Category: Essays

The Sweet Depravity of Twitterville


@otterhands: So what if all Muslims are different. What does that have to do with Mexican babies dying of bean related allergies?

@thatstuart: No one cares about your kids Halloween candy. Priorities, people! Do you know what the queers are doing to the soil?

I start with a shot of whiskey, a small bump of cocaine, and an innocuous comment. And then wait for everything to completely go off the rails…

@Burphole: Game of Thrones. Great show.

@dicknow: So, you’re ok with incest and rape, but you’re not ok with diseased slaves making clothes for Walmart? Disgusting!

Excellent. Oh, Twitterville. Your small town values are colliding with big city depravity. One pocket contains a crucifix, the other a heroin needle. I run my fingers along the cracks in the foundation, waiting. Until we’re tweeting from the rubble…

@mouthbreather: How can spoiled, rich athletes think they have the right to protest during a game?

@BurpHole: Well, our country was built on the backs of protestors. I’m sure the English were saying something similar to what you are saying as we dumped english breakfast into the harbor, grabbed our muskets, and told them to fuck off. You don’t sound very patriotic, you oppressor of free speech. Communist.

@noclitforyou: The Muslim religion isn’t about killing and terrorism.

@Burphole: I disagree. But it’s not just the Muslim religion. It’s all religions. I’m sure the Spanish Inquisition was spreading love right along with the spread of rape and murder. Religion is responsible for millions of deaths, dude. The Gods are laughing at us.

@cystkin: It’s just the kind thing to do to learn what people’s preferred pronouns are and use them.

@Burphole: Don’t hide behind kindness as a tool to force agendas. It’s not kind to get abusive because I disagree with you. Your mob mentality is embarrassing. PLUS, “elf” and “pixie” and “zod” are not genders no matter how bad you want them to be. And thinking you are a dung beetle trapped in a human body is just your mind swallowing you whole. Good bye. Good riddance.


I will regret all of this tomorrow. But the depravity is addictive here in Twitterville. I enjoy these piss stained streets. The five dollar hand jobs. The pageantry of a beat down behind the Papa Johns. The discarded needles. I didn’t come for some sort of social validation. I came for the double vision; the latex skirts; the dead bodies; the cock rings. I’ve got a pint of Jack, a loaded .44, and a dozen hits of nitrous. Let’s burn this mother fucker down…


This is a small book in print, Kindle, and audio version. You can help by picking up a copy. I’d appreciate it.

Here are some audio essays in album form. They are cheap and you probably already have an Amazon account. The smallest amount of effort in the least invasive way. Thanks!

If you prefer iTunes:

Here is the audiobook.

Here are the audio essays.

If you wish, you can stay in touch on Facebook and/or Twitter. 

Beyond that, thanks for paying attention at all.

Hipster Gandalf (aka Aaron Atadero)

A Corn Dog (The Pursuit of Happiness)

A Corn Dog (The Pursuit of Happiness)

If you would like to help with my coffee and muffin consumption, check out the “A Little Help?” post here. Thanks!

The pursuit of happiness is an odd journey. Pursuing any emotion is strange. Could you imagine saying, “Today, I’m going to pursue rage. I’m going to put on Hall & Oats’ greatest hits, put three heads of cabbage in an open, boiling pot, and project The Fred Movie trilogy onto my living room wall. Hopefully, I’ll reach a sensory meltdown where I’ll want to throw a small child through the window of a Chuck E. Cheese.”

Which is ridiculous. You don’t have to pursue emotions. The’ll just come over to your house. Usually unannounced and with an odd looking lady that sports a face tattoo with the name of “Sprinkles.” Which is unfortunate. I mean, how many times do you have to train something to not pee on the carpet?


JESUS: The real path to happiness is through charity and forgiveness.

ME: Really? That seems pretty convenient. It can’t be that simple.

JESUS: Of course it is. Look over here. This poor, helpless child is a victim of rape. And standing next to her is her rapist.

ME: Jesus! That’s a lot of blood. Oh, god.

JESUS: “Oh god” is right! But, witness this miracle: Rapist. What you have done here is despicable. But, I know you were influenced by the devil himself. Just know, I love you. And I forgive you. Go. Go with the grace of god.

RAPIST: Really? Thanks! Thanks, Jesus!!

ME: What the hell? Jesus, you can’t do that. That man has raped a young woman. He must be held responsible! Retribution, Jesus.

JESUS: Retribution, smetribution. Did you see how happy he was? I’m also happy. Happiness through forgiveness.

ME: Wow.

JESUS: And this tragic creature. We will give her charity and understanding… I understand you have been raped. Here is a few dollars for some new underwear. Oh, screw it. I’ll throw in some more for a fresh bar of soap. Go. Take a shower and cleanse yourself of this sin.

LADY: Fuck you, Jesus. You are a horrible man!

JESUS: You will learn to transcend this. Now go. Body of Christ and, umm, namaste.

ME: Everything about this is wrong.

JESUS: But look at my face. I’m smiling. I have just demonstrated happiness through charity.

ME: What a sociopath. Hey, why don’t you look at my face. That’s called rage. Not only am I going to kick your fucking ass, but I’m also going to fuck you in the ass.

JESUS: What? Wait a minute.

LADY: Yeah, fuck him up, dude! Fuck that punk mother fucker!

JESUS: No! Step back!

ME: And I’m not carrying any vaseline, bitch!

LADY: Hahaha! Look at my face, Jesus! That’s called happiness! This is going to be grrrreat!


If you value historical truths, then you must value this: Happiness doesn’t exist. Today’s concept of happiness is as fake as Santa Clause, an excellent DC Comics movie, or that black people can’t be racist.

BLACK WOMAN: What did you say, you cracker ass white boy? All white and privileged and white. I hate you, whitey!

ME: Well, technically, I’m only half white. So, could you downgrade your weapon to something more appropriate. Like, umm, a whip! Yeah. That seems right…


Anyway, the first concept of happiness was derived by the Greeks. They called it “Eudaimonia.” Which meant to flourish. Financially. Yes, the pursuit of happiness is a reference to flourishing financially. It’s not an emotion at all. At least, it wasn’t back then. Back then, it was just a way of saying, “Nice robe, Socrates. Is it imported?”

One day, while he was having an octopus and caper salad at the overpriced but well reviewed “Happiness Cafe,” Saint Francis of Assisi noticed that poor people were miserable looking. And it bothered him. Not because he was moved by the death and diseases that the discrepancies of wealth had created, but by how unattractive the facial expressions of death and disease are. How could anybody enjoy their overpriced octopus and caper salad on this lovely restaurant patio when, a mere twenty feet away, there were deplorable homeless people that looked so hopelessly cheerless? He had an idea. So, he stood up and walked over to where the homeless were gathered. Some of them were convulsing on the path from Ergotism, while others were fighting over a guitar. Because, let’s face it. Learning to play the guitar is a gateway to homelessness.

ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISI: Excuse me. Excuse me, everyone. Good people of Italy, can I please have your attention. Thank you. It is not right for the servant of God to show sadness and a dismal face. So, rejoice in the lord or I will take you out to where the little fishes feed, capiche? Now get the fuck outta here…


And so began the slow metamorphosis of the meaning of happiness. The pursuit of financially flourishing became a pursuit of joy, serenity, optimism, love, acceptance and trust. Which is a silly pursuit. Emotions are fleeting at best. Experiencing emotions is like riding a roller coaster. You stand in line for two hours feeling slightly annoyed, (which is the baseline of all humans,) and then you are emotionally tossed around for a couple of minutes. Which ride will it be? The Joy Jostler? The Rage Ringer? The Galloper of Grief? You won’t know until you’re strapped in. You don’t pursue these things, they come for you and you simply white knuckle the bar. You hold on and take the ride. And when the ride comes to a jolting stop, you think, “Whoa. That was crazy! Insane! My legs are all wobbly.” Then you teeter out and you get back in line.

Or go pursue a corn dog. Which, oddly, is like riding a mini roller coaster. I mean, how can consuming something so trivial illicit emotions that range from complete ecstasy to horrible regret. Which is similar to dating a Latin Woman. Hmm. I vote corn dog…


Like On Me. Like On My Face.

Like On Me. Like On My Face. “Don’t jump to conclusions. You need to, first, ask questions.” But, that’s no fun. I’m not a murder detective. Or am I? *** “There’s half of an uneaten burrito about six inches up the victims rectum” “So, I guess our victim is a gay Mexican?” “Don’t be homophobic, Anderson. All Mexicans are drawn…