Or How I Learned to Embrace Today’s Americans with the Help of a Delightful Summertime Treat
by Joe Buonfiglio
Americans have become a nation of raging narcissists. I know; it’s a pretty fucking inflammatory declaration that’s sure to get at least half of you pissed off at me and the other half defensive that it certainly doesn’t apply to you. Nevertheless, just give it a moment to sink in.
Yeah. That’s it. Settle into the reality.
I don’t even have to get into the whole “American Exceptionalism” attitude that’s making the scene in this country lately. Let’s just talk in terms of broad-brush psychology, my fellow worshipers of Narcissus. I’m right. You’re wrong. And if you can’t see that, there’s something wrong with you, not me. Hell, damn near ALL of us do it these days and you know it.
Your viewpoint, though different — even radically so — might contain a shred of validity, too? Fuck that! You and the Army of Dumbasses who think as you do are obviously products of the substandard education system in this country— WHICH STILL KICKS THE ASS OF ANY OTHER SCHOOLS IN ANY OTHER COUNTRY! U-S-A … EDUCATION! U-S-A … EDUCATION!
I used to rail against the narcissism in this country, not to mention the narcissism in myself. Now, however, that is a thing of the past; it is no more. I’ve come to realize that there are a great many advantages to rampantly spreading excessive self-regard. I recognize that giving a rat’s unshaven ass about others and their “feelings” or “needs” or even their fucking “opinions” is an utter waste of MY time. It is one’s own self — THE Self — that matters! Self-love, self-admiration, self-absorption, self-obsession, self-centeredness; this is where the future lies in America. Fuck you and your conceited metaphoric tiller. It is my ego that needs to be repeatedly stroked as if a Giant Panda on the endangered species Red List that suffers from erectile dysfunction.
“What do you mean oysters aren’t on the menu tonight? I came here for the oysters. Out of season? Fuck you! Go get me some farm-raised and have them on my plate in fifteen minutes or I’ll have you fired! The owner is a friend of mine, you little prick! Oh, are you gonna cry now, you big baby? Yeah-yeah. Single mom with a sick infant at home so I need this job blah-blah-blah. Oh. What’s this? Looks like the world’s smallest violin to me. And bring me a martini, chop-chop. And if there isn’t that perfect layer of razor-thin ice on the top, you can kiss your tip goodbye, honey…. Damn, you just can’t get good service these days, can you?”
Yes. YES! I see the light and it’s a white-hot spotlight aimed right at me as I take center stage. An entire nation of unfettered narcissists isn’t a bastion of pricks that deserve the Hand of God to strike them down as if a South Carolina pony-fucker caught in mid-thrust on his pygmy palomino pal. It’s a force with which to be reckoned. It’s the new Manifest Destiny for the Stars-n-Stripes set.
You have to look at America as if one big driver’s education class, but replace teaching driver courtesy with societally adopted road rage.
“You had the right of way? Screw you! The right of way is wherever I need it to be, motherfucker!”
As an egocentrically hegemonic force on the global stage, a nation embracing unrestrained narcissism would make The Holy Roman Empire at the height of its powers look as if an automatic toilet bowl cleaner at the end of its life cycle; weak and ineffectual! … … … No, not hanging around the inside rim of your crapper. It’s just a metaphor; stop being so fucking literal.
The problem is NOT that so many of “We the People” have become narcissistic sons-a bitches. The problem is that ALL Americans have not yet succumbed to the obvious absolute gratification of the self-aggrandizing pleasures of the ME-ME-ME approach to life.
Confident that necessity truly is the mother of invention, I’ve thus created an icy-cold confection sure to please the palate AND bring all non-narcissistic not-yet brethren into the Cult of the Vainglorious fold. This summer, enjoy my patent-pending wonder sure to give you an ego-boner of delight: NARCISSISM ON A STICK!
That’s right, my soon-to-be conceited compatriot; this dessert delicacy chemically induces a blissfully permanent state of class-A narcissism. One lick and you’ll be as full of yourself as Donald Trump at the grand opening of a new Trump golf course. It’s guaranteed to be deliciously satisfying or your money back! How can I make that offer? Because whatever YOUR favorite flavor is, it’s the right one; that’s what it will taste like.
Love black licorice? Black licorice it is!
Love pistachio? Your desire is Narcissism on a Stick’s command.
Loved black licorice five seconds ago, but now like pistachio more? Done and done!
Because if you believe it to be so, so it must be; for the nectar of Narcissus is now your lifeblood. You’re right. They’re wrong. Fuck them if they disagree.
Compromise? Stepping into someone else’s shoes? I’ll step into your shoes when they are custom-fitted to MY feet, are in the color I like, and have been specially treated to reek of MY foot odor on sweltering-hot summer nights. And don’t look at me like that. Just lick the frostily creamy delight I invented and come join us. You’re one of us now.
Okay, good news, bad news.
Look, I get it. You think this week’s Potpourri of the Damned blog-post is too cynical, too anti-American; I’m being too much of an asshole (even for me). It’s coming off as not so much funny, but snarky and somewhat sarcastic. It should have come with a warning label: “This week I switched into ‘ax to grind’ mode. Hell, the fact that I’m using the American-colloquial version of ‘ax’ and not the more global English of ‘axe’ proves how parochially narcissistic I am. It’s not going to be so much of a funny ‘ha-ha’ thing as a funny ‘You mixed cane with grain again, didn’t you?’ thing.”
So, that’s the bad news.
The good news is that I’m now a self-satisfied raging narcissist, so fuck you, dipshit; I don’t care what you think. And apparently, America thinks that’s a good thing.
Now dump out your wine and get us all beer, bitch! And turn off that bullshit you’re watching on TV and hand over the remote. I’ll decide what’s a good show and what’s not.
What? A narcissist? ME?!
Damn right, America. Daaaaaaaamn right.
© 2015 Joseph P. Buonfiglio All Rights Reserved.