Adult
Halloween costumes fall into three categories: scary, sexy and funny. For some
stupid reason, my company has costume contests every Halloween. The powers that
be love wasting time with stupid bullshit like that, but taking time off for
severe medical needs is frowned upon. Anyway, a few years back, this jackass
came to work dressed as a coal miner. Coal miner doesn't fall under scary or
sexy, so we can deduce this asshat thought it was a funny costume. And he did.
I found it off putting.
When
people learn I from West Virginia, nine times out of ten I am mockingly asked
the following questions:
1.)
Is your mom also your sister?
2.)
Was your dad a coal miner?
My
answer to the first question is usually, “Wow. You're so clever. I've never
heard an incest joke about West Virginia before. I can see why you're in middle
management. That's the kind of wit that can only be developed by laughing at
the lame jokes of your immediate superiors in a desperate and feeble attempt to
climb the corporate ladder.”
My
answer to the second question is, “Yes.” This causes the jackass who asked the
question to be all dumbfounded and start stammering. I get a smug satisfaction
from their awkwardness. It's similar to the smug satisfaction I felt when the
Halloween jerk was fired.
John
Oliver recently did a piece on coal miners and how Trump fucked with the hopes
and fears of those who are dependent upon the coal industry. If you haven't
seen it, I highly recommend it. It's fucking awesome. And it reminded me it's
been too long since I told anyone to eat shit. Way too long.
The
one time out of ten I'm not mockingly asked the questions above, I'm told the
following: “You're from West Virginia? I drove through there once on my way to somewhere
else.” Please stop saying this to me. I don't care and I literally have no
response to that. So you hit the West Virginia Turnpike en route to your
vacation destination. I don't know what you want me to do with this
information.
Since
the election, much ado has been made about the disconnect between the liberal
elite and rural America. I believe I'm in a unique position to address this as
I'm a native of Bumblefuck, WV and I consider myself a part of the liberal
elite.
Throughout
this blog, I will most likely make fun of West Virginia. I'm allowed to do so
as I am from there. You are not allowed to do so because you will come across
as an obnoxious, stuck up asshole. You're not better than me just because your
home town has a hospital and level sidewalks.
Before
you read any further, I need you to understand Virginia and West Virginia are
two separate states. Get this into your head right now and don't you ever
fucking forget it. And where the fuck do you get the nerve to laugh at me when
I correct you? You're the dumbass who can't name all fifty states, a skill you
should have mastered by the third grade. You understand there is a North and
South Dakota. You understand there is a North and South Carolina. Why the fuck
do you insist there is no West Virginia? You know what? Fuck it. From now on,
I'm referring to Virginia as East Virginia.
You
may be wondering how I came to be liberal when I'm from a red state. That's
because it wasn't always a red state. From 1976 to 1996 West Virginia only went
red once and that was in Reagan's second term. (I've always believed
Reagan's huge electoral win in 1984 was due to the assassination attempt in his
first term. I have no facts to support this. I just think it must be really
hard not to vote for the guy who got shot.) In fact, West Virginia was one
of only six states that went to Jimmy Carter in 1980. (Now that I think
about it, winning 44 states in 1980 was also a huge electoral victory. I may
have to reassess my assassination theory.)
From
an early age I knew two things, I leaned democrat and I wanted to get the fuck
out of West Virginia. In 1998 I got the fuck out of West Virginia. This brings
us to the 2000 election of Gore v. Bush. Though I had been gone for two years,
I fully expected my home state to go for Gore. I clearly remember watching the
election night coverage as it was the moment my ongoing feud with Joe
Scarborough began. A feud he knows nothing about because he has no idea I
exist. They played an Al Gore clip where he said something intelligent. What Joe Scarborough said after that is seared
in my memory forever. “That don't play in West Virginia.” I looked straight into
the TV screen and said, “Eat shit, Joe.”
Joe
decided we were a bunch of idiot hicks who would obviously choose the dumbass
buffoonery of George W. Bush over the brains of Al Gore. He was pompous and
arrogant and I was certain I knew the people of my home state better than some
cable news anchor/wannabe rock star. And later that evening when West Virginia
was called for George Bush, I lost my shit. I shouted to the TV, “What the
fuck, West Virginia? I spent all night defending you to Joe Scarborough and you
go and fuck me over like this.”
Looking
back, I now realize this is when the whole liberal elite bullshit started.
George Bush campaigned saying things like, "I know the human being and
fish can coexist peacefully." Republicans had to find a way to make this jackass
appealing to voters. In true evil genius fashion they devised a plan to make
voters believe Al Gore was condescending to them. They said things like, “You
notice how Al Gore calls a creek a creek instead of a crick? He's talking down
to you. George Bush would like to have a beer with you.” And people were all
like “Yeah, I'd rather have a beer with George Bush than pronounce words properly
with Al Gore.”
For
the record, I don't think anyone would enjoy having a beer with George Bush. He
strikes me as the kind of guy who gets way too drunk, way too fast. Then you
have to call his wife to pick him up. They leave. A half hour goes by and the
waiter comes over and asks you if the drunk guy left. You say yeah and the
waiter tells you he didn't pay his tab. So, you're like, whatever, I'll pay it.
You get the bill and it's three hundred dollars when he was literally only
there for an hour and a half. Because the jackass was drinking some fancy
imported beer like it was water.
Apparently, he's too good for Pabst Blue Ribbon, which still exists and
is only seventy-five cents a bottle. And you know this because you're from West
Virginia and you know a lot of broke alcoholics. Only we don't call them
alcoholics. They're people who “like to drink.” And now you have to put George
Bush's expensive beer on a credit card you just paid off.
To
this very day, the people who didn't fall for the George W. Bush Beer
Initiative are called the liberal elite. This is why I consider myself a part
of the liberal elite. Not because I'm elite, but because I'm not insecure. This
is really a self esteem issue. If you threw yourself in the basket with the
other deplorables, you're either a Klan member or you suffer from low self
confidence.
When
it comes to the self esteem of West Virginia, you people who only recognize
East Virginia aren't helping. Our current state motto is, “West Virginia –
Slightly Better Than Kentucky.”
Low
self esteem causes people to see enemies who don't exist. I went home for a
visit in 2012 and saw signs about “Obama's War on Coal” everywhere. I had no
idea such a war had been waged. Because it wasn't real. As my hair dresser
recently said to me, “Paranoia will destroy ya.” (She then asked me what
that was from and I said I didn't know. A Google search revealed it's a song by
The Kinks.) Obama had this crazy idea about saving the planet and reducing
carbon emissions. It's wasn't a war. He just didn't want the entire human race
to die.
Low
self esteem also causes people to hold conflicting beliefs. I don't personally
know anyone who denies global warming is real. This is counting friends who
vote republican. When I was in middle school we started an environmental club. We
even planted trees at the school and shit. My family and the families of
several of my classmates were dependent upon coal. But no one denied the hole
in the ozone layer was real. Our school actually taught us science and didn't
tell us stupid shit like, Jesus wants it to be warm on Christmas this year. (Three
years later, that school closed and now it's some public health place that
gives free birth control to teenage girls. It would be nice if one of you
little whores could take two minutes to water my fucking trees.)
Mountaintop
excavating takes jobs away from coal miners. The people in West Virginia
fucking hate what it's doing to their environment. It makes the mountains ugly.
It won't be long before people who drive through West Virginia on their
vacation will stop telling me it's beautiful. Obama is no longer president, and
I haven't checked his record on this, but I'm almost certain he was against
blowing up mountains.
I
must call bullshit on the miners I see on TV who claim to love mining. I know
you fucking don't. You love not being poor. There's nothing wrong with that. If
there was a better job with the same pay, you'd be out of the mine as fast as
you can say, “Fuck this shit.” Which is exactly what you'd be saying.
This
is what I know about coal mining and why I know you're full of shit:
1.)
Coal mining makes one extremely irritable and completely oblivious to the
discomfort of those around him. For instance, the miner may think it's
perfectly acceptable to tell a disgusting story about taking a shit in a coal
mine at the dinner table. And if anyone says they don't want to hear this story
while they're eating, he'll get all crabby and say he's paying for this food
and he'll talk about whatever he wants.
2.)
Taking a shit in a coal mine is an unpleasant misadventure.
3.)
It's causes all kinds of health problems. Aside from the obvious black lung, it
causes back problems. This is very inconvenient when your daughter needs you to
move furniture. It also causes hearing loss and you will probably refuse to get
hearing aids. And you keeping turning the volume up on the TV and no one ever
needs to hear Andy Griffith that loud. There's something really creepy about
it.
4.)
Coal dust can sometimes make it look as if a grown man is wearing eye liner.
5.)
The danger. It's on the list of the 20 Deadliest Jobs in America. It ranks way
higher on the list than police or fire fighters. It's literally safer to run
into a burning building than to go down in a coal mine.
Reporters,
please stop referring to coal mining as the only high paying jobs available for
non-college educated people in West Virginia. You know what high paying jobs
are available for college educated people in West Virginia? I don't either. I
already told you my home town doesn't even have a hospital. The town next to us
does, but if you go there for anything more serious than a broken arm, they're
going to throw your ass on a helicopter to Pittsburgh. I don't know if
helicopter pilot is a high paying job, but it doesn't require a college degree
either.
Not
much new industry ever comes to West Virginia. The land is extremely “bumpy.”
Corporations find building on mountains to be a huge pain in the ass. And
apparently, if you aren't from there, the Falling Rock signs can be unnerving.
For people who haven't driven through on their vacation, yes, there are a lot
of mountains in West Virginia. It's The Mountain State. It's surprises me how
often I have to explain this to people from neighboring states.
This
is why West Virginia is desperately clinging to coal mining, even though it's
been on the decline for forty years due to technology and mountaintop
excavation. And people make bad decisions when they're desperate. Decisions
like voting for Donald Trump, a man who calls himself “the blue collar
billionaire.” Coal miners should be giving him shit for that, not proclaiming
him their savior.
In
1990, Donald Trump gave an interview to Playboy where he told a fascinating
story about coal miners:
What satisfaction, exactly, do you get out of doing a deal?
I love the creative process. I do what I do out of pure enjoyment. Hopefully, nobody does it better. There’s a beauty to making a great deal. It’s my canvas. And I like painting it.
I love the creative process. I do what I do out of pure enjoyment. Hopefully, nobody does it better. There’s a beauty to making a great deal. It’s my canvas. And I like painting it.
I like the challenge and tell the story of the coal miner’s son. The
coal miner gets black-lung disease, his son gets it, then his son. If I had been
the son of a coal miner, I would have left the damn mines. But most people
don’t have the imagination — or whatever — to leave their mine. They don’t have
“it.”
Eat
shit, Donnie.
Namaste,
Bitches