The Douchebag Bible (68 page)

and in horrible pain.

• That it’s up to them whether or not you can

have an abortion.

These are just a few obvious examples of the ways in

which the government has declared that you are

their property, not the property of yourself.

I believe that we are the owners of ourselves.

We have inherent domain over our own bodies, and

can therefore utilize our bodies in any manner we

see fit, so long as we don’t bodily harm another

human being against their wishes. Therefore, I think

that we should be completely allowed to amuse

ourselves with whatever drugs we wish. Drugs affect

the mind. They affect perception. To ban drugs is to

ban certain ways of thinking and perceiving, which

is quite Orwellian. I think that we should have sex

when we want to, wear what we please, do as we see

fit. It's as Aleister Crowley wrote, “Do what thou wilt

shall be the whole of the law.”

That's my moral code.

Actually, I dislike the concept of “moral.” I

prefer to think in terms of ethics. The difference (to

me—and these are my personal definitions) is that a

moral means a unit of behavioral control and ethic

is an emotional or intellectual guideline to

interpreting the values of different actions with a

given situation.

Many people fear this way of thinking, seeing

it as a slippery slope to wickedness. And it's true that

If my sole ethical precept were, “My pleasure, above

all else!” then they would have a point.

But I recognize that “the right to swing my fist

ends where the other man’s nose begins.” In other

words, I don’t think it can be my right to infringe

upon the rights of another person. If I had the right

to infringe upon them, then they would have the

right to infringe upon me—and the whole concept of

rights would break down.

I believe that human beings should seek out

happiness, as long as their happiness doesn’t

directly harm others who do not wish to be harmed.

This is actually the philosophy of many people,

I think. It’s hardly unique to me. Nor is it difficult to

understand. Yet, it seems prone to encouraging

intentional misinterpretation on the part of it's

detractors—those who favor more rigid moral codes.

That said, I think human beings need order to

thrive and that some people have difficulty coming

to grips with that aspect of humanity. Anarchists of

all stripes tote that, without central control, human

beings would be saintly angels who would hold

hands in brotherhood in a government-free utopia.

If anarchy is the best form of (the lack of)

governance than is the best form of parenting to

simply abandon your children in a dumpster so that

they may fend for themselves? Is the best form of

coaching a football team to allow the players to do

whatever they wish with no overarching strategy to

guide their actions?

No one truly believes that anarchy is a good

idea. Anarchy is an emotionally satisfying solution

to the problems inherent with authority. Their are

more intellectual solutions that are both more

effectual and more elegant—though less appealing!

I wasn't always content to separate myself from my

species. There was a time, not long ago, when I felt

more apprehensive about life in general, as the

following blog post from a few years ago bears out:

Most people have some sense of confidence when it

comes to their day to day lives. Don’t get me wrong:

they’ve got insecurities and all that, but when it

comes to the daily grind they have some sense of

purpose, some sense of direction. I lack that entirely.

I can’t deal with people. I can’t handle social

situations any more complicated than ordering

food at a restaurant.

On the other hand, most people, when faced

with a flight or fight situation, will run. People are

cowards. I am not a coward. I will fight. Even if I

know I will lose, I want to fight. I want to see if I

can cheat defeat; defy odds, that jazz.

I know the reality is that I’m not strong for

fighting. A strong man would know when to run. A

strong man would also know when to stop fighting

himself. But I am not strong. I feel at times like I am

the epitome and apotheosis of all neurotic human

weakness. And in my weakness, I am petty. And in

my pettiness, I am a fighter. Not for a noble cause.

Not even for self-preservation.

I fight because I have a narcissistic hatred of

life and of myself. Every argument, large or small;

every major criticism, every minor nitpick, every

complaint, every grumpy frown or snide remark—

it’s all part of some mean-spirited vendetta I have

against the world because I am personally

unhappy and at odds with myself.

But I don’t let myself feel that most days. Most