Lately, Stephen Crowder—whom you would categorize as, like me, being sort of moderately right-wing, if you want to measure bias by that particular axis—has been predicting lately that moderation is about to come into fashion. My first thought was a sort of pleasant anticipation of a civil, reasonable world.
My second thought was: “Oh, I just cannot wait for all the yahoos who have spent the past couple of decades jumping like lemmings onto far left- and right-wing bandwagons to start accusing me of being a snobby centrist. Drooling with transparent projection and gleefully un-self-aware, hordes of brain-damaged Twitter addicts who have spent the last ten years saying things they don’t believe in hopes of getting five more followers will think it’s clever to accuse me of trying to be cool and snobby like the popular kids.” Oh ho ho ho. You know it’s going to happen, you fucking animals.
And I’m going to point you all to this post when it happens. And I’m going to say I told you so, and I’m going to say shut the hell up. You can google me for my track record; I’ve left it all in the wrestling ring. In the early aughts, at the height of it being all fucking cool to be a far leftist, I had, due to my talents and nothing else, access to the machinery and audience of the Chicago Reader. But instead of kissing ass to their leftist audience, who would have become my faithful followers had I become a cheerleader for all sorts of shit I didn’t believe, I instead said what I thought and felt.
In the early 2010s, when it was becoming cool to be alt-right, my curiosity brought me into contact with alt-right intellectuals, and many of them asked me to write for their publications. I don’t agree with most of that crap either, so instead of kissing ass to that audience’s favorite issues, I wrote for them, but I said what I thought and felt.
I’m still saying what I think and feel. I’m still admitting it when I don’t have enough information to form a real opinion. I’m still trying to keep my mouth shut (or just tell a joke) when I don’t know what the fuck is going on, instead of falling back on generalized cheerleading for a team so I don’t ever have to sound dumb or say “I don’t know.”
If that actually ever comes into style, and you think I’m jumping on that bandwagon after four decades of sticking to my guns, you know exactly where you can shove it. Preferably so hard that all the shit you’re full of comes out your nose. That would be pretty funny.
And no, you’re not getting your listicle of five things. You already know what you were going to say. Go read Buzzfeed if it’s that important to you. PSYCHE!