with lots of guys so she’s obviously terrible.  Pop music has always been terrible.  Madonna was a little progressive but time passed and she aged and didn’t die young or disappear so now you’re an idiot if you ever thought she was good in the first place.

Music hasn’t been relevant since 1969.  U2 sucks and Bono is an asshole.  Tom Petty, John Mellencamp and Bruce Springsteen are all populist douchebags who sing anthems for retarded frat guys and stupid sorority girls.  Led Zeppelin and the Rolling Stones just stole all their ideas from black people.  The Beatles are the only halfway decent band that ever existed, but they once covered a Chuck Berry song, and Michael J. Fox played that one Chuck Berry song in “Back To The Future,” and the plot of that movie was absolutely ridiculous, and Ringo Starr was an average drummer at best, so the Beatles suck.

The only good music came from way before the Beatles.  Blues musicians were OK but most of them spent all their time telling stories about selling their souls to the devil or drowning in the Mississippi River rather than focusing on the craft.  Robert Johnson was all hype.  There were old folk musicians, but they all sang about the same topics.  1800s folk musicians had no range.  And of course you had the farmers who used to whistle while they ploughed their fields.  Those guys were OK when they first came out, but their later whistling was derivative and became a bad caricature of their early work.  They never grew as artists.  Before that, you had Native Americans and their rain dances.  From a music theory standpoint they were alright, but they were really just doing it to help grow crops and maybe get a few swigs of fire water in the process.  Fuckin’ sellouts.  Music is an art form, not a method for growing squash, dickbags!  And don’t get me started on the ancient Europeans and their “Greensleeves” style ballads.  Those jackasses were only in it for the pussy.

The only credible musician in history is Steven Wallace IV, who lived in Northern Ireland in the 8th Century.  He was fleeing the British Army when he stopped and started scraping a stick against a tree.  It was a hollow twig, and he was scraping a well-aged oak tree, so the acoustics were phenomenal.  The rest of his Northern Irish brethren kept telling him, “knock off that racket, the Brits are on their way!”  But Wallace kept scraping the stick against the tree, claiming, “I don’t care about the Brits, I like the way this sounds.”  Now that guy was in it for the right reasons.  He didn’t care about the public reaction or the money or even his life, he was all about the art, man.  He continued practicing his craft even as his group left him.  Eventually he was captured and beheaded by the British Army.  What a tragedy.  That guy had so much more greatness in him.

That guy who scraped a stick against a tree in the 8th Century was the only true musician to ever live.  Everyone since him has sucked.  Especially Fall Out Boy.

Aliens suck

Written by Tom Z Thursday, 23 October 2008 00:00

I don’t know if you pay close attention to NASA and our country’s space program.  If not, you should be, because space exploration is one of the most intriguing and relevant topics facing our society today.

I’m just kidding.  Outer space sucks.  It’s nothing but a bunch of blackness, flying rocks and flashing lights.  If you want to see that, you… well I think we all know where this is going.

I stumbled across an article recently that claimed scientists are close to discovering Earth’s “twin planets.”  According to legend, there are a few yet-to-be-discovered planets in the galaxy that closely resemble Earth in terms of atmospheric properties and proximity to stars.  Not sure why they’re called “twins” if there’s a bunch of them, but whatever.  The point is, this news brings us one step closer to discovering alien life, every NASA employee’s wet dream.

Everyone thinks the discovery of aliens is going to be so awesome.  We’ve seen so many movies like ET and Independence Day, we assume discovering aliens will lead to either hyper intelligent beings helping us to advance or own society, or an interstellar war for domination of the galaxy.  We think aliens will show us amazing new technology or use amazing new technology to blow us up.  Either way, we think that’s cool.

I don’t doubt that there could be life on other planets.  I’m not saying it’s definite, but it’s possible.  Given the vastness of the universe and the fact that all planets essentially formed in the same manner -- rocks crashing together -- it’s highly possible that somewhere out there, some planets have an atmosphere that will sustain life.  They’ve found water on one of Saturn’s moons, so there could be aquatic life (or maybe it was Jupiter; who gives a fuck?).  Aliens could definitely exist.

However, I think we have seriously underestimated the odds of those aliens sucking.  We search for life on other planets, but we don’t consider the possibly that maybe we don’t want to meet whatever’s out there.  Aliens could be annoying.  They could be dicks that try to attack us.  They could see Earthlings, and believe that we’re the evil aliens, and attack us in self-defense.

Most likely, they’ll just be boring.  There’s a very good chance that aliens aren’t as advanced as humans.  Maybe they’re primitive creatures that can’t communicate.  We’d essentially be traveling 50,000 light years to find a groundhog.  Even if aliens are as advanced as, more advanced than, or exactly like humans, they’re not gonna speak English.  Best case scenario, they’ll communicate through a series of clicks, like those African tribes.  Then we’ll have to take 30 more years to fly an African click language translator over to galaxy XQ78, star 3B, planet 14.  In reality, if aliens do communicate, they’ll probably have some method of communication that we could never possibly understand.  Like maybe in alien culture, blinking seven times in rapid succession means “go to the bathroom before we head over to Uncle Steve’s house.”  Or maybe waving hello and reaching for a handshake is their international sign for “I come to destroy your culture, you worthless fucks.”  I don’t know why we expect to walk right up to aliens and start talking about their life.  Communicating with aliens is going to be like talking to a coyote or a tennis ball.

Furthermore, evolution is such a crazy process that no other planet could possibly have undergone the same exact pattern as Earth.  So likely these alien forms aren’t even something we could try communicating with.  Hell, we might not even realize they’re alive.  Keep in mind, plants are living things.  If an alien came to Earth, would he try talking to a tree?  No, he’d just assume it was no different than a rock.  In fact he’d probably think, “look at that tall rock with leaves on it!”  He’d say that sentence in his alien language, but you get the point.  What if alien “life” is like a plant?  What if aliens are blobs of gel that slither around at .01 MPH?  What if aliens are the exact same as clock radios, only they have a spleen instead of an AM/FM switch?  I’m telling you, it’s gonna suck when we cross the entire galaxy and spend $50 billion to find a clock radio that performs photosynthesis. 

Let’s assume we’re going to find aliens one day.  The odds of there being unfathomable and unbreakable communication barriers between us and them, or no communication at all, thus rendering our discovery worthless, is 92%.  The odds of an intergalactic war is 7%.  The odds of them being really cool and telling us how to fix Earth’s problems is 0.00000001%.  The remaining odds say they’ll be pretty decent, but have a few annoying quirks, like telling the same stories over and over and never getting to the stuff about laser beam technology.

Now, scientists are going to tell you that we can study and learn from alien life, regardless of what that life is.  Don’t believe the hype.  We’ve studied dolphins for like 30 years, and what have we learned?  Nothing.  Oh sure, we figured out that they communicate through some kind of sonar or sonic booms or whatever, but nothing we’ve learned is applicable to life in any way.  It’s like my grandfather used to say, “Ain’t no dolphin gonna pay my electric bill.”  My grandfather was an illiterate man, but his message was clear.  We’re spending millions of dollars on our space program when the average American can’t afford their mortgage.  And for what?  To discover aliens who are going to inevitably suck?  Screw that.  Aliens are assholes.  Oh, you might meet an alien, but then you give them your phone number and they never call.

Tom Z For President

Written by Tom Z Monday, 20 October 2008 00:00

My fellow Americans,

I, Tom Z, am writing to announce my candidacy for the Presidency in the year 2016.  I feel it is my civic duty to campaign for President, and I am honored to have the opportunity to win your vote.

In these times of economic and social crisis, it is imperative that we elect a leader that represents the best interests of you, the American public.  That is why I’m running for President.  Like you, I am disgusted by these Washington insiders who work solely for the special interest groups.  Our country needs massive change, a change that can only come from the outside.  The “old boys club” on Capitol Hill needs to be eliminated, and we need a President who represents the views of the common man.

I am that candidate.

Like you, I understand the pressures of a failing economy and the toll that war has taken on our great country.  Like you, I care more about being able to pay for groceries than being able to pay the big oil companies.  Like you, I’m annoyed by the greed on Wall Street which affects all of us on Main Street.  Like you, I can’t stand to see the same old party politics while so many people struggle to pay their mortgages.  Like you, I despise our shallow values and celebrity-driven culture, and I believe that Britney’s comeback totally isn’t going to work cause she’s, like, still all crazy and obsessed with Justin Timberlake.  Like you, I struggle with contractions and don’t understand the difference between “your” and “you’re.”  And like you, I care deeply about our country and you’re children’s future.

You see, I’m just like you.  I’m a man of the people.  I’m not some Washington DC fatcat who has been entrenched on Capitol Hill for years and is out of touch with the rest of the country.  I’m no Washington insider.  In fact I’ve only been to Washington once in my life, and that was when I was 13 years old, when my mom took me to see to see the Washington Monument.  And you know what?  I thought it was overrated.  I know it has great symbolic value, but it’s just a pointy statue in the middle of some park.  You can’t climb up it and it doesn’t even have a gift shop.  What’s the big deal?  And don’t get me started on the Lincoln Memorial.  What a piece of shit.

Screw Washington DC and its fancy cars and shiny marble floors and phallic-shaped “monuments.”  I don’t care about Washington.  I care about you!  And that’s why I’m running for President.  We need a leader who shares the values of the average American, and who understands the struggles that we all go through on a daily basis.  I am that leader.  I don’t go to fancy yacht parties or fact-finding missions in Darfur.  I go to work every morning and bind and collate sales reports for a marketing team at a company that sells axle-rods to the riding lawnmower industry.  I don’t read the Wall Street Journal and trade stocks; I read US Weekly and trade sarcastic barbs about Paris Hilton’s vagina.  Actually, I don’t even know how to read.  I just look at the pictures and assume the worst.  I’m not some stuck up Washington elitist who believes in rainbows and butterflies and economic stimulus packages! 

I won’t try to impress you with creative speeches or clever rhetoric.  I know you’re sick of all the political spin that has dominated our country for the past two decades, so I won’t try to make your head hurt by saying lots of sentences with tons of big words in them.  I care too much about you, the American public!  Plus, I’m borderline illiterate.  Some people have called me functionally retarded, but in reality my IQ is a solid 86.2, putting me right on par with the average Walmart shopper.

Did I mention I shop at Walmart?  Yep, I’m just like you.  Oh, those Washington DC fatcats have tried to take me to fancy stores like Crate & Barrel or Pier 1, but I looked them right in the eyes and told them, “what are you, a faggot?”  Because that’s how the average American would’ve handled the situation, and I’ll be damned if I let these party politics affect me from doing my job of serving the American people!  This has earned me quite the reputation around Washington as a “renegade.”  Just as Rage Against the Machine were renegades of funk, I’m the renegade of Washington.  But that’s OK, because I know that I don’t work for other politicians or Rage Against the Machine.  I work for you!  I shop at Walmart and I buy my pretzels in 20-gallon jars because we are in a recession!

I may be running for President, but I take offense to the word politician.  I’m no politician.  I’m just an ordinary guy.  I didn’t go to politician school or pass some magical politician test.  I can’t even spell the word politician without help from my computer’s spellcheck function.  I dropped out of school in eight grade to work in my family’s shipping and packaging business, bubble-wrapping dinette sets for average Americans just like you.  And as President, I promise to bubble-wrap our country and protect you from the ill effects of an economy that has been kicked around in the back of a UPS truck.  I promise to submerge terrorists into a refrigerator box filled with Styrofoam peanuts, until they have inhaled massive amounts of asbestos and are no longer able to plot attacks against America.  I promise to hand-deliver a better America by 8AM on a Saturday morning without requesting a signature, while speaking in vague metaphors that don’t really make sense but can be interpreted however you, the American people, choose!

By electing me as President, you’ll be scoring a touchdown for progress!  Because like you, I’m a huge sports fan, and believe that athletes deserve the type of admiration and respect that hypothetically should be reserved for teachers and law enforcement.  I’m not some Washington elitist who thinks that all laws need to be upheld!  I occasionally jaywalk, just like you!  Sometimes I fall behind on my credit card bills and write them angry letters saying I never got my statement that month, even though I did get it and just couldn’t afford to pay.  One time I got hammered and drove home from the bar and struck a small child with my SUV.  I didn’t stop to see what happened, but I found out the next day that the kid had died.  Mothers Against Drunk Driving went on the local news and demanded that the perpetrator turn himself in, but I never told anyone what I did, because I don’t cater to the special interest groups!

The old boys club in Washington thinks it’s so great!  They go out to $1000 dinners and discuss politics as usual.  I, on the other hand, don’t play that game.  I usually eat cut up hot dogs that I dump into a bowl of mac and cheese, and once in awhile I treat myself to some Arby’s.  I occasionally steal the sports section of my neighbor’s newspaper, and then when he asks me about it, I play dumb, like, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jim.”  I don’t shower on Sundays and just hose myself down with Tag Body Spray if I need to go somewhere.  I’m often seen picking my nose in public and I have been known to cut in front of old ladies in line at the supermarkets.  It’s 3PM, I just woke up an hour ago, and in just a few more hours I’ll be blackout drunk on low-grade grain alcohol.  I go out to bars and hit on woman and it’s really creepy.  I don’t pay my taxes and I haven’t given my ex-wife her court-ordered alimony payments in 6 months.  I refuse to participate in such fiscal irresponsibility, and as your President, I would lower all your taxes by 50% while simultaneously investing billions of dollars into infrastructure and children.  Of course, I’ll need a calculator to figure all this economic stuff out, because like you, I fuckin’ hate math!  I think it’s boring and I never really got it.  I’m not huge on science or history, either!  This isn’t high school, it’s the school of America!

When I told a group of young parents at a diner the other day that I was running for President, one of the young mothers asked me, “Are you high?  Leave me alone!”  It’s sad that we live in a country where drug use is so prevalent that this mother just assumed I was high.  And I can’t stand the fact that our country has become so divided by party politics that this woman would sooner ask me to leave her alone than discuss the real issues facing America.  I’m running for President in order to make a change.  As President, I’ll take the lead from the American public and stop succumbing to pressure from the big drug companies.  In fact, I’ll take all medicine out of stores and lock all doctors into concentration camps.  We don’t need those fatcats charging us $75 then telling us to just rest up and take some Advil.  Not in this economy!

You might be asking, “Tom, why are you announcing your candidacy for President 8 years before the election?”  The answer is simple:  I don’t know anything about politics.  I don’t understand how the political process works or how to campaign or even how to fill out the necessary paperwork in order to officially enter the Presidential race.  That’s because I’m not some elitist Washington insider who participates in party politics or knows his own social security number.

I’m just an ordinary guy, like you.  In fact, I’m even less than you.  I’m a goddamn idiot.  And together, we can turn this country into the America we all want to see.  An America where the economy is stable, an America where everyone can afford gasoline and adequate healthcare, an America where we’re not engaged in a never-ending war, an America where pints are a dollar and everybody gets laid! 

Vote Tom Z in 2016!  Together, we can make it happen!

2084

Written by Tom Z Thursday, 18 September 2008 00:00

1984 is one of the most famous novels ever written.  It’s one of those books you don’t even have to read, because it has been referenced so often in print and TV that we all already know the entire novel.  The book, written by George Orwell in the 1940s, portrays a future dystopia in which the government controls every aspect of life.  History is edited to the government’s liking, citizens are inundated with propaganda, and everyone is under surveillance all of the time.

It’s now 2008, and it’s safe to say that Orwell’s vision hasn’t yet come true.  You could argue that the seeds of 1984’s prophecy have been planted, and that Big Brother is prevalent (and not just in the form of a shitty reality show).  That’s debatable.  It’s also very safe to say that 1984 was an arbitrary date, and that Orwell was depicting a future that could still happen at any point.  That’s less debatable.  If there’s one problem that all depictions of the future share, it’s that they always pick a time in the too near present.  If you don’t believe me, ask yourself this:  Where are the hoverboards?  That’s right, we were supposed to have that shit, like, eight years ago.  I haven’t forgotten about that, Michael J. Fox, now give me my goddamn hoverboard. 

I understand what Orwell was doing.  A book called 2372 wouldn’t have instilled the same fear in people as 1984.  Orwell knew the deal.  But at the same time, the whole world doesn’t change in 40 years.  Unless of course you live in the Middle East.  Cause, you know, they always get new music 10 years late, and that means that Britney Spears and boy bands are about to sweep the region.  Watch out, Middle East, shit’s about to go down.

Here’s the thing about 1984:  I think it’s slowly happening.  I think that by 2084, we could see a reality that’s very similar to Orwell’s vision.

BUT… 

I don’t blame the government.  I don’t think some secret society is trying to change history or keep us down.  I don’t think some ultimate leader is sitting in front of a TV screen, controlling our futures, Matrix-style.

I think we’re doing it to ourselves.

How much of your personal information is on Facebook?  MySpace?  Twitter, Instant Messenger, chat rooms, blogs, etc etc?  How many embarrassing pictures of you are there online?  Every day, employers are looking up potential employees on Google and social media sites and disqualifying them based on what they find.  Every day, people are searching for information on potential boyfriends/girlfriends and disqualifying them based on lists of their interests and favorite movies, or messages that they received from other guys/girls.  Cell phones and Sidekicks are easily hacked.  Even Sarah Palin’s private email was made public.  So much of our daily communication is available to anyone with a computer.  You can find something incriminating on anyone, if you really want to.  And if not, then hey, just Photoshop something.

With Google Maps, you can get a glimpse of your own house from space.  How long until Google Bedroom allows you to get a satellite view into the room of your favorite cheerleader?  How long until Google Upskirt lets you sneak a peek at some young Madison Avenue professionals on their lunch hour?  How long until Google Package gives you a look at the football team’s shower sessions, you pervert?  How long until people wear electronic rings that automatically upload their every movement onto StalkMe.com?  Don’t tell me these things wouldn’t be popular.  And don’t tell me moral obligations would prevent someone out there from capturing a good business opportunity.

What about fashion?  If you have a corporate job, there’s only so much leeway you have as far as your wardrobe.  And have you been out to a bar lately?  Everyone either wears A) jeans and a striped shirt, or B) a Vinnie Chase-style fashionable tight long sleeve or t-shirt.  Frat guys all look the same (cargo shorts, t-shirt, baseball hat).  Hipsters all look the same (thrift store clothing, hours put into making it look like they don’t care).  Emo kids all look the same (black clothing, weird makeup, cuts on the wrists).  Parents all look the same (and they just don’t understand).  Now I’m not criticizing; It’s just that, when you consider that most of the country has only a few clothing stores to pick from, everyone’s going to end up looking the same.  You’re an Old Navy guy or a Hot Topic chick, and there’s no other choice.

What about beliefs?  Every day the number of extreme personalities seems to grow, while the number of people who consider various viewpoints declines.  Democrats get their news from the Daily Show and never consider that maybe abortion might possibly be wrong.  Republicans get their news from Bill O’Reilly and never consider that maybe gay people deserve to be married.  Christians read those Revelations books and rest assured that God is coming back soon to save them from this heathen world.  Kids who want to seem cool and intelligent bash Nickelback, ignoring the fact that they sound like every other “cool” and “intelligent” kid (and ignoring the fact that, while “Photograph” may be the worst song of the decade, “Breathe” and “Saving Me” are pretty decent).  Everyone thinks that “Arrested Development” was the best TV show ever and that wearing a popped collar makes you a douchebag (the latter may be true, but the former is certainly up for debate).  Everyone has an opinion, except those opinions are all the same.

We’re a long, long way from the dystopia of 1984.  But the bottom line is, technology is advancing at an incredible rate, voyeurism is spiraling out of control and the general public piggybacks off of the opinions of a select few.  The evidence points to a world where our entire lives are on display for the world to see.  It points to a world where we know everything about everyone, even if we don’t care.  It points to a world where people will be disqualified from jobs due to any slight imperfection, and average people will go to extreme lengths to avoid standing out from the crowd in any way.  Those who do stand out will be ridiculed and called douchebags.  It points to a world where we all watch reality TV, and then we all complain about how much we hate it.  It points to a world where politicians and TV personalities re-write history, and then turn on the applause sign to the delight of their faithful followers.  It points to a world where we applaud the amazing rate at which our society is advancing, and yet I still don’t have a goddamn hoverboard.

Sounds a lot like this one book I never read. 

Seriously, I want that fucking hoverboard.