Warning, OUTRAGEOUS is a series of filth, swearing, insanity and gross images. The easily offended (and not so easily) and anyone under about 35 should stop reading right now!
I have just come back home from a pub that is filled with the Facebook generation week in and week out (actually I came back months ago, but let’s not split hairs, pretend it was just now, ok?). That isn’t to say young people who are into Facebook, because many of the people were middle-aged – gay, straight, cross dressers, Goths, twenty-somethings, forty-somethings and at least one who turned fifty-four this year (No! Really? You don’t look it! Thank you, I know I don’t). But all of the above seemed to have the same thing in common, of being slightly desperate, quite lonely, begging to be noticed and utterly lost. Purposeless, if you will.
I understand it to a large degree because I feel similarly pointless, except that I don’t go and get my cock or tongue pierced, or my body tattooed all over, hoping that it will make me stand out from the crowd and make me feel worth something. The crowd are all pierced and tattooed now, so that just makes you a baaa sheep. A baaa ewe, I probably should say, because in the last decade or more there doesn’t appear to be a woman left who hasn’t got one or the other or both or several of each.
I observe these people and like tonight and last week and every week in that place and thousands of others like it, a bunch of them struck a wacky pose for the camera with a posting on Facebook in mind, thinking that they would show the world and their hundreds of Facebook non-friends how much fun their lives are, but doing so as much to convince themselves as anyone.
When the camera fails, or the flash doesn’t go off, as was the case this time, they then all strike the same pose and pretend to themselves and whoever else looks at it, or tags it, that it was a moment of spontaneous exuberance during this fabulously fun night that everyone else missed.
It’s all fake and dishonest and rather sad and pathetic. When the wacky pose is over, or the funny dance comes to an end, the beaming smile or look-at-how-zany-I-am expression drops from their faces and suddenly they take on an air reeking of defeat and desperation.
I’ve done something similar myself, I know I have. I’ve jigged about on dance floors many a time with a forced smile plastered across my gob until my cheeks ached and then headed for the bar or the toilet wondering why I was bothering, why I was there and why I appeared to be the only one not genuinely enjoying myself.
My observations of others, however, tell me a different story. I’m far from being the only one not enjoying myself. Indeed, I am with the majority, knocking back drink after drink (though not snorting coke out in the bogs with the rest of them) waiting for the dull ache of modern life to be anesthetized and for the scream I’m holding deep inside to be put to sleep so that I can feel content for a small while, even if it’s only falling down drunk content.
I ask women, mainly because it’s women doing this self mutilating shit these days, why they get their clit or nipples pierced and they say because it’s sexually stimulating and I ask, why, hasn’t your lover got teeth to nip at your nips if you like a bit of pain? Couldn’t you ask for your cherry to be pinched instead of defacing it with a steel bar? And do you think your arse is so vile you need to have some meaningless crap painted onto it for anyone to notice it? That ruddy stupid griffin or Maori symbol, that will bag and sag with the passing of time, or the inescapable effects of gravity that will eventually pull the picture out of shape and make it look revolting, if it doesn’t already.
No, it’s not because the dragon on your shoulder has some deep meaning for you, don’t talk shit. You ain’t fooling me, even if you are fooling yourself, it’s another symptom of the lost and isolated Facebook generation. It’s desperately trying not to be one of the sheep and in so doing, simply following the rest of the flock into the tattoo parlour or piercers. Maybe you should consider being tattooed from head to foot so it looks like you’re covered in wool. Why not go all the way and have hooves tattooed on your feet as well?
Pierce your belly button, get an infection, that’s really smart. And to the tongue piercers, I’m sorry, but you just gave yourself a lisp and paid some idiot to do it to you into the bargain. I think you are either a skank or a fool and any woman I met who had a ring through her tits or her vagina, would be far too loose and wanton for me ever to consider as a partner (and wanton ain’t a word I get to use much).
Sorry dear reader if you have one, but that’s how I feel. Call me old-fashioned if you like, but whatever happened to modesty? Why are so many of this Facebook generation turning into porn queens, wearing less and less clothes and gagging (quite literally on a dick in many cases, deep throat having gone from shock and horror to a commonplace skill) for a camera to be pointed in their direction, with no concern as to who may be viewing their amorality.
Hey, friends, family and work colleagues, this is me on Youporn, just turned eighteen, sucking off three men at once and trying DP for the first time, while dementedly staring into the video lens. Ain’t I pretty? (Youporn was accessed purely for research purposes). Bet you really felt proud when you stumbled across that video, eh dad?
I’m not concerned with men here. Unfair, I know, but they don’t interest me much. I was with a woman once who I had to nag over and over to go for her smear test because I didn’t want her to die for no reason, but she didn’t want to do it because it meant having to expose her bits to a stranger. Now, though, girls are walking into piercing parlours and spreading their fannies wide open for some hairy-arsed biker to stick a ring through without any shame or sense of embarrassment. I would never trust my heart to a woman who thought that was ok, who had no sense of modesty and if you reading this have done so, you are a dirtbag in my opinion. If a woman of mine came home one day intimately pierced, I’d tell her to pack her bags and fuck off. My name on the lease, so there.
Perhaps I am out of step, perhaps I’m a dinosaur, perhaps my guilt-ridden upbringing has brainwashed me into wrongly expecting better and I have got it all wrong, but when the antics of fanny-flashing Britney and cock-sucking Pammy and Paris are held up as admirable and a way of becoming rich and famous, I guess the world will continue to slide into the sewer and my feeble complaints will do nothing to slow it down.
And any man who gets his dick pierced is also a skanky weirdo, in case I appear to be solely woman-bashing. I would expect my wife or girlfriend to be angry if I spent all day with my cock in some strange woman’s hand while getting it decorated with ink or steel, because if she didn’t mind, I would think she didn’t actually care. Jealousy can be a highly destructive emotion, but without any at all, is there any genuine sense of belonging to another or any real connection?
Is it just me? Am I placing too much importance on all this? Or am I right that the Facebook generation are lost and searching for something – something they try to find in pretend joyous nights out, drug and booze binges and sex in all it’s forms, bar it would seem, within a committed and loving, monogamous relationship.
Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had plenty of one night stands, smoked a forest of dope, drunk an ocean of alcohol and had a three in a bed. I ain’t no saint and I’m not preaching total abstinence or saying you’ll go to hell for your misdeeds. My mother would have, but I’m not. What I’m saying is that the Facebook generation are a different breed to previous generations and seem to be degrading into something which makes me uneasy, at best.
If they were happy being the way they are, my argument would fall to pieces, but happiness is not something I see around me. I see frustration, isolation, desperation, meaninglessness and a whole lot of other negative shit, like rising random violence and drug ravished lives, but happiness, not so much. And my life is pretty crappy, so I certainly ain’t preaching from the top of my ivory tower.
As for wife swapping parties, went to one once. Came home with a microwave and a VCR. Seemed like a fair swap to me…
Hey, leave ’em laughing.
Particularly when your argument isn’t the most coherent.
Particularly when it’s one thirty in the morning and you’re trying to be logical while as drunk as a skunk and not succeeding too well and not too sure what you’re trying to say yourself or why it bothers you so much.
Oh no! I just realised I’m as lost as they are!