The Good Ol' Days
September 10, 1977 ... a day that will live in infamy.
On that day, the guillotine fell for the last time in Marseille. Once an iconic symbol of France, like the Eiffel Tower and lingerie, the device was destined for the dustbin of history as, in 1981, the French abolished capital punishment. No thing is free and for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. The price for humanity was insanity as the French unwittingly pried open the lid of Pandora's Box.
Relieved of the repercussions of being the Village Idiot, every town square in the country was soon overrun by vermin, the likes of which France had not experienced since plague-ridden rats had done the same in the days of Nostradamus.
France was overrun ... by Mimes.
In every other art form you could name, there is an intent to elevate a particular talent: Singers sing; painters paint and writers write. Dressed like escapees from an asylum, and behaving in a manner in keeping with their dress-code, the only thing these lunatics elevate is one's blood pressure. If ever there was an element of society worthy of being forcibly removed from the gene pool, surely it is Mimes.
Hyperbolic-gesticulation and rage-inducing over-acting, all in the service of becoming the center of attention ... even if the result is a barrage of rotten tomatoes. Let not the derision of your audience effect your performance. Look, I'm a poet, so it's not like I'm railing against wasting countless hours on non-utilitarian endeavors. But come on, there's got to be a point where the rest of society becomes justified in boiling you alive in a giant pot.
"Papa, why is that man trying to climb an imaginary ladder?"
"To get over an imaginary wall."
"Why is he trying to get over an imaginary wall?
Because he's an idiot.
We Are ... "Artistes"
Artistes ... that insufferably self-rightous segment of Lefty would-be intellectuals, who are convinced that their expressiveness is an existential gift to the species. That everyone should be thankful for their willingness to dig ever deeper in an effort to discover those last nuggets of weirdness overlooked by the pioneers that preceded them. And, as the goal of such luminaries seems to be maximizing the annoyance of their fellow man, Miming is their Mother-Lode.
While Lefty lunacies have a long tradition of being birthed in France, they also have a long history of escaping its confines. The damn shit spreads. And so now we have these acolytes of the absurd all over the planet. And, given that Lefty lunacies have a way of cross-pollinating, we now have a potpourri of intersectionality-themed pantomimers.
The radical feminists were quick to jump on board so as to ensure that men would not possess a monopoly on the moronic. For black folks, doing "white face" has become de rigueur and the fat acceptance movement and transgenders have staked their claims as well. Interestingly, this land-grab for a piece of purgatory has sparked an intra-intersectional brawl as each sub-community of Mimes condemns the others for their "privilege." As a backlash to the backlash, gay white French Mimes are accusing the whole kit and kaboodle of "cultural appropriation:"
"This was our gig from the get go."
Not to be excluded from the narrative, enter Zombie-Mimes from Stage Left. Apparently, being either a zombie ... or a mime ... proved insufficient to express the peculiarities of their "self-identities." And so, in an effort to break free from their "social constructionist" shackles, these crown jewels of humanity have taken to soundlessly limping and leg-dragging around town with faux axes buried in their heads. If I'm being honest, I actually think this is a positive development, a step in the right direction so to speak. It's as if they subconsciously understand what their fate ought to be. An acceptance of the consequences of their karma.
Why do we put up with this shit? Well, some people don't. And good for them for taking the initiative.
Respecting myself, I'm doing everything within my power to turn back the tide. To that end, I leave you with a poem, "An Ode to a Guillotine:"
An Ode to a Guillotine
A blade of sharp steel, brings end to Ordeal,
Ordeal that all have endured,
Town squares they're destroyed, and all left annoyed,
By those with minds them unmoored.
This lunatic fringe with noggins unhinged,
Mimes, they drive us insane,
They crowds horrify, and children make cry,
Blasphemy of bullshit, a bane.
Such artistic love is indicative of,
Heads in need of beheading,
This plague from it, France; no more second chance,
Must stop it further from spreading.
To be it a Mime, one commits it a crime,
And crimes deserve what they get,
To tell it a story with no oratory,
Deserves … a bloody vignette.
*****
To all you insufferable Mimes inclined to respond to this article, remember: NO WORDS ... visually expressive emojis only.
Quill
*****
An Aside:
More than a month ago, one of the truly great curation groups on Steemit, @ComedyOpenMic, was forced to "close shop" due to lack of delegation and curation support (all the Whales are leasing their SP to bidbots instead of curating). They ended up experimenting with distributing WhaleShares as contest prizes instead of STEEM/SBD (I'm not sure if they're still doing this). The fact that the blockchain cannot organize itself to even support "making people laugh" speaks volumes about the state of affairs. If you're a Whale, go float this boat ... you'll become famous in the process and engender the gratitude of a great many of your fellows. People like to laugh.
*****
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You guys know the QuillDrill. Be verbose ... but articulate.
And remember ...
Go Love a Starving Poet
For God's sake ... they're starving!
