Adult Heresy: Puer Aeternus

Witness the adult who insists on frantically coat-tailing whatever Cultural Yugo comes sputtering down the pike, retroactively clinging to some imaginary vestige of ego-pampered youth, reinventing salad days in which he was only a flavourless vegetable.
The failure of the Societal Superego to temper the Peter-Pan-meets-Pauly-Shore Syndrome in aging men* has resulted in legions of middle-aged, middle management turds grasping for relevance with false nostalgioid opiates (as if real nostagioid opiates weren’t bad enough).

Taken to its gerontological and psychological extreme, what would we have?

Paunchy, pasty putzes toolin’ for tail in the high school parking lot, blasting Creed from their T-top Z-28s? Graying geezers drooling on their GAP Kids™ t-shirts and teddy bears as they relish a future of unfettered infantilism? Depends™.
Yes, it all hinges on what a civil, sane society will allow. Perhaps an end to people just muttering and looking the other way. Pungeoning protocol dictates a “cut to the chase.” “Calling it like you smell it,” if you will.
Which brings us full circle back to a Societal Superego that needs a shot in the arm. A Collective Consciousness with cojones that isn’t afraid to Take the Punge. A no-nonsense potency with the austerity of a drill sergeant, ready to pounce and punge any who dare commit Adult Heresy.

*Do not be mistaken in thinking that this is solely a men’s issue. It is equally pathetic when middle-aged women engage in such questionable self-affirming activities as trolling for boytoy, vain implants, and the wearing of mix-n-match animal prints with one-size-fits-all white stretch pants.

Adult Heresy: Tantrum ’22

“It all hinges on what a civil, sane society will allow,” said some sage voice many moons ago. Sounded good at the time. Like a sense of shame might eventually kick in.
But today, attention and validation weigh heavy on both big screen and small. In fact, they outstrain the last fibres of societal glue holding together a civilisation of recycled waste.
“It’s your house of cards,” another voice once observed.
Societal Superegos in FAIL Mode guarantee the Path to Dust. But even in the end, this is what The Man really wants. You just have to know how to put the kids into Time-Out.

Silly Rabbits, Little Chickens, and Lying Shepherds

Furley youngsters have learned to view Adult Fraughtness with a gimlet eye thanks to the Discordian antics of self-styled trickster archetypes.
  But any ‘archetype’ that reflexively defines itself by ‘what it is not’ has no metaphysical center.
  The kids have grown and see through this schtick.
  The trickster’s Adult Heresy is just the manifestation of Reality Dissociation; their everyday crier au loup another neophobic shriek against anterograde growth, and the continuous squall of heavens falling evermore, landing nevermore.

Editorial: ‘Sniff Jocker Archetype Must Be Reformed to Avoid Collective Doom’

The following editorial comment was broadcast recently on Heritageville’s WBLO-TV Channel 13. Opinions expressed do not necessarily reflect the positions of WBLO-TV. 

  In high dudgeon I bring to you a stern plaint about the insufferable public behaviour of a group that rates quite high on the Connard Social Irritant Index. I’m talking about our fair town’s fraternal
Sniff Jocker community. Though this is a free country and all, we are constantly reminded that this constituency is the cradle for our future’s leadership. Well, these leaders of tomorrow are playing
grab-arse today! These manlets spew in the streets! They dress like toddlers and foul the collective nest!
  Let’s look at some telltale signs that are mysteriously coincident within this cohort:
  • Making an obvious display of being a Man Impervious to the Elements, he proudly marches through the snowdrifts wearing boat shoes and cotton shorts with his chin smugly held high. Never mind that his goolies have shriveled to naught in his chilly promenade — he has ‘brothers’ to impress.
  • Instead of a casual arm draped over the shoulders of tonight’s ‘date’, clutching her in a headlock is the closest he’ll come to any Public Displays of Affection. This possessive signaling is an overcompensation for Low T as well as a general lack of adult social skills.
  • Any musical taste will strictly be second-hand Affectatious Anemoia; in other words, someone else’s Nostalgioid Opiates, the ‘hits’, and pre-approved pabulum that performs as muzak behind empty conversations in both rec rooms and concert halls alike.
  If he’s lucky, this phase will never end, and he will eventually join his Hebetative Alumnoid brethren in their conspicuous cavort. Who am I kidding — this isn’t a phase at all. It’s an archetype.
  Alright, alright — Adult Heresy is nothing new and the Wankening is quite common. It’s the same all over. But pointing out an age-old problem doesn’t make it go away. If you float a certain way, okay, but overcompensating for your insecurities doesn’t make you leadership material.
  You want constructive solutions? Our town’s Semi-Adult Day Care Centres are already packed, plus their admissions are strictly voluntary. The old man on his third mortgage can always bail Junior out of his pesky predicaments that the rest of us have to clean up. And that same old man will also pull strings for his meritless legacy. What else can we do but cry ‘Shame!’?
  Johnny Gutts laments a world currently being run by C-students. But how much worse will it be under a leadership that needs help just to achieve mediocrity? It’s not sustainable!

— Morgan Musone, Heritageville