Taj Trader

Every single day I promise myself I'll stop being a "rant guy" and try to make at least one post that isn't pointing at whatever grotesque filth of the day someone dragged out of the sewers and filmed for the world's amusement. Every single day I grit my teeth with a trembling clenched fist, hoping for the strength to find a way to move words for the purpose of beauty and inspiration instead of sheer absolute hate. God looks down and laughs, prodding me into the sandpit again and again as my dream soars off into the void, condensing infinitely into an inscrutable dot as I stray further from all good intentions. I'm sorry. I wish I could be a better man but I'm not. It's not in my nature. You people built a prison cell out of cheering and laughter. Every day I do one thousand pull ups facing a blank white wall, waiting for my 30 minutes of rec time in an empty concrete quad so I can ventilate someone to death with a hardened cone of condensed paper towels. Today it's going to be the fat midwestern sow making tater slop. It's not even the heaviness of her pork rind jowls enslaving her facial expression to near constant despondence at the hands of gravity that makes me disgusted with her. The obesity is the obvious play here. It's the yelling that gets me. That loudmouth cow belching permanent 90+ decibel bellowing she does 24/7 is her worst sin. I hate when disgusting trashy poors get loud. There's something wholly unnecessary about it. Out of every possible impulsive habit they could indulge in, loudness is truly the most pointless one. Alcohol, drugs, junk food, laziness, all of that has some kind of pleasure associated with it. Almost all of their vices can be at least logically justified by some incentive. But not loudness. Loudness has absolutely no reason to exist, it is completely a product of pure nurture induced misery. This woman screams every day in front of her kids because her mother screamed every day growing up around her. These people would have panic attacks and start suffocating to death if you forced them to sit in silence for 5 minutes. Their existence is invigorated by cacophony. Invariably it's always the dullest braindead morons who are the loudest as well, they project their voices with the slightest hint of a tone to suggest that the fact that they're screaming is in and of itself, an act of implicit comedy. These people learned how to socialize from Jerry Springer reruns on a television cranked to maximum volume drowning out the sound of a withdrawal induced screamfest between their parents. Tradwives aren't real and neither is being "trad" in the sense that people think it is. It isn't tradition of any kind, it's a simulacra of one developed by some strange blend between 1950s idyllic aesthetics (an already bullshit product of marketing) and 19th century agrarian tropes. I'm really wondering if the post I'm QTing is an intelligent satire and acknowledgement of that dynamic or a sincere love for this howling beast. Regardless, there is nothing redeemable about her. Cooking food for your family isn't some display of exceptional value, it's the absolute bare minimum expectation placed on any married woman. If anything she should be punished for feeding that garbage to her kids. I apologize to whatever oases of culture may sporadically inhabit the Midwest, but to be frank I think this entire region of America deserved to be glassed into a smoldering radioactive shithole, an opinion I developed within 5 minutes of the first time I crossed the border into the state of Missouri.