Older Sibling Syndrome

I love Eli Manning.

Does he deserve to be in the Hall of Fame?

Fuck no.

But he’s the greatest in one specific area: he was clutch.

And that’s the great thing about being the younger sibling. We may not be the most talented, hardest working, or even the better-looking (that’s definitely not true in my case), but that doesn’t matter. We show up BIG TIME when it matters.

When you’re the youngest in your family, all the family’s frustrations flow down to you. You’re the low man on the totem pole. Not much is expected of you, but the problem is: not much is expected of you. You’re invisible, and therefore the perfect blank canvas for everyone to project their insecurities onto whenever they need a warm body to yell at. And you’re not supposed to yell back because, again, you’re the shitheal of the family.

It sucks growing up, but it pays off dividends when you get older. Especially if you hurdle everyone’s low expectations of you. It gives you insight into the odd psychology of everyone, because you had handle your family’s insanity just to survive.

Younger siblings are survivors.

That means we recognize an older sibling when we see one. How can we tell? Well allow me to show you with some indicators:

1. You’re a choke artist: Face it, when the lights are on, you will always come up short. ALWAYS. Why is that? It probably has to do with the high expectations placed on you growing up. Relax. Getting your ass kicked isn’t that bad. Of course, you wouldn’t know because you always did the ass kicking. But life is about learning how to handle LOSING. Winning is just the cherry on top.

2. Can’t handle pressure: this kinda goes with being a “choke artist”. So you always buckle under pressure. The bad thing is, whenever the going gets tough, you just pick up the ball and leave, denying you were ever playing the game to begin with. Which leads me to…

3. Inability to handle criticism: there’s two reasons for this. The first one could be due to PTSD from being criticized so much growing up (because of high expectations). OR, you didn’t receive enough criticism growing up (because of high expectations), so you either act hostile to it, or ignore it completely when you really should be listening to it. Grow a thicker pair of skin bro.

4. Arrogance: you ruled the roost and just assume that you will continue to do so until the day you die. Smh. Therapy works wonders my friend.

5. Just otherwise sucking as a human being: maybe you should get to work fixing that. Just sayin’.

So if you’re an older sibling, I feel sorry for you. It must be difficult having to deal with all that childhood trauma.

baruch “the no spin zone” spinoza

“The world would be happier if men had the same capacity to be silent that they have to speak” -Baruch Spinoza

Ludwig Wittengenstein infamously had a similar quote: “Whereof one cannot speak, one must be silent.”

This is true. There’s no use in filling the air with senseless chatter about things we do not understand.

Like I don’t understand why I got laid off. I’ll spend hours in the basement with a bottle of Jim Beam and a loaded 22. My wife will ask if everything is alright and I’ll respond with “whereof one cannot speak, one must be silent.”

Truer words were never spoken.

albert Eisenstein

I sometimes wonder: do people not know when they’re insane?

I mean, obviously if they did know they were crazy, then they wouldn’t be crazy. That makes sense, right?

But has society made insanity somewhat permissible? And has this become apparent to some people but not to others?

I grew up around rich kids. My parents weren’t rich. They liked to think they were but they weren’t. Everyone knew they weren’t rich…at least not as rich as they were…so everyone kinda patted my family on the head and said “nice try, but you’re not in the club”. So I had an unusual upbringing where I was at the bottom of a rather exclusive and rarefied ladder.

I’m not asking for pity, I had it pretty good overall, I’m just saying: I grew up on the outside looking into a party of insane, sociopathic people.

Now all my rich friends are grown up. I don’t talk to any of them, but I CAN Facebook stalk them and what I find is extremely gratifying: many of them have been arrested and/or have drug problems.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been in the same situation, but those were youthful transgressions by comparison. I didn’t have a career or family and people just kinda accepted that I was a drunk asshole. But eventually there came a point where I said: “this is not acceptable” (or rather, a judge said that).

But by looking at the Facebook profiles of a bunch of 30 and 40 year olds, that thought hasn’t occurred to any of them. I mean, how many domestic violence arrests do you need? They do know that bail and attorney fees costs money right? The police are “harassing” you? But you’re white and rich!

Like I said, reading this shit is like Christmas to me. Is my life much better? Maybe not monetarily. But at least I’m not in a state of denial about being an asshole and a menace to society. You can have sympathy for them, but these people contributed to my inferiority complex. So until I get an apology, fuck em.

But I guess when you live in that rarified atmosphere, you can double down on your bad decisions. Some smart guy supposedly once said: “the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” And if you’re rich enough, you can afford to do that.

No I’m not bitter about being condescended to by rich people as a child. I have a lucrative job at the toilet factory and run successful blog. Why should I be jealous?

tim McGraw

Life’s hard for a man that drives a pickup truck.

People make all kinds of assumptions about you. “Hey, what kind of engine you got in that thing?” they ask.

“I dunno,” I say. “I just put the keys in the ignition and it starts.”

I drive a pickup not only because I have a tiny penis and suffer from an inferiority complex, but they also last longer, usually easier to take care of, and no one bats an eye at a few dents and scratches.

In short, I only drive a truck because I’m lazy as fuck.

But every guy wants to get into a pissing contest on who’s got the bigger engine, who knows more about transmissions, which kind of car is easier to fuck in (it’s definitely an Oldsmobile Tornado btw), etc etc

Well listen here buddy, I read Immanuel Kant, Wordsworth, Melville, Jack London, and fucking Hegel, not because someone told me to, but because I love it! Do I look like a guy that gives a shit about your Dodge Ram?

Sure I wear camouflage, abuse dipping tobacco, store my retirement savings under the kitchen sink, sleep with a Glock 19, dabble in meth, store my own piss, steal from my grandmother, don’t pay child support, and argue with teenagers online. But I’m just not a car guy! Okay?

another Shot at the Title (part v)

After Christian (Bale’s) funeral, I began lamenting some of my decisions at the production studio. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked him to gain 150lbs,” I said.

“You’re one arrogant son of a bitch,” Jeffery Greco said.

“Don’t blame me for his death!” I replied. “Chris could’ve turned down the role!”

Kat was two sheets in the wind when she spoke up. “I’m finished in this town,” she said. “Because of you, I’ll never work again.”

“Lay off the sauce, Kat,” I said. “Now pour me a drink.”

“There’s no way we can release the film now,” Kat continued. “$7 billion down the toilet!”

“Now calm down!” I interrupted. “We’ll just have to do some reshoots. I’ll step in for Chris’s role. I’m an Academy Award-winning actor too, ya know?”

“Hold on there bucko,” Greco said. “There ain’t no way the studio will let you back on the set. Not after the lawsuit with Dallas and killing your leading man. That’s to say nothing about the numerous investigations into your international holdings!”

“If the film’s gonna be completed,” Kat said, “then your assistant, Pee-Wee, will finish production.”

“Well that Machiavellian son of a bitch,” I said. “I knew he had an ulterior motive.”

“Since we are 90% finished with filming, we’ll use CGI to complete Chris’s scenes,” explained Kat. “That will considerably jack up the budget, but we have no other choice.”

“Then I guess I’m fired,” I said as I stood up. “But I still want full credit for directing this picture.”

“Not happening,” Kat replied.

“Kat, you’ve crossed me for the last time,” I said. “I’m going to the Director’s Guild. If you want a court battle, you’ve got one sister!”

TO BE CONTINUED

Christian Bale (1974-2021) 😞