... the beautiful Timmy Tourette...
… the beautiful Timmy Tourette…

I like the word. I use it often, when applicable. I hear about it – from retards. Usually some people who take a high-than-thou position – whether in regards to God, food, lifestyle (what the fuck is that anyway – where someone notes how you’re living? Fuck off and mind your own business, or pay me).

Plus I enjoy the fact that somewhere, all the time, someone is being a ‘tard.

It doesn’t mean I am unaware of the more serious implications of anything. It does mean if I let someone else dictate my words they are dictating my experience as my perspective happens to be made up of not only what I process but how, and the words I use to describe this – which often alter in the telling.

Retrads are fun. Ooops, and they cain’t spel.
Retards are endlessly entertaining, unless you actually have to do something involving them. Otherwise, they are several packets of fun. All the things you aren’t supposed to do to retards are what make them fun. Telling them facts – hey, we have had several Presidents who have brought the country to ruin economically and internationally, they weren’t designated enemies but they helped – and watch them run out and decide to vote for the same kinds of people like that again.

Holy shit, Gomer. The facts got laid out for you and still you did it again. It’s like saying, ‘You vote for these people and you’re Biblical’ – you can hear the retards, Religious? I’se voting right now. Others like us will think ah you mean they’ll bring ruin and destruction through endless generations.
It makes you wonder why there isn’t a Saint Retard.
The Biblical view seems to be if God isn’t destroying you, killing all around you, He is actually teaching you a lesson. Which you can then pass onto other generations, saying he’s merciful. And all the time they’re looking at you, and the silent word is passing amongst them. Retard.

And what about the times you decide to go under cover as a retard? You know, it’s not that you aren’t clever enough to make money, you’re posing as an artist or poet – you’re infiltrating the bourgeoisie with their comfort and their houses, and their hampers of fun stashed everywhere.
Speaking of comfort, can we finally decide that all the people in the North, anywhere where it snows like a bitch every year, who could move south into sunshine, are in Retard Country? I mean, who says hey, let’s live here where in summer bugs and other little fuckers eat you piece-by-piece and in winter we get to dress up like a couch in a slum house, get colds and pass them on, and shovel white crap every day? Hmm, oh jes, I likes it.

Then there are special retards. Internet retards. They see women or men who are very good looking and say hey if I add them or lick (sorry, I mean click, the pony riding retard in me poked out for a moment) on their pictures, they will send for me, fuck my brains out, and give me money to go find more beauties. Oh jes, but why are those beauty retards on the internet? Are they trolling for gomers?

My special fave though has to be literary retards. You know, they write poetry with as much depth and lasting effervescence as a popsicle. They don’t bother with silly shit like reading and learning from all the great poets throughout history (who needs them old fucks like Shakespeare or Donne, or Catullus, etc – callus? What have toes to do with my poetry). They aren’t interested in wasting their time when they could be writing. Such dudication. Or they pick one poet, like Bukowski, or Ginsberg – and that alone is poetry. Not bothering to learn the facts that Ginsberg could recite pages of Blake by heart, and Bukowski was not skid row in his intellect.
They’re more interested in making literary history. And they do have accomplices. Poetry associations and societies. There have been so many pooetry retards that they have slipped the noose and become installed as experts that the so-called verse of retards writing poetry has attained some legitimacy. Which is why there are so many writing poetry who aren’t embarrassed. Or humiliated. Or ashamed.
Or taking their meds. They’re official! so fuck you.
The literary giants of today consist of one aggregation of idiots standing on each others’ shoulders making a fine tower of Babel, or tower of Shiterature once reserved for the tweed-stuffed academic bulimics.

Of course you live amongst them. It’s difficult for you not to have some of that porridge of corruption not stick to you. But you’re mom and dad worked hard, so don’t say anything to hurt their retard feelings.
Or the friends who bring this to you , and say hey this guy is funny, talking about retards. When they’re the retard.
Which is a central fact. Retards don’t know they’re retarded.

They think they’re pooliticians, teachers, cops. Even special envoys of fat people with big beards who give away toys once a year. Like government grants. Or passing grades for school retards. Who then make babies and in the process decide they are like everyone else, and deserving of respect because they are now parents. See? Retards.
What advantages do you think you bring to your little nimrod that will help them in this life? you might ask. And they will look at you in full-retard formality and think oh you know I luv them and I cherish them – except when they shit themselves then I wish there was a nimrod car-wash type of thing somewhere – and they can make their own choices, it’s America. Or Great Britain. Or Canada. We know every advantage.

If you aren’t fully retarded yourself you think, We’re doomed.

But there are many great things to occupy you here while other countries are forsaking sensitivity for brute strength training and how to kill, for real.

You can pass your time participating in culture. The observation that culture by-passed this yogurt strain of bacteria to emerge as a fascination for great big tits (store bought mostly), blonde women (fake usually), endless fuckery, men of muscles and some imagined huge appendage saddled up for riding, while morons made what they termed as music which was really just a series of grunts disguised to hide the fact they were only trying to take one big shit with a hidden melody (can you hum that? And some retards try while people around them point to the toilets nearby) – and the so-called pooets commented, and that’s society?
While business men trained slaves and said soon you will learn what we have, and then you’ll be making the money with your own slaves. But the devil’s in the details, buddy.

That’s retarded.


© Dean J. Baker

– from my forthcoming book

A series of excerpts from my current books. . More when someone actually buys a book: I’m prepared to be shocked. Retards don’t buy books! Pick yours now!

Here’s the link where you can buy my books, in ebook or print format.

So say something, already.. what? You're Helen Keller, you cabbage?

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