Everyone Thinks Everyone Is Blind


It is often said there only two kinds of people in this world: those who know, and those who don’t. I would expand on this and say that there are actually three kinds of people: those who know, those who don’t know, and those who don’t care to know. Members of the last group are the kind of people that generally would be characterized as “sheeple” in our society.

Sheeple are members of our society who are not necessarily oblivious to the reality of their surroundings; they may have been exposed to valuable truths on numerous occasions. However, when confronted with facts contrary to their conditioned viewpoint, they become aggressive and antagonistic in their behavior, seeking to dismiss and attack the truth by attacking the messenger and denying reason. Sheeple exist on both sides of America’s false political paradigm, and they exist in all social “classes”.  In fact, the “professional class” and the hierarchy of academia are rampant breeding grounds for sheeple; sometimes referred to as “intellectual idiots”.  Doctors and lawyers, scientists and politicians are all just as prone to the sheeple plague as anyone else; the only difference is that they have a bureaucratic apparatus behind them which gives them a false sense of importance.  All they have to do is tow the establishment line, and promote the establishment view, and aid in the herding of other American sheeple.

Of course the common argument made by sheeple is that EVERYONE thinks everyone else is blind to the truth, which in their minds, somehow vindicates their behavior.  However, the characteristic that absolutely defines a sheeple is not necessarily a lack of knowledge, but an unwillingness to consider or embrace obvious logic or truth or common sense in order to protect their egos and biases from harm. A sheeple’s mindset is driven by self centered motives.

So-called mainstream media outlets go out of their way to reinforce this aggressive mindset by establishing the illusion that sheeple are the “majority” and that the majority perception (which has been constructed by the mainstream media) is  the only correct perception.

The goal is to give sheeple comfort that they are “normal” and that anyone who steps outside the bounds of the mainstream is “abnormal” and a welcome target for the collective to openly attack.

It would appear that the life of a sheeple is a life of relative bliss. The whole of the establishment machine seems engineered to make them happy and the rest of us miserable. But is a sheeple’s existence the ideal? Are they actually happy in their ignorance? Are they truly safe within the confines of the system? Here are just a few reasons why you should feel sorry for them.

Sheeple Are Nothing Without The Collective

A sheeple gathers his entire identity from the group. He acts the way he believes the group wants him to act. He thinks the way he believes the group wants him to think.  All of his “ideas” are notions pre-approved by the mainstream.  All of his arguments and talking points are positions he heard from the media, or academia, and he has never formed an original opinion in his life.  Without the group telling him what to do, the average sheeple is lost and disoriented.  When cast into a crisis situation requiring individual initiative, he panics or becomes  apathetic, waiting for the system to come and save him rather than taking care of himself.  Sheeple are so dependent on others for every aspect of their personality and their survival that when faced with disaster, they are the most likely people to curl up and die.

Sheeple Crave Constant Approval From Others

Sheeple are not only reliant on the collective for their identity and  their survival; they also need a steady supplement of approval from others in order to function day to day.  When a sheeple leaves his home, he is worried about how his appearance is perceived, how his attitude is perceived, how his lifestyle is perceived and how his opinions are perceived.  Everything he does from the moment his day begins revolves around ensuring that the collective approves of him. Even his acts of  “rebellion” are often merely approved forms of superficial  “individualism” reliant on style rather than substance.  This approval becomes a kind of emotional drug to which the sheeple is addicted.  He will never make waves among the herd or stand out against any aspect of  the herd worldview, because their approval sustains and cements his very existence.  To take collective approval away from him would be like cutting off a heroin junky’s supplier.  To be shunned by the group would destroy him psychologically.

Sheeple Are Incapable Of Original Creativity

Because sheeple spend most of their waking moments trying to appease the collective, they rarely, if ever, have the energy or inclination to create something of their own.  Sheeple do not make astonishing works of art.  They do not achieve scientific discovery.  They do not make history through philosophical or ideological innovation.  Instead, they regurgitate the words of others and hijack ideas from greater minds.  They remain constant spectators in life, watching change from the bleachers, caught in the tides of time and tossed about like congealed satellites of Pacific Ocean garbage from the after-wash of Fukushima.  The destiny of the common sheeple is entirely determined by the outcome of wars and restorations waged by small groups of aware individuals — some of them good, some of them evil.

Sheeple Have No Passion

If you draw all of your beliefs from what the collective deems acceptable, then it is difficult, if not impossible, to become legitimately passionate about them.  Sheeple have little to no personal connection to their ideals or principles; so they become mutable, empty and uninspired.  They tend to turn toward cynicism as a way to compensate, making fun of everything, especially those who ARE  passionate about something.  The only ideal that they will fight for is the collective itself, because who they are is so intertwined with the survival of the system. To threaten the concept of the collective is to threaten the sheeple’s existence by extension.

Sheeple Are Useless

The average sheeple does not learn how to be self-reliant because it is considered “abnormal” by the mainstream to be self-reliant. The collective and the state are the provider. They are mother and father.  Sheeple have full faith that the system will protect them from any and all harm.  When violence erupts, they cower and hide instead of defending themselves and others.  When large-scale catastrophe strikes, they either sit idle waiting for the state to save them or they join yet another irrational mob.  They do not take proactive measures, because  they never felt the need to learn how.

Consider this: Why do the mainstream and the people subject to it care if others prepare for disaster or end their dependency on the establishment?  Why are they so desperate to attack those of us who find our own path?  If the system is so effective and the collective so correct in its methodology, then individualists are hurting only themselves by walking away, right?  But for the sheeple, successfully self-reliant individuals become a constant reminder of their own inadequacies.  They feel that if they cannot survive without the system, NO ONE  can survive without the system; and they will make sure that individualists never prove otherwise. “You didn’t build that” becomes the sheeple motto, as they scratch and scrape like spoiled children, trying to dismantle the momentum of independent movements and ventures in non-participation.

Sheeple Are Easily Forgotten

To live a life of endless acceptance is to live a life of meaningless obscurity.  When one arrives at his deathbed, does he want to reflect on all of his regrets or all of his accomplishments? Most of us would rather find joy than sadness when looking back over our past.  For sheeple, though, this will not be possible — for what have they ever done besides conform?  What will they have left behind except a world worse off than when they were born?  What will they have accomplished, but more pain and struggle for future generations?  In the end, what have  their lives really been worth?

I cannot imagine a torture more vicious and terrifying than to realize in the face of one’s final days that one wasted his entire life trying to please the plethora of idiots around him, instead of educating them and himself and molding tomorrow for the better.  I cannot imagine a punishment more severe than to spend the majority of one’s years as a slave without even knowing it.  I cannot imagine an existence more deserving of pity and remorse than that of the sheeple.

Do Yourself And The World Giant Favor


Just pull your fucking pants up so we don’t have to see your ass.. I’m not talking about those of you who just need a belt, I am talking to those of you who can’t seem to get your pants pulled up past your knees. Yes, you, I am talking to you. Normally I find seeing some dumb fucktard with his pants around his knees very humorous, I might even giggle out loud where I can be heard, but nonetheless I find humor in your failure to wear your clothes in a proper manner while in public. Bit who am I, I am not the fashion police, I just have a little common sense when dressing myself and try very hard not to let the family jewels swing out in public. Why? Because I give a shit about what I look like when I walk out my front door, even if I am going to Walmart. Well, Scorp,what are you trying to get across here? My point is that nobody, and I mean nobody, wants to see your pants down at your knees, ever. A simple, yet often overlooked, point in our society. I don’t know how it is where you live but it is a common sight to see in the youth and young adults around here. What brings all of this up?  Hold your pants up people I am getting to that right now.

Earlier today I was visiting a local flea market to kill some time and to see if I could buy something that could raise an eyebrow on my wife’s face. I don’t always get things that impress her if you must know, so now we have this little inside joke about it when I go out alone. As I meandered around the market I saw the good, the bad, and the ugly, sometimes all rolled up in one thing. Not much really tickled my tail feathers so I moved about in a quicker fashion than normal, I wasn’t hunting, I was fishing, but without a real and direct purpose. Then, out of the corner of my squintly little eye I see this jackass giving a shop owner some grief. Allot of yelling and cussing on his part as he tried to make his point. But let’s back up a bit, let’s give you a chance to see what I was seeing. The shop sold leather goods of all sorts, western style furniture, and some western style antiques. The shop owner, looking 50ish, appears to be of Korean descent but I could be wrong because everything I heard heard her say out loud was in English with no real discernible accent. The man, late teens to early twenties, was white, and dressed like an early eighties gang banger flaunting his “colors” everywhere possible. Crisp white wife beater tank top, dark color boxer shorts, and nylon jogging pants with the waistband straddling his knees. When I say he was white, I mean dayglow vampire he never sees daylight white. He hurt my sensitive eyes when I looked at him and there was a glare, like that glare that comes when the sun hits the windshield of my truck in late afternoon, yes, he was that white. After I got nosey and started listening in I was struck to find out that she was refusing to let him come inside unless he pulled his pants up. He demanded it is a free country he lives in and he has the right to come and go as he pleases without being harassed by some old bitch selling country shit nobody buys. The question in my head was wanting to ask then why do you want to go in. Why? Form this very reason, to be able to make a scene or his need to be seen being the scene, whichever.

Normally I would keep my big fat mouth closed and laugh at this ass clown on the inside. However, my fucktard detector was pegging out and I really wanted to go into that little shop. So I approached, I spoke very clearly when I told him “excuse me, I would like to get by you so I may go in the store”. His return reply was ” hey cracker, go fuck yourself somewhere else ’cause I’m about to lite this bitch right here on flames”. Ummmmm? So I became a wee bit more aggressive and explained (while showing him my very impressive .50 cal Desert Eagle twins) that him leaving would be the best choice he had made all day. I think I scared him, because I looked down below the thugs fleets and saw he was standing in a puddle that wasn’t there moments ago. I cannot confirm or deny where the puddle came from but it wasn’t raining and nothing was spilled. A few other like minded people stepped up, grabbed him rather roughly, and helped him on his way expeditiously. Man, I love it when bikers jump into a fight! Bikers don’t fuck around when there are ass whippings to have. Unless, they are like doctor or lawyer weekend lawyers, then they are worried about their nails and their own fashion. Pussies. Wannabes. Anyway, it ended with out incident. OK, the punk kid was right, she was selling overpriced reproductions and knock offs that really was cheap shit, even by my standards.

The moral of the story boys and girls is to just pull your fucking pants up so the waistband is around your fucking waist. Its not rocket science,I am not asking you to provide me with tangible evidence that sasquach exists, I don’t need to know how the whole jackalope thing got started, just pull up your fucking pants. It isfor your safety and for ours. So, suck it up princess, bend over and pull up your pants. On a serious note, no thugs were hurt in my immediate vicinity that was visible to me. By the way, some woman was stupid enough to stick her finger in the puddle and return a sample to her nose, her expert opinion was that it was piss. Bonus. And for the rest of y’all, never stick your finger in an unknown puddle to smell or taste. Ewww, its just not smart in any way, at all, and really disgusting as well. So, did I buy anything? Yes, a full on ice cream in one of them there sugary waffle cones. It was vanilla, no topping, no frills, and no sprinkles. And the dicey cold sugary greatness was divine. First full flavor with sugar ice cream I have had in 2 years and it was fucking outstanding Private Pyle!