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Culture. Culture culture culture. I am sick and tired of culture. I am sick and tired of the chumpass motherfuckers who are trying to preserve culture because they think it’s sacred or something and they worship it. Culture’s not sacred. It’s guk growing in a petrie dish. A set of behaviors upon the successful assimilation of which a given individual is ruthlessly judged by her prejudiced and parochial peers.
Why would anybody want to get involved with that? Keep your culture offa me, freak!
Check out this dipshit assistant minister of culture and heritage from Fiji, who has been bitten by the popular culture-worship bug, and who recently announced to her constituents that “human, women’s, children’s, and individual rights are eroding the indigenous national identity.” She wants women to “accept only what is in accordance with traditional culture and values, with particular stress on hairstyles and dress codes.”
As you know, I am the world’s foremost authority on the status of women in Fiji, so you can believe me when I say that if chumps in their own government are advocating pickling women in the good old pre-feminist brine so that they’ll conform to some kind of quaint “national identity” dictated by crowd-pleasin’ hair-dos, it can’t be good. In fact, it looks to me like they’re wanting to put the kibosh on women’s rights because they fuck with Fiji’s brand.
Culture, despite the hallucinations of those who yearn for a simpler, gentler time, isn’t static and cannot be sustained unchanged. People like Fiji’s assistant minister for culture and heritage who wish to mummify it for its own sake, presumably against the ravages of feminism or the homo agenda or the swarthy Muslims or global homogeneity, are suffering from nostalgia and delusion and xenophobia. We should look the other way when those quaint Saudi dudes stone their women to death. It’s their culture!
It’s tough toenails, but the day is almost upon us when culture will no longer be practiced by isolated pockets of diverse and colorful indigenous natives. I’d say good riddance, too, since culture is just another word for patriarchy. Sadly, what we’re getting instead is no great improvement over the quaint crap it replaces. Today’s culture is an homogeneous, pulsating gray fungus oozing out of TVs and internet porn sites and McDonaldses and Wal-Marts. It reeks of polyester and grease. And male honky domination. If it’s eaten away all the naive and picturesque social constructs that everyone loves to imagine are alive and well in other, less complicated parts of the world like Fiji, well, that’s too bad, but odds are those dear old traditions were oppressin’ somebody. So fuck’em.
Here are some other examples of culture-worship that really chap my hide.
— Christmas culture! Ay yi yi! It abominates! Red and green! The merriness mandate! Incessant sleigh bells echoing through the streets! Awful representations of quaint Victorian English ice skaters! That crummy grandma/reindeer song!
— And what’s with these honkys who adopt trendy Chinese babies and suddenly they have to be all about the kid’s “cultural heritage”? Whence cometh the bizarre and frankly racist notion that a Chinese baby is genetically hardwired to appreciate — nay, to require — exposure to a necessarily arbitrary and incomplete set of non-Western customs? Will it develop crippling personality disorders if it is not given enough moo goo gai pan?
— Or what about when you’re in a bar and you hear some dumb white American dude declaim in a Chicago accent, by way of revealing something deeply significant about himself, “well, you know, I’m one-sixteenth Cherokee.” What the fuck difference does that make? You’re still an asshole! Or, “well, you know I’m Irish.” Hello, dumb American dude! You’re not Irish! The closest you’ve ever gotten to Ireland is a box of Lucky Charms! And big whoop about Ireland anyway! You can get a Guinness in South Austin! The erstwhile geographical location of your remote ancestors is not a measure of your character!