The Hasty Pudding Society,

Of which you've most likely never heardⁱ, was originally the following thing : a fifteen year old (boy) with a taste for hasty puddingⁱⁱ got together twenty-one of his peersⁱⁱⁱ (in a loose sense, I'm sure most were older) in some room then within their power to occasionally squat ; and it was there agreed that each week thence, two of their number (by alphabetical order) will provide a pot of the stuff, for the society to enjoy. That'd be it.

The year was 1795, but really, exactly nothing's changed. What can ever change ?

I've seen over the years many, numerous women with successful litters. They all had in common one fundamental thing, epitomized to a superlative ideal by the she-goddess aforementioned :

So she had a kid in junior high. Big deal. She's going to have more, or not, she loves them very much, sure, maybe they die, big fucking deal -- she'll forget all about it in a week. Maybe they survive, all the better, maybe they're inventors or writers or plumbers or NASCAR drivers. Maybe they go to jail, maybe they sling dope, maybe they program computers, maybe they get knocked up aged 14. Or 12, or 2. Makes as much difference to her as your tie color to you. It's all the same really - just as long as they don't get too much in her way, whatever she happens to be doing the current five minutes. And if they do she'll aggro on them and then forget all about it in another five minutes.

It's not at all difficult for the trained if unpracticing pediatric psyschiatrist to distinguish healthy from afflicted babes. It's also not difficult to make predictions, on a short to medium term (that's by force of circumstance about as lengthy as the time interval they so far spent on earth). Children are truly very simple things, the difficulties come from within, they're the fabled mountains of whimseys, heaped in one's own brain.

Why the fuck is it that the only women with successful litters seem to be the ones that utterly, from the root, thoroughly and entirely do not care, do not give shit one about their babies as persons ? Why should it be that the only known way to produce human beings is by treating the early worms as things (which they definitely are) rather than persons (which they self-obviously are not)^iv ?

I've known more successful businessmen than you, I'm pretty sure. And whores and happy women and slaves and whatever else if it comes to it, sure, but none of that's the point.

I've also known heaploads upon boatfulls of smart people, intelligent people, intellectuals, mindfuls, life-of-the-mind-ers, however the fuck you call it. Not as many as you, I'll readily concede, but do grant me this much : enough.

You know these are almost never the same ?

I've also met numerous "answers" (in the shape of the one self-same perpetual answer in ever novel hats and bandanas, sure) to this question. Luck, you know, society, even the celebrated "pentru ca esti o vita spastica si te uraste soarta" longhand form of the same damned thing.

Are you perhaps beginning to see a pattern here ?

I don't know how familiar you are with the history of the "Southern States" (eventually, "the Confederacy") -- though if you're speaking this language natively I expect you're anti-familiar, you're about as familiar with it as forum date experts are acquainted with "women". Nevertheless, before becoming the Congregation of the Shockingly Stupid, they were the remnant of the original Republic^v. What is it, then, about being in the right that also makes people fucking dumb ? I do not mean a little maybe touched in the head ; I mean out and out broken to the degree breathing's a wonder (and like all wonders -- soon discontinued).

As you can see, a lot of questions ma framinta these days. I don't expect any answers to be forthcoming, either. Just... well, here they are.

1. I know because "Leather and Lace", but let's leave the matter be, it's... well, really, it's not for you -- and what the fuck was this 1996 anyways. Hubba hubba ? [↩]
2. A dish very much like what I recently had, I suppose. Hasty pudding is maize (indian corn) boiled in a little water, like say gruel/grits or mamaliga/polenta, but of a different cereal. The item depicted on my table was flat-fried, like a pancake ; the item traditionally eaten in the Northern colonies was usually pot-boiled -- but I suppose this incident of manipulation aside the substance's the closest you can conceivably get. [↩]
3. This, incidentally, is a measuring standard of boyish quality. The boy who's not (naturally -- as opposed to exam-takingly ; and of his own power) gathered a group of boys in excess of his age needn't really be continued past 16 years or so, can readily be sent back to the fermenters (or, as the Romanian expression goes, "du-te-n pizda ma-tii"). [↩]
4. I'd expect it's obvious enough that all persons are things even if not all things are persons. [↩]
5. Consider, what were the Kentucky and Virginia Resolutions ? When fighting the socialist wing that had taken the colonies into statehood (yes, there's a fucking reason I adnotated Hamilton, the chief force of that wing ; that reason is precisely tac-tac-tac) why did Jefferson run to South Carolina ?

   Consider, what'd have come of Washington's shivering and starving barefoot horde at Valleyforge, if not for Hamilton's (apparently sufficiently credible) "we're a socialism, just like the rest of you, let us in" argument abroad ? What do you think won that war ? And why ? [↩]