GIVE TIL IT HURTS

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Bitter, hate-filled, and miserable

Insight into the thinking of a modern city-dweller. It all started with Educated Hillbilly’s response to a hateful Tweet from someone calling herself Molly McGhee.


And from there, EH is off and running.

I’ve seen enough to get a fix on this gal and I’ve seen her type a million times. And they’re a dime a dozen in the writing world. They almost always go into the arts…never the sciences. Because your intelligence can be measured in the sciences. Writing is subjective.

Molly here grew up poor, TN I believe she said, but she mentions “poor” & “the south” about a million times. She’s making a point here. That she has the authority to speak on these topics & tell the liberal NY writing society that they’re correct to hate rural white poors.

She absolutely hates her parents, hates having to grow up in & around all that poor, all that filth, all their ignorance. Imagine knowing you’re better than everyone else & having to share a school bus with them. A lunch table. A class room. The rage builds for 18 years.

Make no mistake I would bet Molly here has a mildly above average IQ & was probably in a[n] underfunded school system. Most rural schools get the left overs after the cities take all the money.

I would also bet my IQ is much much higher & my aptitude testing probably blows hers out of the water. But I digress…She knows better than this filth. She knows she’s destined for better things than her ignorant father.

And slamming her father & where she’s from is her ticket into the world she so desperately wants to be a part of. The world she looks at from behind the glass for so so long. She wants to be accepted, to be one of them, to be on the other side of the glass looking out not in.

Make no mistake, she hates her parents & where she grew up. But she can use them now that she’s free. Away from home, in college, with that scholarship she worked so hard for to escape that hell hole. She’s among her people now. Free of the unwashed.

It probably started organically, a comment here a slam there & next thing she knows the cool kids from NY old money families are hanging on her every word of hate for her home & father. She’s telling them everything they’ve always believed & they cant get enough.

She enthralls them with tails of her ignorant father. With every telling he gets slower, more racist. His house becomes a broken down mobile home, then a shack. He’s probably drooling by her senior year.

Every negative feeling & thought she’s ever had about where she’s from gets her praise from her peers. She’s made it, she’s arrived. She’s accepted. She’s one of them…

But what happed you ask? Why is she so angry & full of rage & hate now? She got what she wanted? She made it, she’s in NY. A professor. Around her kind all day. A published author. How can someone get their wish at 28 & still be so bitter, hate filled & angry?

She’s 28, deeply in debt & unhappy. Life wasn’t supposed to be this way. She did the thing. She followed the playbook. She made it. She arrived. Is this really it?

Yes Molly…it is.

There are 2 big age moments in your life.

  1. When you realize you’re no longer a kid & your “youth” is in the past. (28-32)
  2. And when you realize you’re old & there is more life behind you than in front of you. (45-55)

Obviously the ages vary on the person, but she’s hit #1.

There’s more yet, and it’s perceptive, thoughtful, and entirely damning. Note that at no point does EH lapse into the kind of vituperation, insult, and frothy-mouthed personal invective that is the stock in trade of McGhee and her tiresome ilk. At the end, EH even offers her some quite worthwhile advice, although we all know perfectly well that the irremediably dysfunctional bint will never so much as even consider lowering herself to pay heed to his wise words.

Thus does she seal her unhappy fate as a lonely, fearful woman aging ever more swiftly beyond her sell-buy date, trapped in a cramped, poorly-maintained apartment, with only the thirty or forty cats living there with her for comfort and companionship.

It all rings true to me, I must say. During my own NYC years, almost all of the women I knew who had come to New York from other places were a lot like the pathetic Ms McGhee, and weren’t at all shy about reciting the exact same litany of complaint against the places and people where they’d grown up that she does. Nearly without exception, they weren’t running to NYC as I had done, motivated by eagerness and excitement at the prospect of taking up residence in the greatest city on Earth, but running away from their places of origin and the hordes of Neanderthal revanchists who dwell there.

A handful of my young female friends had just cause to be fleeing; they’d been molested or otherwise abused by someone close to them, or they worked in fields that were centered in NYC and hoped to advance their careers by relocating to the central hub of their chosen profession: fashion modeling or design, say, or certain sub-branches of the entertainment industry. These women tended to be cheerful, easy-going sorts, some managing to maintain their overall positivity even as the Big Apple soul-devouring machine slowly ground them into hamburger, demonstrating for them just what a tough ladder they’d chosen to try and climb.

But the majority were exactly the type of whiny, self-seeking neurotics that Ms McGhee appears to be—people whose self-esteem derives almost exclusively from looking down their noses at others, sniffily derogating them as stupid, unevolved losers. They never seem to learn the lesson my dad had drilled into me years before: when you spend all your time running away from something, happiness can be an extremely difficult quarry to catch.

4 thoughts on “Bitter, hate-filled, and miserable

  1. AIr-headed better-than-you twats like Molly can never hate enough, loathe enough, despise enough their own persons, upbringing, ancestry, relatives, and home to be satisfied and happy. They’ll go through life unlovable and unloved, and wonder what’s wrong with everyone else as they settle into their pudgy gray-haired dottage with boxes of wine and dozens of cats as their only constant companions, when they can never be content to just be, without all that soul-rotting hatred and anger.
    At being born.

    Nature puts stripes on a tiger, spots on a leopard, and rattles on a snake to warn you to stay the fuck away.

    With Molly, you just have to hear her open her piehole, (or, in this case, spew electronically) and the warning is as loud and clear as an air raid siren.

    Probably just like her voice.

    The only crime in her case would be sperm donation that might allow her to reproduce.

    If she ducks that bullet, she’s just another useless eater in a society of them, best left among her own kind: the terminally miserable. Living and dying in NYFC is thus the perfect thing to which fate could consign her.

    Nature always balances its own scales.

    1. Well said.

      Unfortunately, there are many of them, with many receiving a “sperm donation“, creating an ever more screwed up set.

      Getting rid of government welfare and funding would solve most of these problems. Self haters will still exist, but they will have to go to work or starve.

  2. My childhood was probably similar to darlin’ Molly’s: small, remote town, bad school, lots of poor people. If anything, I had it worse because we were hammered by the 1970s economy. Unlike darlin’ Molly, though, I don’t hate the people I grew up with. If anything, I feel sympathy because it’s not their fault that the industrial jobs were shipped overseas and the downstaters piled on the “environmental protection” rules and the taxes to kill even more businesses.

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