Ruminations on the Imperfectability of

Ruminations on the Imperfectability of the Human Person, or Why We Want To Smack That Bitch

In the past fortnight or so, however, one particular theme has particularly concerned us (other than redundancy, or course). This is, in a nutshell, the imperfectability of human beings. As is well known, our Communist comrades believe that man is perfectible, provided he lives under the proper system. And, apparently, by “proper system” they mean “bloodthirsty totalitarianism.”

Although our country’s tenured radicals have yet to catch on, there seems to be some proof that this notion isn’t quite right. The proof appears to be something called “the 20th century.”

But, dear reader, imagine you are an American high school student, and thus you don’t know anything about the history of the 20th century. Now imagine you have never heard of Communism. And imagine Che is just a colorful T-shirt design. (Whilst you are at it, imagine there’s no heaven, no hell below us, above us only sky.)

Regardless of the horrible John Lennon gag we just made, we still think that no reasonable person can believe in the perfectibility of humankind. Or, as our women’s studies pals would put it, huwomynkind. If you ask us, there are simply too many instances of human cruelty for a non-nincompoop to believe that homo sapiens is anything but a rather devious creature.

Our evidence? Why, here’s just one of innumerable stories we could tell that would hammer home our collective point.

The other day, one of the senior editors at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—found himself in the 15 Items or Less line at the local grocery store. Now, never mind the fact that said line should really be called 15 Items or Fewer: Your neighborhood Harris Teeter is no place for grammatical niggling.

As you might imagine, “Chip” desperately pined to purchase his two items, and get the heck out of Dodge. This isn’t because he was holding delicate items—he didn’t need toilet paper, and it wasn’t that time of the month. Even so, he wanted to leave posthaste.

Perhaps this was the result of the rancid Muzak that the grocery store persists in playing. As if old Billy Ocean songs weren’t calamitous enough, the demons behind Muzak must add vibraphone.

Anyway, ahead of us in this long line were a woman and her young son. Whilst the young one happily put his mouth on every inanimate object in sight, mommy placed her items on the mini conveyer-belt. And, by “Chip’s” humble count, she had 25 items. O, what a bitch!

The checkout girl—God love her—informed this nasty lady that she was clearly in the wrong line. Undaunted, the woman retorted: “Well, I’ve only got about 14 items here. Perhaps 13.” And the checkout girl gave her a pass.

Horror of horrors! Great Zeus! For crying out loud! Can you believe the nerve of this chucklehead? Obviously, she realized that she was inconveniencing others by getting into the wrong line, but couldn’t care less. To make matters worse, although “Chip” earnestly believes that someone should have called the Feds and had this woman deported, he did absolutely nothing. Yeah, he grumbled a bit, but he kept his stupid trap shut.

So, dear reader, what is the moral of this story? We suppose it could be stated one of two ways. Either: “Man is Utterly Imperfect,” or “We Need a Police State To Shoot Bitches Who Bring 25 Items into the Express Lane.” Take your pick.