Die Sideways Peace Sign. DIE!!!

Why? Fucking why? Goddamnit. Goddamnit straight to hell. This isn’t acceptable in decent society. Hell, it isn’t acceptable in the jungle. This isn’t acceptable in war. It isn’t acceptable during a meth-fueled orgy in a Bakersfield squatter camp. And I don’t care if it is acceptable in north Jersey, because New Jersey isn’t fucking acceptable (except my handful of friends from Jersey, you’re all lovely, despite growing up in America’s arm pit). This faux hardass look combined with the utterly atrocious finger signage has got to stop. If not for me, then for the children. Do we want the next generation growing up thinking we were all such screaming assholes that we couldn’t get a photo-op done any longer with mere smiles, hand waves or vertical peace signs? That we were all so much fucking better than life that our only recourse was to purse our lips up like they’d just been hit with 1,000 cc’s of Botox? I don’t know what wigger, white trash corncob with stripes shaved into the side of his haircut invented this horseshit, but there’s a special place in hell for him. You wanna do sideways peace signs in photos? Move the fuck to Serbia. You’ll fit right in. Do you want historians to unearth your smoky, metallic, wannabe artsy Instagram photos 3,000 years from now and conclude unanimously, “It appears the ancients were douchebags”? Well neither do I. So shoot your Red Bull and Failure, turn to face the camera, and smile. Leave your hands at your side. Unless they are on someone’s tit or twig-n-berries, they add nothing to the shot.

The embarrassing phenomenon will occur no less than 1 million times across the planet this New Year’s Eve. If you are posing for a candid tonight and the thought occurs to you, “I am the coolest mutherfucker in this line up. No one else even compares. But what if the world at large doesn’t know this? They can’t glean that information from a mere snapshot. I need to lean back, purse my lips, and throw a sideways peace sign in front of my chest. Then they’ll know. They’ll all know that I am fucking awesome beyond measurable statistics. I don’t care about shit, everyone thinks I’m hard as fuck, and I crush so much opposite sex genitalia that I probably have a sweet nickname like ‘Crusher’. They must know.” don’t act on that impulse. Just put your hand down and be a participant in the photo, not an actor. Then go outside and walk into traffic.

I probably have some friends who do this shit and they might be offended. Consider this tough love.

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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