The “Your Country is a Shithole” Theory

A lot of people are asking how we can create immigration policies to keep America safe. Libertarians say we’re safer with open borders, just like a house is safer with no walls. Recently, Trump has banned immigrants from six Islamic nations. In the long run, however, none of these approaches is effective.

So, for absolutely free, I lend my genius to Trump and Congress by creating my own solution. It takes no special training, requires no divisive edicts, and is entirely practical. It merely asks that — when faced with a prospective immigrant — border patrol officers, customs employees, and ICE agents ask themselves one simple question: “Is this person’s country an Islamic shithole?”

If yes, sorry, you can’t come in. Shitty Islamic countries breed shitty Islamic people.

In Somalia, for example, rape is considered “normal.” 80% of Sudanese people support the death penalty for homosexuals. Doesn’t this kind of conflict with American tolerance?

If we say NARALT and interview for entrance, how do we detect the dangerous ones? “Okay, everybody who wants to kill gay people, raise your hand”

And why the hell are they coming to America? We eat pork like motherfuckers. There’s a jew on every block. God is just an excuse to stuff our faces and get wasted. We’re not like you. We don’t care about religion.  Besides, there are wealthier Islamic nations (like Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Tunisia) that are sympathetic to both rapists and peaceful Muslims. Move there.

“But,” I hear you say, “Not all Yemenis/Syrians/Somalis are like that!”

Precisely. That’s why we can’t let you enter; because we can’t differentiate between the peacenik Sufi and Sayyid Duneraper. We’ll just have to judge you by your country. No hard feelings.

“But can’t we take the humanitarians/geniuses/artists? Don’t we want people like them?”

Oh, you greedy fuck.

You know how hard it is to find a genius in Somalia? A Picasso in Yemen? The precious few who exist are the ones who definitely need to stay home so they can fuck, have kids, and maybe rescue their country’s steaming, uronic gene pool. You want to stub that nation’s shot at posterity?

“What about diversity?”

American “diversity” is fucking garbage. Bogus quotas and interracial signaling renders organic diversity impossible. If diversity is, it is. I don’t need the government to add mixed veggies to my life salad, thank you. 

“But people are dying! Suffering!” 
I know, it’s a shame. Warlike nations with warlike cultures guided by warlike ideologies often perpetuate the cycle. Perhaps we should withdraw completely and let them figure it out. Or fight it out. 

The Face of Misogyny

When a group of college freshman shake their thonged pussies into a basement camera, my eyes projectile vomit geysers of admiration. O country and kin, witness these crusaders twerk free the chains of patriarchy and breathe fire into the face of oppression! (With their vaginas.) Be warned: This display of sexual liberation is so profound, your sperm will prostrate inside of your balls. Can you feel America’s misogyny diminish with each choreographed buttclap?

These femme fatales are so effective because they understand the function of their junk: Self-lubricating social justice. Is it coincidence that Virginia Woolf, the 20th century’s most eminent feminist, had a first name suspiciously similar to Vagina? No wonder she was a keynote in the history of women’s rights. “It’s because of her brain,” you say? Nonsense! You can’t gyrate that to rap music. It don’t have a clit, so it ain’t worth shit.

One of the studio dancers, agitated by the ambivalence with which her performance was received, posted the following:

“I just don’t understand why people are so threatened by feminine sexuality these days! Can’t they comprehend that you can love your family, read classic literature, be successful AND express sexual liberation at the same time? We need to grow up!”  — Some Bitch

Time to pass the tampax torch: Feminism’s next messiah has descended from the heavens! Well, at least her ass has descended; and then reascended, and then descended again at a quickened pace, etc. Just read her luminary line on the congruity of twerking and classical literature. Absolutely sublime! In fact, noticing the way she spreads her labia at 0:32, I’d wager she’s a voracious reader of Faulkner’s post WWII works. It’s surprising she doesn’t mention Jane Austen’s twerk fiction, or the role of booty shaking in bringing women the right to vote.  Still, her reply left my prejudices decimated. After the boner receded into my Tang-stained boxers, I wept for all the times I had ever objectified a woman. (Yes, you can still buy Tang)

“But Lawrence, don’t feminists protest when these “twerks” are used in rap videos?”

Yes, astute reader — and rightfully so! Allow me to illustrate the matter:

Twerkers

Crunkers

The first photo depicts a group of sexually liberated young women. The second tells a sad tale of sexist exploitation deserving universal censure from all social/political institutions. Observe this smug patriarch sipping his crunk juice as young women are mercilessly objectified. Contrary to what Lil Jon may say, this is not at all ‘OH-KAY!’

Finally, we must ignore the notion that your mind is the ultimate weapon of liberation. This erroneous philosophy has absolutely no place in modern feminism. Who’d be able to make money off of that shit anyway? The essence of feminism is between the legs, not the eyes.

ISIS Airlines

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Thank you for choosing ISIS Airlines. Please be advised that women are to remain in the cargo hold throughout the duration of the flight. We thank you for your cooperation.

In a few moments we’ll ask all passengers to put on their seat belts. Insert the buckle into the metal tag and tighten by pulling the loose end. Be careful not to displace the detonator or any explosive charges.

If we experience a sudden change in cabin pressure, a turban will drop from the overhead compartment. Please fasten your own before taking care of your children’s. Note that your turban may be inflated and used as a flotation device in the unlikely event of a water landing.

On the command “brace for impact,” take the brace position as you see here:
sujud

After impact, any survivors are instructed to exit the plane through one of the gaping holes. Wearing your belt, open your carry-on compartment and remove the Jewish child, who will function as your shield against enemy fire.

For your safety and the safety of others, please be advised that there is no smoking on this flight.

Please make use of our advanced entertainment system while you wait, which features thousands of beheadings from all over the Islamic world. Our film catalog includes seven classic movies such as Honey, I Shanked the Jews and Jerry Macguire.

Flight Meccan you hungry? Passengers may choose between Sheikh-N-Bake Camel Strips or Saddaminos Pizza Pie.
Once again, we’d like to thank you for choosing ISIS Airlines — All departures to paradise.

Media vs Men

Sexism against men is a rampant cancer that ransacks every organ of American media. Watch TV for ten minutes and you’re bombarded by hordes of cock-scratching dimwits who scorch Thanksgiving turkeys, set fire to microwaves and fail to comprehend Greek yogurt. The shrewd wife, looking on in smug bewilderment, swoops in and once again saves her pet simian from jamming his boner in the electric toaster. Buy a new Hyundai today! The Y chromosome adjusts its dunce cap as feminists everywhere cream their jeans.

In this commercial we find man in his natural habitat: stupidity. Observe that for ten pitiful seconds he fruitlessly searches the fridge for nonexistent key lime pie. Never mind the assorted yogurts — which DEPICT the desserts her face hole obnoxiously announces — sticking out like a lunchlady’s lip mole. (Oh, Lawrence! Everybody knows that men are only capable of noticing pornography and Sports Illustrated.) Nope, he stays clueless as dried glue.

And listen to this cuntbanshee enunciate her ‘ahs.’ If I were her husband I’d be funneling strawberry Yoplait into my ears by the gallon. General Mills would need to open a yogurt plant next to my studio apartment. Again, this voice is so odious you could use it to castrate a Nigerian pimp. “YAH! YAHSterday I ate some YAHm pudding and it was sooo fucking YAHmmy! My toolbag husband is too dumb to know that I’m YAHmerring on about yougurt! YAH!”  Why is the husband looking in the fridge? Your gun is under the bed, buddy.

Finally the pandemonium is halted. Our vigilant heroine observes her fumbling husband and asks,  “Babe, what are you doing?” Not “What are you looking for,” which is the response of a woman without locusts in her uterus, but “What are you doing?” The sort of thing you’d say to a slave fiddling with his padlock. “Ooooh I ain’t doin nuffin masah, just tryin to find me sum kee lam pie! I show izz sorrah, yessum!” Naturally he won’t reply with the sensible “Getting food that I paid for,” or the even more reasonable “Go burn your bra while you’re wearing it, harpy.” That isn’t his place. He just sulks like he failed to get it up during a lap dance, and another pink harpoon is driven into the mangled corpse of masculinity.

Need more evidence? Here’s something that requires no explanation.

I’ve got an idea I’m thinking of sending to Samsung. It’s called ” The Evolutionary Wife.” Picture this: A husband comes home from the firm after a particularly tiresome day only to be lambasted by his bathrobbed and moderately overweight wife. (Who’s wearing that weird cucumber facial mask.) Our hero dodges a steak knife, reaches into his suitcase, and pulls out an evolution kit. Suddenly, she transforms into a hot, flexible cheerleader he knew in college. You know, the one who gave him a handy behind Denny’s but doesn’t remember. Oh, wait, Samsung wouldn’t air that — Lee Kun-hee would wake up to find his dick in the Jack Lalanne Power Juicer. If there’s one thing Samsung will NEVER air, it’s a sexist commerical.

On Adderall

(I allow that, for people with severe psychological disabilities, adderall is an appropriate treatment. I’m not talking to these people.)

In life, it’s best to do whatever one wants. You’re unlikely to excel in anything perfunctory or boring. Adderall, however, allows us to ignore our preferences to achieve the mundane. You hate your job waiting tables, so you take adderall for motivation. You’re reuniting with some friends, so you take adderall to stay sharp. Your life has become a vacuum of joyless routine, so you take adderall.

Adderall users are united by insecurity — the idea that not only should they be doing something better with their time, they should desire to do something better with their time. And one pill ensures 4 to 8 hours of that counterfeit fulfillment-laden productivity. Never mind the documented neurotoxic and cardiotoxic effects; it’s all in the name of self-actualization, right? We’ve got be successful at whatever we do, whatever the cost.

Though, have you ever asked yourself why you should to be successful? If you must take adderall to produce enthusiasm, you don’t really want it — success is only begotten by organically sustained desire. Even the C.E.O who reluctantly punches his 4AM alarm desires to get up. His hatred of morning is dispelled by his love of work. He doesn’t need speed because his job fulfills him. But so-called American exceptionalism has instilled everyone with entitlement that masquerades as ambition. We all should be CEO’s, and if winning that rat race means sacrificing your enjoyment of food, sleep, or company, well, gotta keep up the inflated self-image, right?

Good news: If you take adderall to do something, you shouldn’t be doing it. “But it keeps the boss happy!” Get fired. Fuck your boss. Taking drugs to support someone else’s vision isn’t worth it. Another excuse: “I’ve been on adderall the past 4 days and life’s going great! I feel like this is the the real me! No, you feel like what you are achieving matches what you feel you deserve. The “real you” doesn’t teeth-grindingly microedit pie charts until dawn and cap with an hour-long masturbation session. The real you procrastinates and plays The Elder Scrolls in his underwear. Your problem is that you’ve been led to believe (by your wife, parents, or whoever) that there’s something wrong with that. There isn’t.

My advice sounds impractical. I assure you that building a life with speed is more so. Somewhere along the line, you will need to raise your dose, probably more than once, and its efficacy will decrease, leaving you with diminishing benefits and growing side effects. You will grow more intense, restless, and impatient. People don’t understand that adderall sacrifices intensity for scope. You’ll probably be better at Quickbooks, but you’ll get worse at everything else. Your sleep will be affected, worsening your memory and emotional control. This enhanced productivity isn’t free; in fact, it will cost everything you have.

Women don’t need Careers

The labor market is more flooded than Cambodia during the rainy season, so why are we pushing women to get careers? We’re projected to lose 7 million jobs by 2025, so why are we stressing the importance of putting vaginas in labcoats? Most men don’t even want careers, so why should we assume women do? Every time I ask a woman why she wants a career, she starts spewing insecure bullshit other gogrrls at the nail salon have scissored into her thinkclit: “I want to be strong and independent!” No, you want triplets and a cookbook. That’s what biology says. Sorry, I didn’t make the rules; you can burn your bra, but your biological clock is fireproof.

“We’re fighting for women’s liberation!” Good news: you can stop fighting — you’ll never be liberated again. Oh, you *were* liberated; your hardest decision used to be whether to serve white or yellow rice. You didn’t even have to vote. Now. you get to wear a pants suit and be a consultant for Chips Ahoy! How does it feel, bitch? Ya made it to the man’s world, selling your soul with the best of em. These were jobs men did to feed their families; men who hated their employers but sacrificed integrity to preserve the livelihoods of their women and their children. But women just copy whatever they want to fuck. They see a scholarly professor saying smart things or a hardened businessman in a nice suit and they want to be around them. But somewhere along the line, women became convinced they could *be* what inspires them; but that’s not what inspires them! What inspires them is creating families led by men whom they admire.

Don’t give me the bullshit that you’re happier with a full time gig. If that’s true, why are you incessantly soliciting facebook likes with encyclopedias of duckface selfies? Why is your face smushed into your cellphone for three quarters of your waking existence? Why do you need this alternate reality of digital gratification? It’s because you hate your life. And that’s a man’s job, honey.

Abandon Freewill

We’re often troubled by the notion that we could be doing a lot better. There’s this nagging sensation that had we just studied harder, or made a better impression, we’d have a life that would make both ourselves and our loved ones proud; instead, we’re still living with our parents, making very little money, romantically destitute, etc.

Are these woes really the sources of our sadness? It sucks to be poor and alone, for sure — I don’t deny that. But what if you abandoned the concept that you could do anything to improve your circumstances in the first place? No more self help books, no more Joel Olsteen, no more free will. Your life just is what it is; you can improve your situation like you can pick yourself up by your own collar.

“But plenty of people change their lives; rise from rags to riches.” Yes. That’s because they desire to. Your improvement hinges on desire. But you can’t create desire — it just has to be there. If you resolve to lose weight but you don’t desire to work out, you’ll go to the gym two, maybe three times and then quit. Desire is achievement’s gasoline; without it, even a Ferrari is rendered useless.

You might say that desire is inspired by finding the right environment or maintaining the right frame of mind. But your ability to find the right environment or maintain the right frame of mind is also a byproduct of desire. Any method of self improvement you can devise is at the mercy of your desire to follow through; and unfortunately, you cannot will desire into existence.

For some, this realization will be profoundly depressing. But why should it be? Your sense of autonomy was just stressing the shit you out and burdening your mind with failure. Once you’ve truly surrendered your illusion of agency, something strange will happen: you’ll no longer feel responsible for any of your shortcomings (You must still be held accountable for them, but that’s something I’ll get into later). Arrogant people will also benefit from this perspective because it revokes their snowflake status. They’re just biologically lucky. An arrogant person would counter that their success comes from how they use their biological luck. But how one uses one’s biological luck is again determined by biology.

But if one has no autonomy then one can steal, kill, or rape as one wills and chalk it up to determinism! Yeah, you go ahead and try that. Parting with free will won’t create more rapists or murderers. They’re genetic deviants; determinism won’t be what drives them to crime. Sometimes, the aforementioned takes a legislative form: If it’s all luck and no free will, then how can a pedophile be punished for molesting children? He can’t help it; he’s just unlucky. The answer is simple if we define justice as prescriptive rather than vengeful. Those with criminal biologies should be quarantined for the safety of others.

Abandoning our free will — for which there is no scientific evidence — only disencumbers us. That dude who just cut you off in traffic? Eh, asshole genes. Hitler? Poor fucker was a victim of circumstance. We’re all victims of biology. It’s either a comedy or a tragedy. You choose.