family or individuals.

How often do you walk down the street you see some brother man packing his mouth with food, or breaking some building's window for the sake of breaking it, or simply just stare stare stare you down when you walk around the corner? Well, check this out, we think, you shouldn't do that... We, or I, think, you shouldn't do that. But here's the catch: I think, you do. Which goes to say that even though I see someone obese feasting off a banquet of rices, potatoes, and porks, I am still I, thinking that person should not be doing that, and there is that person, eating all those things, whom, if told by a stranger not to do a certain thing, would be totally offended by the suggestion, even if it were beneficial for his health.

There are those who write virtue, those who preserve virtue, and those who destroy virtue. Virtue dictates all's behavior, but most specifically, the behavior of the individual subscribing to the virtues. It is easy to call someone out on something until you realize you've also got your hand on the hammer and your finger on the nail, right there beside the brother you were just judging. And then right there, from the corner, someone else, another you, looks at you, disappointed, and cannot believe what horrible kind of person you must be in order to do such a thing. Of course the such a thing could be minor, but the essence of it all is that virtue cannot be expected from others, let them go to hell, but hope that by living your own virtues, they may learn something from you, and change.

No need to utter a single, evangelically oppressive word.

Hummer drivers

Image by the Nebes

Is it "Broo-shetta"? Nope. Try again.

(A condescendingly semi-educational rant)

I was beginning to like the place. The bread was decent; the soup a tasty treat; the ambiance survivable. Not bad, I said to myself. However, when it was finally time to order the main course for the evening, my heart sank with a plunk. All the main courses were listed under the word entrée. Nothing odd here, you might say. A common word in American menus, n’est-ce pas? Sure. Do we know what it means? Absolutely not.

Restaurant-wise, this French term means ‘starter’ or, more literally put, the ‘[meal of] entry’. Hence any ‘entrée’ with a price tag between $20 and $50 either contains some of Earth’s finest and rarest ingredients or merely contains your run-of-the-mill garden variety…planted, fertilized, grown, and cultivated on the Moon.

And to address the question, “How am I supposed to know what ‘awn-trey’ means – I only speak American!”, allow me to suggest that fluency in a Latin language should not be necessary. Let’s see (keeping in mind that the context is food): entrée…entry…entrance…doorway…the doorway into a meal. In case you lack the fabulous god-given gift of inquisitiveness and a library card, there’s always the Internet – look it up.

Regardless of whether your linguistic knowledge remains within the confines of the English language, I believe the real problem lies elsewhere. This type of hideous misusage not only stems directly from ignorance, but – more importantly – does so indirectly from a general apathy towards fighting widespread ignorance. We accept things without questioning. It’s the whole, “Let others think for me” attitude. I also sense a certain laziness when it comes to doing a bit of research into that which we’ve not a clue as to its meaning. Hey, I’ve fallen into that trap many a times.

Let us remember, of course, that marketing’s strategy of simplifying products through the “cunning” use of brands and labels is certainly not helping. As far as I’m concerned, the more gullible and ignorant the consumers, the easier it is to shove this deception down their throats (foie gras, anyone?).

For instance, let’s take the phrase “panini sandwich”. Heard or read of it before, vero? Just in case you’re one of those individuals that use this phrase, please allow me to clue you in on what you’re really saying. Ordering a panini sandwich is literally ordering a ‘sandwiches sandwich’. A panino is the Italian equivalent of a sandwich; panini is the plural of this equivalent. Ecco! – a linguistic abomination born from some perverse ménage a trois between ignorance, laziness, and marketing ploys.

And if you think the horrendous use of the word panino might chap some Italian’s ass, make sure you’re not in India when ordering ‘chai tea’…

Listen, the bottom line is this: Question. Research. Investigate. Use the Internet – never before has such an unfathomable amount of knowledge (and porn) been made available to us at our fingertips! If you decide to remain culturally complacent and intellectually lethargic, do me a favor and stop butchering all these foreign words. As a matter of fact, try applying for a passport and leave the confines of the American bubble once in a while.

Illustration: Choke, by Virgilio Nebel

The Ubiquitous Penis

Boy am I tired of seeing guys take a leak and leave without washing their hands. They’re leaving their penises all over the place – starting with the bathroom door-handle. Of course, the intensity of the penile smear decreases throughout the day. But who on earth urinates only once a day, restricted to the privacy of their own bathroom?

Ever seen this ridiculous sign: “Employees must wash hands.” Oh, I see: no food-industry penis in my plate! Perhaps. Yet it doesn’t matter if employees wash their hands; if customers are free to act like chimps when urinating, then the penis escapes containment and roams free once again! So what are restaurants really saying? ‘Care for some penis appetizer a la clientèle, sir?’ Bring it on.

Even within the confines my own apartment I try to keep penile spread to a minimum. It’s my private space, I know; I can make it into the grandest of shrines to the greatest of the scrotal gods if I wish so. I just could not bear the sight of my guests snatching up my penis like Velcro throughout the apartment.

Guys, is it too much to ask for? I know you – especially you circumcised males – might think your equipment is as sterile as a 10-inch thermometer (or whatever your ‘big-penis’ fantasy is), but wash your hands anyway. At least rinse them if you’re the type of person that possesses the oozing lethargy of an obese man seriously contemplating liposuction. Having your phallic ointment make indirect contact with countless strangers is simply a lack of common courtesy. At these heights, I bet even your poor grandparents have obliviously bathed with the balms of your crotch.

Fortunately, for you filthy wee-wee bandits, there’s an alternative to conventional hand-washing. I’ll call it the “Free-Willy” technique (look, no hands!). It requires some pelvic maneuvering, good aim, and a bit of luck – I say luck because although nature has granted men easy and convenient urinary manipulation (just ‘point and shoot’ in any general direction except backwards), we are never completely sure which spray setting our nozzle is on.[1]

The penis is everywhere! It’s on our hands, in our food, and perhaps even in the air. Religious zealots, beware: that’s concentrated evil on your hands, and its undermining your perverse attempts to one day establishing a sin-and-penis-free Earth. Hygiene-freaks, please stop because you’re pissing me off; there’s no escaping from germs – and you’re stupid for trying.

---

[1] Ladies, I know Mother Nature has not made peeing the, eh, prettiest bodily function for you: a dire need for toilet seats, lots of sprinkle and backsplash, soaked ankles out in the woods, that sort of thing. You’ll be glad to know that we males also experience similar trouble. Among several of the ‘bathroom backfires’ men must endure (and later clean up) we can find – what I call – the ‘leaky pipe’ (chaotic, multi-directional low-pressure spray), the ever-annoying ‘wayward drip’ (steady, controllable stream accompanied by fugitive vertical dripping, of which only ONE of the two can make it into the bowl), the ‘rebellious teenager’ (bursts out the doorway in the wrong direction, but with a little extra exertion and pressure can be forced back onto the right path), and the beautifully perplexing yet incredibly messy ‘golden fork’ (bifurcation of the stream; twin jets of uric fury showering everything at a 90° angle).

FOREWORD (for those who stumble upon this blog)

Dear Visitor,

I love human beings. I value human life over any of earth's material offerings. I value people's experiences, creativity, and diversity. More importantly, I try my best to follow the path of tolerance, compassion, love, and forgiveness.

But sometimes human beings piss me off - plain and simple. They have the ability to perform some of the stupidest, most obnoxious things on a daily basis. Like its members, "Society" also chaps my ass occasionally. I get frustrated. I can't help it. I apologize.

At The Vent I plan on turning that frustration into a good laugh, on blogging about the good and the bad, about positive reactions and negative ones; it'll be a place for me to show my appreciation for things in life or merely to blow off some steam (in a caustically cynical but humorous way). All in all, it'll be a space for me to archive my zany ideas and opinions on the world, culture, and everyday life.

To those who share similar experiences and find a kernel of truth in what I write, you're not alone. To those who see the humor behind my seemingly unforgiving criticism, enjoy. To those who are easily offended by it, lighten up.

Peace,

the Nebes