In Which Fiddlebottoms Has Become a Decadent · 2:28am Mar 11th, 2013
I have been known to preach politics slightly left of the aisle (provided that said aisle is through Noam Chomsky’s living room, and why shouldn’t it be?), so I feel it only fitting that I make a confession, for I have become a Decadent.
It was upon a couple days ago where I and a supple acquaintance came into possession of a windfall totalling not a cent less than $500 through the exercise of principles most in keeping with capitalism as extolled by such late 20th century philosophers as Ronald Reagan and Christopher George Latore Wallace. Upon the application of democratic process, we arrived at the conclusion that it would be unfitting to despoil any pure or natural cause with money so obtained, and rather that the funds should be purged in a more unnatural bent.
Our first venture was to that hallmark of the modern suburb, Jacques Pennè. Venturing within, we espied and commandeered a shopping cart, a vessel which neither of us had found ourselves within or behind since the fallow, callow years of youth. It was I who, perhaps out of guilt, first declared the feeling of bourgeois sliding over us in a thick, molasses-like coating. It was but a few moments into comparing the relative merits of polo and buttoned shirts that we were giggling and babbling in French. Or, rather to say, as close as either of us could remember from our collective history and educations. Fortunately, there are a great many things within this fallen land which can be described as "beaucoup." "Je suis tout le monde," first posited by my most supple acquaintance, also seemed a wonderful statement of non-entity.
Yet, our enjoyment was not entirely derived from ourselves, for this particular outlet was home to a startling variety of white people. At times we simply stared in awe at their natural gravitation to this location as if the world were but a plane and discounts of absurdly overpriced bits of cloth a depression in it. It was all we could do not to withdraw a camera and begin photographing these magnificent creatures in their natural environment.
Of course, as any man of the world will tell you, the principle purpose in spying majestic creatures in their natural habitat is to piss them off. Whether by shooting them, polluting their environment, industrializing them, or pushing a shopping cart into their path. The shopping itself soon became a secondary concern as we glutted ourselves upon the added space which the shopping cart allowed us to occupy. If you’ve never pushed a shopping cart inside a relatively crowded store, I highly recommend it. Cutting off others and generally compounding their misery of existence was such a source of joy to us that we could scarcely focus on actually purchasing anything and wasted a fabulous quantity of both time and space.
So, taken were we with the nature of the cart’s artifice, that even though the trip had been made on foot, we carried the cart all the way out to the furthest collection station in the parking lot, just for the privilege of knowing another human being would be paid to collect our debris and return it to its original placement for future use.
It is sadly true that even the youth were not spared from our capitalist corruption, as it was that I paid a child a quarter to dance for me and my supple acquaintance. It was not the erotic sort of dancing that Natalie Portman performed in The Professional, but the mindless arm-waving and cries of “doo-doo-doo-doo” were no doubt a heavy influence upon the creature. She will certainly be selling her body upon the street within a week, or so my newly found conservative instincts told me.
After discarding the child back unto her mother, by which one means I and my supple acquaintance hauled ass when the mother appeared and asked what we were doing with her chile, we proceeded to the liquor store, where eschewing our usual purchase of brands that come in large jugs bearing labels like “Aristocrat,” regardless of the contents contained therein, we made to purchase instead, an 18 year aged bottle of Glennfiddich. Legal to fuck, yet not legal to drink itself. Such are the ironies of the world when one is a $90 bottle of scotch.
It was at this point that we experienced a breakdown of the democratic process, the inevitable fate of any two-party system. The question at hand was whether it was better for the bounty of our booty to be consumed directly from the bottle, or mixed with the remains of a bottle of pepsi. My supple acquaintance rather forcefully put forth that the mixing was more important, and that drinking directly from the bottle was “wrong,” it lacked the open heresy of Pepsi.
I, however, could not be dissuaded from my insistence that to drink directly from the bottle would be not just wrong, but reminiscent of a monkey or fallen revolutionary who has broken into his king’s stores. More to the point, I have been sworn to the path of clear-headed sobriety for some couple months, and wasn’t about to waste my head-first dive off the wagon with mixed drinks.
The decision was eventually made that each should go their own way, and so did I did chug my portion. First of all, drinking directly from the bottle will burn your throat and stomach like a molotov cocktail from the heart of an anarchist mob. Scotch, as usual, being the most aggressive of the hard liquors, and putting even tequila's and vodka's within its own weight class to shame. Being able to repress your gag reflex is essential here. Even my fine self leaked a not insubstantial portion from his nose to dribble across the grimy floor like so much revolutionary blood spilled in vain.
As it fills out to swell your mouth, the taste of apples barges into the front row with an aggression matched only by jackbooted imperialists pouring mace into the eyes of peaceful resistors. Sherry is there too, lining the edges of your cheeks like so many spectators, easily forgotten the moment they’ve passed.
You horsefuckers may never be able to taste Applejack’s apple-flavored vagina, but from now on I shall imagine this marriage of pain, apples, pine bark and sherry as being the next best thing. After swallowing it shoots through your intestines with more intensity than is usual for a whisky, burning all the way until it finds your colon and demands exit an hour later. There's a dash of cinnamony-sweetness, but you won't taste that unless you exhale through your nose after drinking a large quantity.
Mixed with Pepsi it tastes like, “Pepsi with some dirt in it.” Proving, once again, that I am a genius and the expert at everything because you donotmixscotchitispointlessomigodyoustupidwoman.
UPDATE: After wasting money, I suddenly don't have any! Oh, woe is me! Please donate to support my ridiculous lifestyle.
Wat
And the moral of the story, children, is that capitalism somehow gets you drunk.
Cheers, mate.
I have even less of an idea what a 'decadent' is than when I started.
907310
The appearance of alcohol is generally synonymous with agriculture, the first human settlements, and the iron-clad division of labor which in turn give birth to capitalism.
So, it isn't necessarily one way, but, yes, you have to be drunk to have capitalism, and you have to have capitalism to be drunk. This is why the USSR happened (During the first World War, Russia enacted prohibition, which made everyone very, violently unhappy), and why the Russians are unable to maintain communism despite having a nationalistic obsession with it.
907305
Mike Patton is awesome, is what I should say.
I like this turn of phrase.
I'd say that money would've been better spent at least on lottery tickets than alcohol, but then I'm not one to talk
Commissions are almost understandable, but I do not see why anyone would feel compelled to donate to another user on here. I should see if I can set one up in case anyone bites
907423
Did you click the link though?
Your advanced vocabulary caused much strife for me. The moment I saw the phrase, this was all my feeble mind could think of.
907433 Yes, Fiddlebottoms was secretly the United Nations Children's Fund all along. It was a conspiracy to... something
Fiddles, get out and experience cock.
907968
I don't have to stand here and take that kind of attitude from a virgin! I shall sit down.
zel, you may continue.
908205 "virgin" is an ambiguous term.
908216
I'm sorry, but neither your tulpa nor your dildo count as getting laid.
Your IRL trolling escapades has left me in stitches.
I was laughing hysterically up til this point. Damn you fiddlebottoms, you ruined my lulz.
So, how did you get the money? Was it through suing or compensation (or even lottery)?
909211
Now you know how my "regular" readers feel. Those who cannot laugh through suffering do not deserve to laugh at all.
I thought it was one of the funnier satires in the whole piece and I can entertain the idea that someone might actually donate, giving the whole business a happy ending that possibly justifies my time spent here.
909223
I should hope that if I ever deigned to file a lawsuit I'd get a bit more than $500.
This is not that kind of confession, although the two philosophers mentioned should give you a clue.
909437
Was it a Tax refund?
I imagine you and your partner to be the ultimate troll couple, is she on fimfiction? If not why not, being a horse fucker is not exclusive to males.
909481
I do not get tax refunds. A tax refund is proof that you overpaid, giving the government an interest free loan.
She is worse than I am, if you can imagine. So, no fimfiction account.
911435
Jesus christ, it's a match made in the deepest reaches of hell, god help anyone that crosses your path in real life.