Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-24821182-20141102164221

''“That’s the risk you’re running by doing good deeds for others: people start expecting certain things from you, and when your performance falls short of these expectations, all those folks you’ve helped react rudely. They simply do not understand that every good deed is a tour de force; it requires an immense amount of strength to be a good, reliable person, and they take all the favors and charitable work you do for them for granted.''

''They assume you’re just a good person by nature, a true Samaritan whose mission in life is to love thy neighbor unconditionally and eternally. It never even for a moment occurs to them that you have needs too: love, sex, spiritual needs, and material possessions. In assuming you do not require the same stimuli that they do, they’re denying your humanity, and you’d be hard pressed to find a greater pain than that.''

''Worst of all: they’re ungrateful, and ingratitude is unforgiveable. Ingratitude is the source of all evil in this world, for it is when people are unhappy with what they’ve got that they strive for more – and if their desire is great enough, no moral compass can keep them in line. Adam and Eve were given paradise, goes the tale; they could have been content with what they were given, but their sheer ingratitude caused them to disobey their father and taste the fruit of that forbidden tree.''

''Ever since then, mankind has been struggling with ingratitude and the evil in brings, or maybe “struggling” can only be said for a select few, for the majority of us see little problem in giving in to our temptations. It’s easy to be evil, after all. There’s no skill required to be selfish, to submerge yourself into vanity and live in decadence indefinitely. Imagine how easy life would be if you didn’t care about anyone. You could do things your way and give the middle finger to all the victims of your destructive behavior.''

''Some of us are fighters, and we strive to vanquish the darkness and bathe in the sunlight. However, we aren’t gods, and sometimes we need to be a little selfish so we won’t destroy ourselves taking care of everyone while ignoring our own basic human needs. The problem is that people expect the kind and helpful to always be ready with a smile and a hand, and should you be run down and close to reaching your breaking point, they’ll ask you if you’re feeling sick, if you’re upset or if there’s anything wrong. The answers to these questions will always be no, no, and no; you just feel like licking your own wounds today.''

''The one you can help the most will always be yourself, if you don’t help yourself, then who will? The world is a cruel place, and sometimes you just need to satisfy those inner desires. The righteous have to really make an effort to convince themselves that it’s okay to take what they need every now and then, and that they aren’t accountable to anyone in doing so – I mean, what kind of inhumane monster would punish people for being evil one percent of the time when they’re freaking humanitarians the other ninety-nine percent?''

''I can be evil too, you know. When I’m not out there building schools in Africa or raising money for the homeless, you can be damn sure I do my fair share of self-sustenance. We’re talking about self-serving behavior here, the kind that gets in the way of other people’s happiness. I’m not a saint, and I don’t have to be. Neither do you or anyone, really. We humans just have to be good in the bigger picture, and to hell with any moral lapses you indulge in from time to time.''

''Don’t let anyone judge your moral character, for you are a good person who puts others before yourself most of the time. Don’t let anyone question your acts of selfishness, for you are a human entitled to taking care of your own needs. Don’t let anyone tell you how to behave, for you are an independent person that intuitively knows the right thing to do. If you are nice at day, you can be evil at night. With that, I’ll end this chapter and give you some time to reflect upon what you’ve learned thus far.”''

Victor was a self-help guru and bestselling author. He made his living by appealing to the working poor, holding seminars cross-country and living a very extravagant life as befitting a celebrity, going to the best nightclubs and changing girlfriends more often than he changed his underwear. He would never waste an opportunity to state that the American Dream was to thank for his luxurious lifestyle, and that anyone could become just like him if they worked hard enough.

Of course, Victor never specified exactly how they achieved the same status as him, nor could he account for why poverty still existed in the US when everyone had the inexplicable power to do good and become a millionaire. Still, it didn’t matter if what he said couldn’t hold up under scrutiny, for the idiots who devoted themselves to his half-assed philosophy lacked any ability to think critically.

Consecutively, Victor would contradict himself in speech as well as on paper, but no one ever noticed – or if they did, they certainly didn’t care. They would buy whatever compilation of fortune cookie advice he published, spending their hard-earned money that should have gone to sending their kids to college instead, so that they could actually learn something of real value. Like casino owners, Victor had a business where people would give him money for false hope and a shattered future. He didn’t feel sorry about it whatsoever.

His particular brand of self-help was based around the idea that selfishness and cruelty are justifiable if one’s good behavior outweighs the bad. You can make a person cry if you make two people laugh, you can steal a bottle of milk if your buy some wine as well, and you can kick a dog in front of a car if you save the white rhino from going extinct. He knew very well that this would appeal to many people, the kind of people who want to act out of their own self-interest but escape feeling those pesky emotions called “guilt” and “remorse”.

Not a single time while writing his books or doing his speeches did he ever really care that people who took his work seriously ended up with a twisted perspective of reality, trapped in a vicious cycle of their own egocentric delusions. He just continued on spreading his junk philosophy, writing his many consecutive books, all of them about the exact same topic and varying very little from one another.

In his mind, Victor liked to refer to his craft as “baking fortune cookies”, and those words held nothing but truth to them. He would sit there in that same Wendy’s every day when he had the time and write on his iPad. There was no research involved, no deep existential ponderings, and no care for consistency whatsoever. It all came intuitively and was all so very, very easy – but that was the story of his life.

Victor had never really had a hard time with anything. In a country where the people are so desperate for success and so eager to find easy solutions to complex problems, con artists like Victor had no difficulty working everything and everyone in their favor. Through charisma alone, he had managed to bullshit his way into the hearts of people, making enough money in the process that he never had to get a real job.

Still, he was famous, wealthy, and beloved.

By American standards, Victor was a winner.

But all that changed one day…

“Our guest tonight is the bestselling author, everyday superman and true American patriot, who’s here to speak with us about his new book, ‘Running in the Roman Chamber: A guide to self-fulfillment using reinforcement from ancient history’. Please welcome Victor Hoaks!”

Victor stepped on stage, waving to the cheers of a proletarian audience of obese losers who had better be honored to see him here tonight. He didn’t fly all the way from LA just to be greeted by a bunch of sour pricks who wouldn’t applaud his godliness. His presence here tonight was like the second coming of Jesus Christ, and this entire studio was going to be obliterated by a hellfire-missile if they didn’t applaud themselves half to death.

Victor shook the host’s sweaty hand. “It’s good to be here, man.” Victor sat down in an incredibly uncomfortable chair and considered throwing the piece of shit at the audience of slobbering sloths. He decided to retain his plastic smile though, for it was his breezy composure that people knew and loved.

“Now tell me, the host began. You’ve already written a billion books on the subject of self-empowerment. Everyone has a Victor Hoaks somewhere on their shelf. Why should people go out and by this one?”

Bastard! He was going to question Victor’s actions. There’s a special place in Hell for people who dare criticize him. Maybe Victor should break the legs of this dumb-ass host? That would be pretty funny no doubt, and the losers groping themselves at home watching this would no doubt cackle at the pathetic Hollywood Jew crying in pain. “Well, I’ve learned some new things since then that are going to enhance the individual’s performance even further, and I think you should take a look at it. You might actually learn something.”

“But don’t you think that sooner or later it just gets to a point where there’s nothing left to say on the matter? I mean, these books – and this is just my opinion – tend to present a very superficial message. I remember in your previous book, you said something about not following mainstream psychology or didactic learnings. What’s up with that?”

“I will live to see you die,” Victor wanted to say, but instead he just had to continue smiling. “Well, the reason I don’t subscribe to the elitist research of higher academia is because I care a lot about the people at large. Like, when a neuroscientist says that certain foods and exercise will release endorphins in your brain, how is that going to help any ordinary person? So what I like to do is to bypass science and carve my own path.”

“But if you don’t have any sort of scientific research or peer-reviewed papers to back up your claims, how do you know anything in your books actually works? Aren’t you just giving people false hope, then?”

“What you need to understand is that – even if I’m wrong – the worst case scenario is that my work has the effect of a placebo. And besides, I would argue that my advice has worked for me.” The Jew had better shut his filthy mouth now, or Victor was gonna lose it.

“So you see no problem at all if you end up lying to people?”

“How many people have you helped Jer- Jim- D-David? As many as I have or what?”

“Uh, well. I donate to charity and try to protect people from misinformation.”

“And you believe I’m spreading misinformation?”

“I don’t know. Unlike you, I base my opinions on peer-reviewed research and don’t just make things up as I go along.”

At that comment, the crowd started oohing, and Victor had reached his breaking point. “I don’t know what your liberal, Zionist overlords have told you, but not everything has to be based on peer-reviewed studies. Maybe you should just stay in your little bubble of ignorance.”

Now the crowd was booing vehemently, and Victor stared at them in utter contempt. He got up from his chair in a fury, reaching for his cup of hot coffee and pouring it out over the audience. The scolding hot liquid hit an elderly couple sitting in the front row, and their screams of pain caused people to get up from their seats and step towards the stage. “Ungrateful pricks!” Victor shouted. “I give your pathetic lives meaning, and you thank me with booing? Go die in a fire, you fucking hobos!”

“There’s no reason to get violent,” the talk show host said in a pointless effort to calm everyone down. Security eventually had to get out on the stage and form a human wall between Victor and the mob, but they were terribly understaffed and could under no circumstances keep all sixty-something of them back. Some of the security guards begged Victor to come with them to safety, but the almighty Victor would see this ordeal through, believing the American people would hail him as a hero for standing up to the Zionists controlling mainstream media.

“You want a piece of me, you lowly fucks?!” Victor shouted. “Then have at it, you stupid animals. My whole career is based around me treading on insects such as yourselves, and God help me if I squash every single one of you!” He jumped into the audience and started swinging his fists madly around, believing no one could possibly harm him.

They easily overpowered him, though. Victor’s nose was almost immediately broken by some random asshole’s fist. He bled profusely and stepped back from the crowd, realizing for the first time in his life how powerless he was in front of the people. He tried clambering back on stage but was pulled down and beaten senseless. He curled into fetal position on the floor and started crying, but it was ultimately pointless. A foot came down on his throat, pressing hard against his skin and causing him to choke. His vision became blurry after a short while, and darkness descended upon him.

Victor Hoaks, bestselling author, everyday superman and American patriot, died that night. He turned out to be completely powerless after all, and no fortune cookie advice could save him from the grim fate that awaits those who prey on the weak. 