about insults

The art of the good insult is a forgotten cultural asset. Political correctness has made people believe an insult is a crime. By now, you believe you have a birthright to respect. You do not, I do not want to waste time on this. You’re a piece of shit, you smell of clods, your ideas are retarded. Do not kid yourself.
Anyone who forbids insults forbids criticism. It is a narrow ridge, but the course has already been set, you can yell about your „good intentions“ or respect and empathy, does not change a thing about your softness.
If you act like an asshole, then I’ll call you an asshole. If you say something stupid, I’ll call you stupid. Don’t contradict me, it is not your place to judge how I perceive you. Whether you are a wanker or not doesn’t fall into your jurisdiction, but into the jurisdiction of everyone exposed to you.
And make no mistake: as soon as you are present, one is exposed to you.
Not in the privilege of your presence, not enriched by your spirit-richness, for you are poor in spirit. Who you gonna call? Absolutely no-one, because no spirit or ghost must or could be busted.

An insult is always a chance to improve. If your opposite is worth it to you. Otherwise, insult the lobotomist back as hard as you can. This is a bloody sport, sometimes even blood sports, but you are left intact as a human being.

The whole society is „outraged“ when someone dares to tell someone what he is. Have you all lost your balls? Laugh at it! How serious can one take oneself?
If someone insults you for no reason, laugh and erase those people from your life. Not from the world, that is murder, you psychopath, but from your life, your perception. You know, if you are more concerned with the people who want to demean you than with those who are a positive force in your life, then you yourself are to blame, deserving every humiliation, disgorgement, defamation, and whatever else that is addressed at you. Because then you’re an idiot. Motifs and the past do not matter. If you can not cope with your past, it is neither my problem, nor my duty to do that for you.

The world is a cold, murderous place to live in, so finally grow up and accept the fight. You are not given anything, you have no right to anything and if you want something, you have to go and bloody take it.
And no, god damnit, I’ll tell you again, because you’re so stupid: that does not justify a breach of law, a crime, or violence. With the necessary mental hardness you can get what you need within every system.
You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you might get what you need.
How long does poor Mick Jagger have to tour so that you can get it into your puny little brains? Well, probably until Keith Richards dies.So, in view of his indestructibility, it will probably be at least until next Thursday.

If I can not deploy heavy verbal machinery, how can I think hard, tear down walls in heads, conduct intellectual war, so that we do not have to conduct real wars. The hardness and intransigence and mercilessness and brutality must be entrusted to the Word, otherwise it will bleed into our physical world.
Language is magic and discussions and disputes are the magic duels. Keywords: Word battle. (From the German „Wortgefecht“.)
But a people is easier to steer and impress by brute force if they are already startling at an insult and calling the police. Ask the cop of your trust how often and hard he is being insulted during any given day. Who should he call if he was such a pussy as you?

One more thing before we part. If you’re too weak for hard words, do not expect to get anything pushed into your lap. Weakness never has been and never will be rewarded. Do not ask for the same rights as someone who has fought and bled for them. Just because you want something does not mean you have a right to it. Every right of this world was won by blood. Earlier, way back when, very literally. Today, however, this blood can be shed verbally. And people say civilization has failed.
You’ve never had it as easy as today. So stop your weird muck, roll up your sleeves, wipe away the tears and finally start to deal out. Respect yourself before you demand respect from others.

And when in doubt: go fuck youself.

(This is a translation of a post I wrote earlier this year, but felt obliged to repost in English because of what is happening with PC in political and educational institutions in America in general and Ontario, Canada specifically. It is still hyperbole and not everything is to be taken literally, of course, as is common place with comedic think pieces, but it is scary how well this text fits the circumstances right now. To me at least.
Even though you are never going to read this: stay strong, Prof. Peterson, I’m with you in spirit.)



Die Live-Kommentatoren schrecken laut auf, echtes Entsetzen in ihren Stimmen. Ich kann ihre schockgeweiteten Augen und Münder förmlich vor mir sehen. Wie sie 14000 Kilometer weit entfernt in ihren Designeranzügen, die mehr kosten als meine Miete für ein ganzes Jahr, in ihrem warmen Studio sitzen. Auf mehr als 30 Flachbildschirmen entfaltet sich vor ihnen die Katastrophe, von der sie live berichten. In Ulra-HD, Dolby Digital 5.1 Surround Sound, mit glasklarem Bass. Die Praktikanten, die niemand sehen und hören kann, bringen ihnen gerade ihren Arschkriecherkaffee. Die Teleprompter laufen heiß mit Worten, die sie ungeprüft vorlesen, mit blindem Vertrauen in die arme Sau, die die eigentliche Arbeit für sie erledigt. Die Arbeit, deren Lorbeeren sie sich aufsetzen. Mit dem Leid hunderttausender Menschen am anderen Ende der Welt. Das sie unreflektiert ausschlachten, jede Nuance ausleuchten, jeden privaten Winkel von Leidenden vergewaltigen, sie für Quote missbrauchen und keinen zweiten Gedanken daran verschwenden.

Diese weltfremden Hohlbirnen, die nie etwas erleben.

Die nur vom Leben anderer berichten. Vom Schaffen anderer. Vom Leiden anderer. Leere Hüllen ohne Sinn. In teuren Anzügen.

Mit einer brachialen Explosion sprengt sich das Dach von Reaktor 4 Weiterlesen