The Will to Resist

DEAR HUMANITY: SHIT OUT YOUR FUCKING EGO.

By Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand

Dear Humanity,

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?

No, seriously.

I'm asking.

Not rhetorically.

Not philosophically.

Not as some enlightened monk sitting atop a mountain contemplating the delicate balance of the universe.

I'm asking as an exhausted motherfucker who has watched this species repeatedly manufacture its own misery and then stand around scratching its collective asshole wondering why everything smells like shit.

You have technology.

You have medicine.

You have satellites orbiting the planet.

You have machines capable of performing calculations that would make ancient mathematicians shit themselves sideways.

AND YET YOU STILL CAN'T FIGURE OUT HOW TO BE TWENTY-FIVE PERCENT LESS OF AN ASSHOLE.

Congratulations.

You've conquered space.

Now try conquering your own fucking ego.

THE GREAT HUMAN CONSTIPATION EPIDEMIC

I have a theory.

Humanity isn't suffering from a shortage of intelligence.

It's suffering from a catastrophic buildup of undigested self-importance.

Somewhere inside the average human asshole is a stick.

Not a little stick.

Not a modest twig.

I'm talking about a fully grown fucking redwood, complete with roots, branches, and an endangered species of woodpecker.

And wrapped around that stick?

EGO.

Layers upon layers of hardened, fossilized, industrial-strength ego.

The kind of ego that makes somebody physically incapable of uttering three simple words:

"I was wrong."

OH NO.

CAN'T SAY THAT.

THE UNIVERSE MIGHT FUCKING COLLAPSE.

Instead, we get excuses.

Deflections.

Blame shifting.

Corporate doublespeak.

Passive-aggressive bullshit.

And the timeless human classic:

"That's not what I meant."

Then WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU MEAN, GERALDINE?

Because the words came out of your mouth.

They traveled through the air.

They entered another person's ears.

And somehow you're acting like the entire incident was orchestrated by a rogue fucking ventriloquist.

SHIT. OUT. YOUR. EGO.

Your digestive tract and the rest of humanity will thank you.

WE ARE MANUFACTURING PROBLEMS LIKE THEY'RE ON FUCKING CLEARANCE.

Here's what truly fascinates me about people.

Life already comes with problems.

Real problems.

Illness.

Poverty.

Unemployment.

Grief.

Bills.

Broken relationships.

Aging.

Death.

The occasional suspicious noise coming from your refrigerator at three in the morning.

We've got plenty of shit to deal with.

WHY THE FUCK ARE WE INVENTING MORE?

Why does every disagreement have to become a personal war?

Why does every mistake require a defensive legal brief?

Why does every rejection have to become an insult?

Why does every position of authority apparently come with a complimentary license to act like a medieval fucking king?

Why can't people simply say:

"No."

"I don't know."

"I made a mistake."

"I'm sorry."

"I changed my mind."

"I can't deliver what I promised."

There.

Seven perfectly functional sentences.

No subscription required.

No additional training modules.

No fucking executive retreat in Aspen.

Yet somehow, people would rather construct an elaborate cathedral of bullshit than admit one uncomfortable truth.

YOUR EGO IS NOT A FUCKING NATIONAL MONUMENT.

Nobody is obligated to preserve it.

THE CORPORATE ASSHOLE INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX

Let's talk about workplaces.

Ah, yes.

The magical kingdom of professionalism.

Where management preaches accountability while treating its own commitments like expired coupons.

Employees are expected to arrive on time.

Follow procedures.

Complete training.

Meet standards.

Demonstrate professionalism.

Maintain integrity.

And generally perform like perfectly calibrated little meat-powered productivity machines.

Fair enough.

But what happens when management fails to deliver?

What happens when promised training never arrives?

What happens when compensation stays frozen while new applicants are offered more?

What happens when employees sit in unpaid uncertainty waiting for decisions that affect their ability to pay rent?

Suddenly, accountability becomes a fucking endangered species.

"We appreciate your patience."

DO YOU?

Because patience doesn't pay the electric bill, Karen.

Patience doesn't buy groceries.

Patience doesn't magically replace two weeks of missing wages.

And appreciation without action is just corporate confetti.

IF YOU EXPECT ACCOUNTABILITY FROM THE PEOPLE BELOW YOU, START PRACTICING IT YOUR FUCKING SELF.

Authority is not proof of intelligence.

A job title is not a personality.

And sitting behind a desk does not magically transform your bullshit into wisdom.

Sometimes the person cleaning the floors has more integrity than the entire fucking executive conference room.

At least the janitor knows when something needs cleaning.

THE DATING ECONOMY: LOVE, LUST, AND THE FUCKING CHECKOUT BUTTON

And don't think the dating world is escaping this audit.

OH NO.

COME BACK HERE, YOU HORNY LITTLE CAPITALISTS.

We've somehow transformed human companionship into a goddamn vending machine.

Want affection?

Insert money.

Want attention?

Insert money.

Want the possibility of meeting somebody?

Insert more money.

Want to know whether that person was ever genuinely interested?

SORRY! THAT FEATURE IS CURRENTLY LOCKED BEHIND ANOTHER FUCKING PURCHASE.

And the problem isn't sex.

The problem isn't people selling adult content.

The problem isn't someone wanting a long-term relationship instead of a casual encounter.

People are allowed to want different things.

THE PROBLEM IS USING SOMEONE ELSE'S DESIRE AS A FUCKING LEASH.

If you're selling content, be honest.

If you're not interested, be honest.

If you want something serious, be honest.

If you want casual sex, be honest.

And if you're uncertain?

SAY YOU'RE FUCKING UNCERTAIN.

There is no shame in wanting something different.

There is shame in treating somebody's hope like a resource to be harvested.

I don't need a romantic fairy tale.

I don't need a wedding.

I don't need a joint mortgage and a fucking Labradoodle named Sebastian.

I need people to stop treating ordinary human interaction like an aggressive mobile-game monetization strategy.

I AM A HUMAN BEING, NOT A WALKING GOOGLE PLAY GIFT CARD.

YOUR EGO IS NOT YOUR PERSONALITY, YOU FUCKING WALNUT.

Somewhere along the way, people confused self-respect with self-importance.

Confidence became arrogance.

Boundaries became weapons.

Opinions became sacred commandments.

And being corrected became an act of fucking war.

Let me explain something.

You can be confident without being cruel.

You can disagree without humiliating somebody.

You can reject someone without exploiting them.

You can hold authority without treating everybody beneath you like disposable furniture.

You can admit you're wrong without spontaneously combusting.

YOU CAN HAVE A BACKBONE WITHOUT HAVING AN ENTIRE FUCKING LUMBERYARD LODGED UP YOUR ASS.

And no, this doesn't mean becoming a doormat.

It doesn't mean accepting abuse.

It doesn't mean abandoning standards or letting every manipulative bastard walk all over you.

It means recognizing that other people are actual human beings.

With bills.

With feelings.

With limits.

With lives that continue existing after you've finished being an asshole to them.

What an extraordinary fucking revelation.

Somebody alert the Nobel committee.

THE WORLD DOESN'T NEED MORE WINNERS. IT NEEDS FEWER ASSHOLES.

Everybody wants to win.

Win the argument.

Win the relationship.

Win the promotion.

Win the negotiation.

Win the internet.

Win the imaginary competition taking place inside their own oversized fucking skull.

But here's a question.

WHAT EXACTLY ARE YOU WINNING?

Congratulations.

You won an argument by humiliating someone who trusted you.

You won a sale by manipulating somebody into spending money.

You won a workplace dispute by exercising authority without acknowledging your own failures.

You won the opportunity to feel superior for approximately seventeen seconds.

And what did everybody else get?

More resentment.

More distrust.

More exhaustion.

More people deciding that the safest way to survive is to stop giving a fuck about anybody.

YOU DIDN'T WIN, YOU SELF-IMPORTANT FUCKING TURNIP.

You helped make the world a little worse.

And then you'll complain that nobody trusts anybody anymore.

Gee.

I wonder fucking why.

BE TWENTY-FIVE PERCENT LESS SHIT.

I have a proposal.

Not a complicated proposal.

Not an expensive proposal.

Not some ridiculous twelve-step self-improvement program requiring a monthly membership and access to a motivational podcast hosted by a man named Chad.

Just this:

BE TWENTY-FIVE PERCENT LESS FUCKING SHIT.

That's it.

If you're about to lie, don't.

If you're about to manipulate somebody, stop.

If you're about to manufacture drama, reconsider.

If you're about to make a promise you cannot keep, don't make it.

If somebody says no, accept it.

If you make a mistake, acknowledge it.

If someone corrects you, listen before launching your ego into fucking DEFCON 1.

And if your first instinct is to make somebody else's life harder simply because you can?

GO SIT IN THE FUCKING CORNER AND THINK ABOUT YOUR LIFE CHOICES.

You don't have to be perfect.

You don't have to be a saint.

You don't even have to like everybody.

Just stop making existence unnecessarily miserable for people who are already trying their best to survive it.

Twenty-five percent.

Hell, I'll negotiate.

Twenty.

Fifteen.

TEN.

GIVE ME TEN FUCKING PERCENT AND I'LL THROW A PARADE.

I'll personally hire Gerald the Cactus to wave from the lead float.

He won't wave back.

He's a cactus.

But he'll still contribute more to society than another self-important asshole manufacturing problems for attention.

INTRODUCING THE GERALD METHOD OF EGO MANAGEMENT.

The Department of Petty Affairs has reviewed humanity's psychological plumbing.

The findings are disturbing.

SEVERE EGO IMPACTION.

Symptoms include:

The recommended treatment?

A MASSIVE FUCKING DOSE OF HUMILITY.

Unfortunately, humanity has demonstrated a remarkable resistance to conventional treatment.

Therefore, we have appointed Gerald the Cactus as Chief Botanical Consultant.

Gerald recommends that humanity voluntarily remove the metaphorical stick from its collective ass before attempting any further self-improvement.

He also recommends fiber.

Lots of fucking fiber.

Because apparently some people have been holding on to their bullshit since the Nixon administration.

And life itself?

Life has been formally invited to lick Gerald from root to tip.

Not because Gerald enjoys it.

Not because anybody should actually do that.

But because the mental image of life confronting a cactus and then complaining about the needles is the most accurate representation of humanity's self-inflicted stupidity I can currently imagine.

YOU KEEP MAKING BAD DECISIONS AND THEN ACT SURPRISED WHEN THEY HAVE CONSEQUENCES.

Gerald didn't manufacture the needles.

Gerald didn't hide the needles.

Gerald is literally covered in fucking needles.

The warning was right there.

AS PER MY LAST EMAIL.

I'M NOT ASKING FOR UTOPIA. I'M ASKING FOR A LITTLE FUCKING PEACE.

And here's where the jokes stop being quite so funny.

Because beneath the profanity, the sarcasm, the cactus, and the feral raccoon screaming into a typewriter...

I'M FUCKING TIRED.

Tired of being disappointed.

Tired of having to defend myself.

Tired of watching people make promises they never deliver.

Tired of being treated like my time is disposable.

Tired of feeling like every moment of vulnerability is an opportunity for somebody to take advantage.

Tired of having to inspect every interaction for hidden motives.

Tired of watching perfectly avoidable problems become life-altering disasters because somebody's ego was too fucking fragile to admit they screwed up.

And tired of hearing people tell me to be positive while they continue contributing to the very bullshit I'm supposed to remain positive about.

I don't want the world to burn.

I WANT THE FUCKING BULLSHIT TO STOP BURNING EVERYBODY OUT.

I want people to be able to work without being treated like replaceable machinery.

I want people to enjoy companionship without feeling like walking wallets.

I want people to disagree without becoming enemies.

I want somebody to make a mistake, acknowledge it, fix what they can, and move the fuck on.

I want a world where honesty isn't considered a competitive disadvantage.

Where kindness isn't mistaken for stupidity.

Where boundaries aren't treated like invitations to negotiate.

Where accountability applies upward as well as downward.

And where somebody can simply exist without constantly preparing for the next completely unnecessary pile of human-manufactured bullshit.

IS THAT REALLY TOO MUCH TO FUCKING ASK?

FINAL NOTICE TO THE HUMAN POPULACE.

Dear Humanity,

You are not the center of the universe.

Your ego is not sacred.

Your opinions are not automatically correct.

Your authority does not make you infallible.

Your attractiveness does not entitle you to exploit somebody.

Your suffering does not give you permission to manufacture suffering for others.

And your inability to admit fault does not magically make you innocent.

You are one human being.

On one planet.

Among billions of other human beings who are also trying to get through their day without losing their fucking minds.

Try acting like it.

You don't need to love everybody.

You don't need to agree with everybody.

You don't need to surrender your dignity or abandon your boundaries.

YOU JUST NEED TO STOP BEING SUCH AN UNNECESSARY FUCKING PROBLEM.

Because humanity's greatest obstacle isn't always some external catastrophe.

Sometimes it's the asshole in the mirror who refuses to acknowledge that the problem might actually be them.

And before you start pointing fingers?

Remember the sacred commandment:

THOU SHALT AUDIT THY OWN BULLSHIT BEFORE BLAMING THE BATHROOM CRYPTID.

Yes.

That includes me.

That includes you.

That includes every self-righteous motherfucker who thinks accountability is something that only happens to other people.

Nobody gets a free pass.

Not even Jerry.

Especially not Jerry.

The raccoon has made mistakes.

The raccoon has eaten questionable garbage.

The raccoon has occasionally mistaken a bag of Purina Peppercorn for a balanced fucking diet.

But the raccoon can at least admit when he's wrong.

CAN YOU?

MR. JERRY'S UNSOLICITED ADVICE

Dear Humanity,

Before you open your mouth today, consider the following:

Does this need to be said?

Does this need to become an argument?

Am I being honest?

Am I respecting somebody else's boundaries?

Am I solving a problem, or am I manufacturing one because my ego demands attention?

And perhaps most importantly:

AM I ABOUT TO BE A FUCKING ASSHOLE FOR ABSOLUTELY NO REASON?

If the answer to that last question is yes, congratulations.

You've identified an opportunity for personal growth.

Now take that enormous, self-important stick lodged somewhere in your lower personality...

And metaphorically remove the fucking thing.

Carefully.

With humility.

Preferably before Gerald arrives with the paperwork.

Because the world doesn't need another messiah.

It doesn't need another self-proclaimed alpha.

It doesn't need another corporate visionary.

It doesn't need another manipulative hustler.

It doesn't need another person convinced their ego is the most important object in the known universe.

IT NEEDS PEOPLE WHO CAN OCCASIONALLY SHUT THE FUCK UP, LISTEN, ADMIT THEY'RE WRONG, AND STOP MAKING LIFE HARDER FOR EVERYBODY ELSE.

That's it.

That's the revolution.

Not fire.

Not destruction.

Not the end of civilization.

Just a collective, long-overdue, civilization-wide evacuation of unnecessary bullshit.

And if humanity can accomplish that?

Maybe we'll finally have enough peace and quiet to enjoy being alive.

Until then...

ACT BROKE.

BE BORING.

THROW THE DEUCES.

BE TWENTY-FIVE PERCENT LESS SHIT.

And for the love of everything holy, unholy, and mildly photosynthetic...

SHIT OUT YOUR FUCKING EGO.

— Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand

P.S. If this article offended your ego, please submit a written complaint to Gerald.

He will review it during his next scheduled watering.

Which, being a cactus, may take a while.

P.P.S. No refunds on hurt feelings. Unlike certain dating apps, our disappointment is provided free of charge.