The Empire of Entitlement: Part II
America as the Center of All Things Shit
It’s important to preface here, that gaslighting is used by people to get you to question your sanity, to doubt your ability to make choices confidently. It’s designed to beat you down, break your independence, and the longer it goes on, the more your trust in yourself, and in others and, damn near everything, unravels.
It’s manipulation.
It’s emotional abuse.
We’ve spent the better part of a century perfecting the art of intervention, which is just a polite way of saying: "We wanted something you had, so we decided to reorganize your government, and just take it." And just like a washed up attention whore, we'll do it all while draped in red, white, and blue.
Yeah.
This is the great American delusion: the pathological brand of confidence that exists only in the American psyche; the belief that our presence in a foreign affairs is not an intrusion, but a divine gift. We don't enter a region to understand its history; we enter it to overwrite it, to erase it. We treat the complex, blood-soaked tapestries of ancestral grievances as mere logistical hurdles to be cleared by a few well-placed drones and a series of vaguely worded press releases from a State Department that has been overthrown by fragile egos with greasy hair, small minds, and even smaller dicks.
We have convinced ourselves we are the heroes of history, we believe we are operating on a different set of accounting rules than the rest of the world. In the American mind, a violation of international law is not a crime, it is a strategic necessity. We demand that the world adhere to a rulebook that we view as a packet of Wet Wipes. We don't see a culture; we see a "developing market." We don't see a sovereign nation; we see resources that need to be stolen, money to be made, and children who are in the way.
We are the only nation capable of condemning a regime for human rights abuses while simultaneously dropping bombs on fucking school children and then selling that regime the very tear gas they were using to suppress the protesters before we fucking bombed them.
We’re a level of geographical illiteracy that borders on a clinical disorder. We don’t learn the languages, we don’t study the histories, and we certainly don’t respect the boundaries; we just arrive with our loud voices, slacked jaws, and fanny packs, expecting the locals to jizz their skivvies over someone from the Mecca of manufactured liberty blessing them with their presence. And this is the same mindset that allows someone like Adam Schiff, and his California cohorts, to look at a trade disaster that we fueled, with our own Bipolar Political Disorder.
It really is peak comedy. We’ve spent the last decade treating Canada like shit in our shoe tread, but when Canada pushes back, or when the world decides they’re tired of being our abuse victims, we don't reflect. No. We cry. We beg. We plead. We demand to speak with the manager. We flaunt connections with powerful people that are laughably untrue. We slam down our platinum victim cards and will 100% end up on YouTube in a bodycam video to prove how fucking detached from reality we are, but we’ve noticed our wine sales are down, so please, for the love of balls, ignore the raging fucking wildfire we started and just buy some of our shit.
Medical Bankruptcy
Imagine, for a second, trying to explain the American healthcare system to a sane person from, say, Norway or Japan. You’d have to start by telling them that in the land of the "free," the most basic human right, not dying because you can’t fucking afford to, is treated like a luxury subscription service. The rest of the developed world doesn't look at us with envy; they look at us with a mix of horror and morbid fascination, the way you’d watch a man try to shove a lightbulb up his ass to cure a virus. We are the only G7 nation where a sudden bout of appendicitis or a clumsy trip down the stairs resulting in a broken wrist isn't just a medical emergency, it’s a financial execution.
It’s American gothic horror. You go into the ER, you get the cast, you feel better, and then you get the bill. A bill that costs more than an entire middle-class suburb in Ohio. And the insurance company we all pay half our paychecks for will still find a way to tell you that the specific type of gauze used on your wound wasn't "in-network," so you can go ahead and pay the remaining four thousand dollars out of pocket or lose your house. To them, that’s a punchline.
To the outside world, this isn't just a policy failure; it’s a dystopian experiment in psychological torture. We brag about our innovation and our cutting-edge tech, but we’re innovating new ways to make people choose between insulin and rent. It makes us look like a society of syphilitic gamblers who bet the entire farm on a lottery ticket and then lose their shit when the bank comes to seize the tractor.
We walk around the globe lecturing other countries and puffing out our tits about human rights, making sacrifices for national security and economic stability, while our own citizens are crowdfunding their chemotherapy on GoFundMe because they can't afford a drop of the shit. It’s an absolute fucking circus, and we’re the clowns in the center ring, juggling bankruptcy notices and overdue bills, screaming about how great we are while the rest of the world watches the largest economy on earth in horror. It’s not just a flaw in the system; it’s a symptom of the American disease: the belief that everything, even the beat of your heart, should be monetized for the benefit of someone who thinks socialized medicine is a communist plot to steal their yacht. And ask one of these mega-wealthy motherfuckers to explain communism, or socialism. Watch them condescend to you with a string of random words, and incomplete sentences, like they’re fucking Shakespeare with a traumatic brain injury.
Cultural Steamrolling
We’ve managed to convince the planet that the pinnacle of human existence is a suburban strip mall. Why walk through a historic plaza in Madrid or a bustling market in Bangkok when you can experience the sterile, fluorescent purgatory of a fucking Walmart Supercenter? We’ve exported the convenience of the drive-thru, which is just a polite way of saying we’re too lazy to walk ten feet and have transitioned to having food delivered to our doors, because we’re now too fucking lazy to drive to a drive thru.
We insist our dialect is the standard while treating every other variation like a sea lion barking directly into our faces. We’ve infected the global lexicon with corporate buzzwords and an insufferable cynicism that’s slathered in some Fortune 500 company’s artificial optimism. Yet we plod into foreign boardrooms and creative hubs telling people to think outside the box, while willingly being imprisoned in our own.
We treat the rest of the world like a series of themed resorts designed for our leisure. We treat a trip to Europe or Asia like a movie prop for Instagram, stripping away the actual complexity of the place until it fits neatly into a YouTube video we’re trying to monetize with virality.
Because the American brand of optimism doesn’t look like the hope politicians’ drone on and on about, with smiles on their faces; they want it to, desperately, but to folks with attention spans slightly greater than those of blow flies, it looks like a psychotic break. The moment a non-American suggests that, perhaps, a universal healthcare system, something most of the developed world has had since the dawn of time, might be a good idea, the unforgettable smell of fried dough kicks in. We don't engage with the logic; we pivot ourselves to freedom. We treat the idea of a social safety net as if it’s some sort of dystopian nightmare, while we simultaneously maintain a system where the safety net is voting in elections that no longer fucking matter. The fumes from this tire fire of manufactured positivity are a chemical agent that should be a war crime if used.
It’s the “Out of Order” sign hanging over a whore house toilet. When we export this mentality, we’re essentially telling the rest of the world we’re a culture of mediocrity, but we pivot, we cling tooth and nail to the fever dream of exceptionalism so aggressively that we believe the shit in our pants is gold.
It’s not just mouth-breathing inanity; it’s a shield. By maintaining this “Everything is fuckin’ great!" façade, we avoid the grueling, honest work of admitting that the American experiment is currently down an engine and losing altitude. Instead, we expect the rest of the world to be impressed by the sheer scale of our hallucinations.
We are Project Blackbird, and we are not for sale...
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