Nero the Pict and I were speaking of the imploding identity of his coworkers and wondering if my casual observations of the chaff of humanity being blown about the country on the same winds that propel this shard of crooked timber about confirmed his observations.
I might have titled this article Beyond Whiggerism. As we drove from Reading to Lancaster on the 18th he related vignette after vignette of how working class males in their teens and twenties are behaving more and more like males of their declared superior race did in the ots and teens.
It is still a dictum across this nation that men of our unrooted race that was born like a golem circa 1600 as a meta-zoological racial post-identity are blessed with Privilege, and enjoy an easy access to effortless economic success. This is not something I recall from my life. But it is nevertheless embraced as a truth in America; that any man of No Race and No Color who does not economically thrive has embraced Satan through drugs or sloth and deserves his lot.
Contrary wise, the Man of Sainted martyr hue who does not thrive has been victimized by my pale privilege. I like this idea, that a dozen better-looking and younger and more loved by God men have been deprived of all opportunity so that I might have a nice backpack and a good pair of boots whilst I survey my domain of privilege from the back of the iron dragon that Modernity built specifically to spirit me about my ill-got domain.
Also, increasingly since 2008, then again in 2013, and finally, with the Deification of Floyd Christ in 2020, it has become a keystone to our media-imposed meta-morality that God’s Grace is uniquely granted to men of Gawdly Kangdom and denied to my feral and debased like. From the Legend of Bagger Vance down to the TV commercial about the bi-racial homos knitting a sweater for their dog which I saw the other day in passing, moral sanction for the man of pale economic privilege may only be granted by an actor of Gawdly Grace.
Nero noted that his Gawdly coworkers under 30 are trying very hard to succeed according to the values that my father taught me, hard work, listening to the boss, being polite, seeking advice from men of experience, etc. The last group of working class palefaces with these values in the Mid Atlantic came of age in the 1990s. To the extent that such an ethic remains among pallid kind it is among Christian rural enclaves and in the more high functioning segments of the middle class.
Conversely, his assistant technicians, for these men work repairing and maintaining equipment, who are of our pale mega-race, are universally behaving like gangster rapper wannabes from the 1990s: refusing to work, starting fights, getting high on the job, backing out of fights they started and then calling the HR lady to complain about the man who stood up to their threats as the aggressor—all textbook criminal bait and cop tactics used by scores of Gawdly Yeti hunters who chased me from Baltimore, and behavior still marked among Gawdly coworkers of his in their 30s.
Nero was describing something that I have seen in Portland, Denver, Jersey and Baltimore, a trend of non-pale people behaving cartoonishly like pale people of The Boomer generation have—such as calling the police on Banjo and I for training in a park—in a kind of retro-chronological parody of those who were once their masters. Likewise, since no state of being is more lauded than that of gawdliness, young pale twits are increasingly imitating the thugs that terrorized their Gen-X parents into suburban flight.
That is something I was able to confirm for Nero who seemed to be losing confidence in his reality observations. Little did I know, that the next day, on hallowed Juneteenth, as he and Cutie and I celebrated the freeing of our promethean Gawdz once upon a lying time, by walking around their hometown of Lancaster, that I would be honored with a demonstration of Cuck-Adjacent—Buck Adjacent civics. [1]
A surly tail end Boomer or elder Gen-Xer was walking across a street without looking, assured that the rest of humanity had been charged with his ease and safety. [2]
A young, Octoroon or Quadroon of perhaps 20 drove his car past him at 5 MPH coming within a foot of brushing the pale man’s once divine heel.
The Surly Walker screamed, “What the fuck!” and kept on walking, half-posing to prove bravado.
The Stylish Driver stopped, open his car door and asked, “You good?” trying to apply 1960s Mormon Civic concern via hip hop challenge lingo.
The Surly Walker stalked angrily and cussed him again, making a threat along with the f-word in a variant I do not recall.
I stopped, hoping to see violence, a 55-year-old paleface acting like a Yutish Tribesman and a barely melenated postribal aspirant to white picket fence 1950s America asking again, “You good?” in a half-concern half-challenge of indignation.
The Surly Walker, lacking the balls championed by his mouth stalked on, acting like King of All the World.
The Stylish Driver drove on, pretending as if he cared about the human part of the world.
“Drats, I’ve been robbed of entertainment,” I groused.
These discussions and observations and that event confirmed that which I expected after the Brovid Jiveteen Shamdemic, that Americans are almost entirely colonized by the Media Induction Complex, to the point of avidly exchanging civic identities like the ritual re-gifting at a company gift exchange at Winter Solstice in a mere blink of Time’s bored eye.
Notes
-1. Interestingly, a friend of color recently tried to save a woman and her baby from the pitbull which this woman used to threaten other people, risking his health for Should in the world of Is, as John Wayne as you please, just like my pie-in-the-sky pale father would have done two and more generations ago.
-2. Text book urban criminal class strut activity.
