Pitt Demands To Find Joy In His Miserable Life

In his latest incarnation, WILLIAM RIVERS PITT does what he enjoys the most, namely analyze his own navel in public. In this case his navel gazing takes the form of demanding to find joy in his miserable life as you can see in his incredibly self-absorbed THREAD, "A DU Lament..." Bottom line it is the leftwing version of "Don't Worry, Be Happy." In fact, it might make for the basis of a great parody song written by a certain Lutheran pastor. I probably won't be able to post any more DUFUs for another week due my what will possibly be my busiest couponing schedule ever but I will be watching to see if such a parody song materializes. So let us now watch Pitt perform his inadvertent comedy act from his Navel Observatory in Bolshevik Red while the commentary of your humble correspondent, who found out yesterday that agent Clarice Sparling is a Lutheran, is in the [brackets]:

A DU Lament...

[Even the DUmmies lament that they have to suffer through yet another outbreak of endless self-absorption by WILLIAM RIVERS PITT.]

"Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes." - Walt Whitman

[Pitt tying to impress upon everyone his self-importance by comparing himself to Walt Whitman here. And since he makes a virtue of contradicting himself, time now for some entertainment in the form of tune written by Agent Sparling's pastor to be savored with fava beans and a nice Chianti: SELF-RECANTED EVENING
Tune: "Some Enchanted Evening"

Self-recanted evening,
When you see the flip-flops,
You may see where Pitt stops
Across the DUmmieland.
And somehow you know,
You know even then,
That sometime you'll see him
Recant once again.

Self-aggrandized weaving,
Bloviating windbag,
Going where the wind blows,
Not knowing where to stand.
He'll write to the left--
That's left to go right--
Will's so busy dancing,
He can't sleep at night.

Who can explain Pitt?
Who can tell you why?
Will gives two versions,
Neither one can fly.

Some fantastic FReeping!
Someone may be laughing,
You may hear the laughing
Among the DUFU fans.
And night after night,
When we go to bed,
That sound is our laughter--
Will Pitt's in our thread!

Once we have DUFUed
Will Pitt's swing and miss,
Then he'll discover
He can't recant this!]

You may have noticed an edge of irritability, or even outright hostility, in some recent posts of mine. This is the product of a compounding of issues that all boil down, for me, to a simple and unfortunate truth: I am incapable of functioning without at least a fragment of joy in my life, and that apparently stands me at odds with a great many people whom I would otherwise call allies.

[Pitt can always find at least a bit of joy in a bottle of brewski.]

Far too many of those who populate this and other forums seem to function in an absolute void of joy. There is nothing that cannot be torn down, knocked over, insulted, denigrated, criticized, or pruned of even a single molecule of goodness or pleasure. Everything must come with its pound of flesh duly taken, weighed, and judged.

[Pitt will be finding his bit of joy in just 24 business hours.]

For a very, very long time, I was very, very angry every moment of every day. I am still angry for large swaths of the calendar, but have managed to carve out a small space where I can simply enjoy something without calling down the fires of Hell and damnation. This is a world where it is virtually impossible to avoid being a hypocrite...a fact I wish to underscore to the Most High And Righteous among us, who ply their woe on computers made from components dug from mines in African war zones, which are then shipped upon disposal to Chinese landfills and burned, creating toxic smoke and water pollution that cause horrific birth defects in the children who live nearby.

[And those Chinese landfills all have this sign posted: "WARNING: Toxic Bloviations!"]

This is fact, so ye purists among us, heal thyself.

[Can endless self-analysis be healed or do you have a terminal case, Will?]

I saw and enjoyed the Paul Harvey "Farmer" ad during the Super Bowl. Is it contradictory to enjoy an ad about farming in a world run by Monsanto? Sure, but I am going to do it anyway, because I will have a small space in my life for simple joy no matter how much it rankles your sense of nobility. I will be contradictory, because I am vast, and contain multitudes...and I strongly suggest you figure out a way to do the same, or you will wind up with an ulcer the size of a car battery, muttering to yourself in a corner and utterly useless to the world you seek to save.

[Yes, Pitt. Your vast ego contains multitudes of inadvertent laughs.]

As always, if my demand to find some joy in my daily life puts your nobility in peril, feel free to deploy the Ignore function at your pleasure. Otherwise, know this: I will not be judged by those who make judgment their sole purpose for existing. It is, above all else, bottomlessly boring, and serves nothing other than the ego of the self-appointed judge.

[Speaking of bottomlessly boring and ego...]

Have a nice day.

[Even better, we will have a nice DUFU thanx to your inadvertent comedy act from the stage of your Navel Observatory. And now on to the other DUmmies stifling their yawns...]

Your Post is a projection.

[A projection of Will's stream of unconsciousness...]

Will Pitt, I have loved you for years. Can I adopt you?

[Is that you, DUmmie Raven?]

I like Will Pitt! But, jeez, don't tell me he's not telling people off there. Come on.

[It's just Pitt regularly erupting his usual bloviations. Just call him Mt. Blosuvius.]

I won't judge, I admire your resolve to your postion... However mine still stands firm in that the ad was subtlely steeped in tones of anti-labor divisiveness.

[A DUmmie conjures up a political angle to the farmer ad to which Pitt agrees...]

Of course it was. And there was an unavoidable racial angle. And it was a fantasy about a life that is being driven out of existence by massive agribusinesses. And those trucks are pollutive as hell. And Paul Harvey was a right-wing mouthpiece. See, I can know all that - every last inch of it - and still enjoy the artistry and photography of the ad, and feel as well a nostalgic twinge when I remember the sound of Harvey's voice filling the sun-soaked kitchen of my childhood as his little five-minute vignettes came from the radio tuned to WBZ in Boston. That's the fragment of joy I mean. I can hold both in my mind and heart at the same time. ...and it isn't just that ad I'm talking about. It's far more than that. The ad was only one example. I could name a dozen more.

[And this is what the young Willie Boy heard in his sun-soaked kitchen on the radio many years before smoking corroded away his throat: "Hello Americans! This is Paul Harvey! Stand byyy for Newwws! ...Well, Karl Rove will be indicted within 24 business hours. And now you know...the REST of the story!"]

Sometimes after reading DU for awhile, I feel like everything sucks because the general suckitude of pretty much everything is beaten and flogged and ranted about to the point where I just want to slump down the basement stairs, crawl behind the water heater and drink cheap gin right out of the bottle.

[Before you can reach that cheap gin in mommie's basement, you have to tunnel your way through a mountain of empty pizza cartons.]