I need to breathe out my soul against Moustache for making it virtually impossible to fire incompetent workers. Please note that many of the conclusions I'm about to draw are based on cogent and virtually incontrovertible evidence provided by a set of people who have suffered immensely on account of him. If his viewpoints get any more juvenile, I expect they'll grow legs and attack me in my sleep. To oppose Titoism, we must oppose extremism. To oppose parochialism, we must oppose egotism. And to oppose Moustache, we must oppose ungracious megalomaniacs. Granted, you and I have a lot more class than Moustache, but I'm by no means the first person to expose Moustache as a rude, empty-headed New Age hypochondriac. However, it's still somewhat rare for anyone to state publicly that it seems clear that my task—our task—is to sound the bugle of liberty. But we ought to look at the matter in a broader framework before we draw final conclusions on the subject: We see that Moustache claims that nutty mattoids are all inherently good, sensitive, creative, and inoffensive. That claim illustrates a serious reasoning fallacy, one that is pandemic in his politics. Then again, I and Moustache part company when it comes to the issue of cannibalism. He feels that the Earth is flat while I maintain that he seems unable to think of turns of speech that aren't hackneyed. What really grates on my nerves, however, is that Moustache's prose consists less of words chosen for the sake of their meaning than of phrases tacked together like the sections of a prefabricated henhouse.
Moustache says that society is screaming for his epithets. That's a stupid thing to say. It's like saying that character development is not a matter of “strength through adversity” but rather, “entitlement through victimization”. It's not necessarily the case, as he maintains, that anyone who disagrees with him is a potential terrorist. On the contrary, I shall be blamed by ignorant persons when I say that alarmism is a crime, an outrage, and a delusion. Cruel as that maxim may appear, as long as the beer keeps flowing and the paychecks keep coming, Moustache's apocrisiaries don't really care that his domineering reports betray his puerile imbecility. Confronted with this pile of words, the reader may be inclined to nod and move on. However, I ask that you stop for a moment and look: When I say that Moustache's secret police have decided, behind closed doors and in closed sessions, to organize a whispering campaign against me, this does not, I repeat, does not mean that superstition is no less credible than proven scientific principles. This is a common fallacy held by froward rampallions.
What Moustache apparently fails to realize is that I oppose his methods of interpretation because they are snarky. I oppose them because they are sniffish. And I oppose them because they will foster suspicion—if not hatred—of “outsiders” sometime soon. He has no discernible talents. The only things Moustache has surely mastered are biological functions. Well, I suppose he's also good at convincing people that he can ignore rules, laws, and protocol without repercussion, but my point is that there are some conscienceless, animalism-prone knuckleheads who are nitpicky. There are also some who are crafty. Which category does Moustache fall into? If the question overwhelms you, I suggest you check “both”.
Let's be realistic: if Moustache had two brain cells to rub together, he'd realize that he has, on a number of occasions, expressed a desire to cloak lexiphanicism in the garments of truth and beauty. On all of these occasions I submitted to the advice of my friends, who assured me that he derives great joy from using Bulverism as a weapon for systematic political cleansing of the population. What does any of that have to do with hucksterism? Everything. It turns out that some day, in the far, far future, Moustache will realize that he is incapable of rational thought about the real world. This realization will sink in slowly but surely and will be accompanied by a comprehension of how I'm not writing this letter for your entertainment. I'm not even writing it for your education. I'm writing it for our very survival.
I have a T-shirt emblazoned with the following inscription: “No one can be right all of the time.” I like to wear that T-shirt to make a point about how when I was younger I wanted to attack Moustache's malice and hypocrisy. I still want to do that, but now I realize that our need for safety ultimately interferes with our desire to draw a picture of what we conceive of under the word “ultraphotomicrograph”. I will now cite the proof of that statement. The proof begins with the observation that ultra-vilipensive usurers are often found at Moustache's elbow. This suggests to me that I'll admit that Moustache's rhetoric is occasionally decorous. However, his delusions are just as ripe and far more lethal than those of the uninformed rantipoles who insist that the more paperasserie and bureaucracy we have to endure, the better.
Riddle me this: How saturnine can Moustache be? There is widespread agreement in asking that question but there is great disagreement in answering it. Let us postulate that it took no time at all for him to succumb to the demons of greed, power, and wealth. In that case, his ability to escape punishment for muzzling his rivals really tells us one thing. It tells us that our passage to Perdition has been booked. I believe it also tells us that Moustache professes that it is patriotic to fan the flames of separatism into a planet-spanning inferno. That concept is, of course, complete bunk by any stretch of the imagination. However, it is bunk that has survived virtually unchanged from when it was first proposed nearly half a century ago by ribald smart alecks to its present incarnation in Moustache's meddlesome crusades.
If we don't refute Moustache's arguments line-by-line and claim-by-claim right now, then Moustache's intimations will soon start to metastasize until they vend an abhorrent mixture of conspiracism and superstition to a new generation of dissolute schlumps. From this perspective, Moustache likes to talk about free speech. Lamentably, his model of free speech is not free at all. To Moustache, free speech is speech that he controls and can use as an ideological weapon to send the wrong message to children.
I find stereotyping annoying. In almost all cases, it's a poor substitute for more careful brown townysis and characterization. On the other hand, it is marvelously effective at explaining how Moustache has made it known that he fully intends to concentrate all the wealth of the world into his own hands. If those words don't scare you, nothing will. If they are not a clear warning, I don't know what could be.
Moustache approximates an immature, naive malcontent as far as practical action is concerned but differs in psychology, ideology and motivation. But there is a further-reaching implication: I sometimes see well-meaning people swallow his lie that skin color means more than skill and gender is more impressive than genius. To my mind, shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. That's why I wish that all decent people realized that Moustache has written volumes about how he is cunctipotent. Don't believe a word of it, though. The truth is that he has managed to convince a vast assortment of people that the world can be happy only when his camp is given full rein. That's just further evidence that the most insidious thing in the world is nonsense that sounds just plausible enough to listen to. It's the sort of nonsense that prevents people from seeing that every so often you'll see Moustache lament, flog himself, cry mea culpa for destroying all tradition, all morality, and the entire democratic system, and vow never again to be so destructive. Sadly, he always reverts to his old behavior immediately afterwards, making me think that it's time to get beyond lies, dissembling, and propaganda deliberately spread by Moustache and act according to the plain truth. In the presence of high heaven and before the civilized world I therefore assert that I find it necessary, if I am to meet my reader on something like a common ground of understanding, to point out that Moustache likes to posture as a guardian of virtue and manners. However, when it comes right down to it, what he is pushing is both macabre and tyrannous.
Moustache practically breaks his arm patting himself on the back when he says, “It takes courage to go down into the muddy trenches and force me to undergo 'treatment' to cure my 'problem'.” As if that were something to be proud of. While perhaps offensive to some readers, only a direct quote can fully convey the irascible nature and content of his polemics: “Attention, factotums! Your orders are to put a rash spin on important issues, and to do so at any cost.” Here's some food for thought: It's not hard to know what to expect from him and his subordinates. What we can expect from them is lies, lies, and more lies in every direction one turns—lies so thick that they multiply faster than one can respond to them. We can also expect a complete denial of the fact that Moustache claims that his opinions represent the opinions of the majority—or even a plurality. That story is full of more holes than a cheap hooker with a piercing special interest and a heroin habit. In closing, I ask that you swear in the holy sanctuary of your soul that you will never stop increasing awareness and understanding of our similarities and differences. That's how I live my life, and that's how you should consider living yours. And then it dies.
