Here’s a question I’ve been asking a lot of people lately: What makes a human a human? Define humanity. What sets the human race apart from any other species of animal on this planet? How are we ‘better?’

When confronted with this question, most people will parrot all the typical scientific answers. We have larger brains and a more complex thought process. We have opposable thumbs and the physical ability to build some pretty amazing things.

But the size of our brains and the mechanical ability of our hands is just dumb evolutionary luck. Why should we develop ego over something about ourselves that we have no control over?

Some people insist that humans are better than animals because we’re at the top of the food chain. However, the tendency to judge the value of society strictly by its ability to kill the most efficiently makes me a little uneasy. For one thing, it creates an awfully slippery slope. Are Americans more human than the members of some tribe in a third world country simply because we have bigger guns? Furthermore, citing ‘ability to kill’ as the most important asset of the human race kind of sells us all short.

Lastly, some people claim humans are better because we were chosen by God. As an Atheist, I find ‘The God Excuse’ in most matters to be counterproductive at best and actively harmful at worst. With that said, it’s almost deliciously ironic than in this circumstance, the God mongers are as close to right as anyone has come yet

Of course, the idea that we might have been ‘chosen by God’ is not only silly, but completely irrelevant. What is relevant are the possible reasons why we would have been chosen if God actually did exist.

The answer to that lies in the human brain. Or, more specifically, our ability to ‘see the big picture.’ In short, if God existed, he would have chosen us because our thought process is complex enough that we are able to comprehend how are actions affect others.

The difference between a human and an animal is an animal is solely focused on his own genetic survival. He wants to stay alive and he wants his children to stay alive. The rest of the world and how it works is beyond his comprehension.

A human, on the other hand, possesses a survival instinct as well a desire to preserve and protect the rest of the world. Animals don’t give a shit about the rain forest or the plight of the giant panda. Humans do. An animal never stays up late at night worried that another animal, unrelated to him, may be suffering. Humans do.

Are humans sometimes misguided, illogical, or just plain wrong? Sure. But at least they care. The ability to care about something greater than yourself makes you a human. It’s only in the execution where mistakes are understandably made.

The ‘top of the food chain’ jerks like to fancy themselves these amazing predators. This couldn’t be further from the truth. After all, a predator kills to survive. This instinct is necessary. When a lion kills a gazelle, he does so simply to fill his belly. Afterwards, he probably takes a nap. He does not go out and kill 100 more gazelles he has no intention of eating just because he can.

The fact is modern day “humans” rarely display predatory behavior. They don’t spend their lives acquiring overly large houses, ipods, and shit made out of diamonds because they need them to survive. They do it because they’re mindless consumers who need more, more, more. And once they have it, they want it again…only bigger, better, and faster. Why they want it doesn’t matter. Just shut up already and charge it to their credit cards!

This behavior is in no way predatory. It’s parasitic.

Make no mistake about what I’m trying to imply here: if you live your life mindlessly consuming, without thought or consequence, completely oblivious to how your behavior affects the rest of the world, then you are not a human. I don’t give a flying fuck what your DNA suggests. You are an animal. You are a parasite. You have no more intrinsic value than that of a common maggot. In fact, I would go so far as to say you have less value than a common maggot. The maggot is at least doing his job. You’re just being repetitive.

Existing at the top of the food chain is not a privilege. Nor is a free pass to rape and pillage and plunder. It’s a responsibility. As humans, we have an obligation to contribute to this world and protect all the creatures and resources that come with it. That’s our job.

If we want to continue to insist that humans are somehow ‘better’ or ‘different’ from the rest of the animal kingdom, then we have to be willing to embrace that which sets us apart. It’s not all fun and games, this ‘being a human’ business. It’s fucking work. But we do it, because nothing else can. So if you’re not ready, willing, able and even eager to do your part, please return your ‘Human Card’ now. Quit demanding recognition because you were blessed with fancy thumbs.

The problem with this world is we have too many parasites and not enough contributors.

Look, I realize that a vast majority of the population longs for a world in which everyone happily does their own thing without it affecting anyone else. I felt the same way as a child. I also wanted unicorns to be real. Unfortunately, we have a better shot at inventing unicorns than we do at creating a society where people can do whatever they please with consequence to others. A society without individual consequence to the whole is fucking impossible. We don’t live life in a vacuum!

If you lie, cheat, steal, litter, waste or ignore, those actions will affect others. Likewise, if you help, clean, give, or heal, those actions will affect others. Everything you do and everything you don’t do feasibly affects someone else. You can’t even speak on this planet without affecting another person. You can’t breathe on this planet without affecting something else. Hell, you can’t even kill yourself without creating a consequence for someone else.

Welcome to reality, folks! There are no unicorns here either. Yet.

Convincing people that it is impossible to opt out of society even if they really, really want to is hard work. I’ve noticed that if I try, I produce 1 of 3 results.

1. They put their fingers in their ears, scream ‘La la la! I can’t hear you’ really loudly and outright refuse to believe that a world where they can take care of only themselves without any negative consequences to others will never, ever exist.
2. The lament the unfairness of it all while simultaneously embracing the role of perpetual parasite.
3. They accept their position on this planet and start working for something greater than themselves. They contribute.

Again, I say the problem with this world is we currently have too many parasites and not enough contributors. We have a generation of people who would prefer to live in a bubble, but no bubbles to give them. We have more maggots than we have room for. Even worse, we have maggots that speak. We have maggots that won’t let a day go by without curtly informing you what they are not responsible for.

Want an example?

A bunch of loan officers gave money to irresponsible people who were financially incapable of honoring the terms of the loan. As a result, people defaulted on their loan in droves creating an economic crisis. The value of the American dollar plummeted and gas prices rose for everyone. At the end of the day, who is responsible? We’re all affected, but no one is accepting culpability.

Loan officers continue to insist that the irresponsible people shouldn’t have accepted the money in the first place. The irresponsible people point at the greedy loan officers and cry trickery. Everyone is too busy playing the victim role and pointing the finger at someone else to accept personal responsibility in creating suffering or strife for others.

So who is really responsible? The human or the animal? Obviously, it’s the human’s fault, every time. Remember, an animal is incapable of seeing the ‘big picture’ and therefore needs human protection. The animal, through no fault of his own, victimizes others and if he’s unlucky enough ultimately victimizes himself as a result.

The question shouldn’t be who is responsible in this scenario. The question should be: between the greedy loan officers and the irresponsible people, which one is the human? The answer to that is also simple: the first one to raise their hand and say, “It was my fault.”

An animal will never accept culpability for anything, ever. An animal will idly watch another animal beat the shit out of some poor kid and when you ask him why he didn’t intervene, he will say shit like:

“It’s none of my business.”

“He’s not my kid and therefore not my responsibility.”

This befuddles the human race because we understand our responsibility towards creatures weaker than ourselves. Whether they are biologically related to us or even belong to the same species as us is a moot point. We’re human and it’s our job to protect them. Because if we don’t, who will? No one else is capable, so the responsibility lies with us. Furthermore, humans realize that allowing animals to ‘parent’ potentially human children creates dire consequences for the rest of the world.

An animal will ignore that child, but you better believe he will be the first one to cry foul when that same child grows up and rapes his daughter. He’ll gladly place the blame on the parent, claiming that it was the actual beatings and the neglect and the molestation that turned the child bad. He’ll even blame the child and try to convince us that the kid willingly chose to become a monster. In reality, it’s his short sighted animal mentality that is really to blame. He feigns helplessness, refusing to consider that his intervention could have prevented a tragedy.

I know I’m starting to ramble. I know I’m being vague. So instead of going on and on and on with this lecturing, I’m going to tell you how you can tell whether or not you are a human or an animal. Revisiting my last example, I’m going to set up a scenario for you. Afterwards, I’m going to ask you a question.

A parent beats a child. A neighbor knows the child is being beaten, but for personal reasons, refuses to become involved. The child grows up to become a monster.

Who is to blame? Is it the monster’s fault for merely existing? Or is it the parent who twisted him, arguably a monster himself and so mentally fucked in the head that he likely didn’t realize that beating his child was wrong in the first place? Or is the fault of the completely sane and stable neighbor, who knew it was happening, who knew it was wrong, who possessed the ability to see the ‘big picture’ and still refused to do anything to stop it?

Thank carefully about this question because your answer determines your level of humanity. Furthermore, if you need the answer spelled out for you by me, I can almost guarantee you that you answered wrong. Welcome to the animal kingdom.

Don’t worry, us humans will eventually figure out a way to take care of you, too.

Just so everyone is aware…

My Birthday Charity Challenge ends tomorrow, so donate while you can. As it stands, it would take a fucking miracle to make our $10,000 goal, but donate anyway. Donate because sometimes doing the right thing is it’s own reward and lecture, lecture, lecture.

I wish I could be more inspiring than that. However, if this contest proves anything it’s that I fucking suck at inspiring the masses. Sorry.

The very first thing I’ve learned about this small business affair is if you mention you’re starting one, every single person you know will morph into Debbie Downer right before your very eyes.

“Ninety percent of small businesses will fail within the first 5 years!” they chirp like pre-programmed fail robots.

My retort is always the same: “So does that mean no one in the world should ever try to start anything ever again?”

In my case, I’ve never failed at anything I’ve set my mind to. Perhaps if I did, it would do me some good. I’d finally get to eat my piece of humble pie.

But more than that, failing doesn’t scare me. It’s the not trying that terrifies me. The idea that I may live my whole life without ever pursuing my personal vision, without even attempting to leave a mark or make a positive impact on my community, pursuing a scripted life crippled by the fear of possible failure scares the ever loving shit out of me.

There’s more to life than monetary success or failure. Furthermore, sometimes the journey is worth it no matter what the result.

So far, I haven’t yet bothered explaining this concept to those who recite the small business failure statistics as if those magical numbers will stun me into submission or a life of mediocrity. They’d never understand anyway. I learned a long time ago that fear and fear alone is the one emotion that separates the warriors from the weak. We’re like a whole different species, man.

Instead I tell them that I’m currently in the process of convincing a panel of lenders to lend me a cool million and I’m planning to use every piece of real estate I own, including my own personal home, as collateral.

When they whisper in shocked voices, “But what if….”

I curtly reply, “Hey, if I’m going to lose, I might as well lose big, right?”

It’s fun to watch the cowards turn green.

The first time I ever masturbated was in the middle of 7th grade English class.

Our school happened to have a sustained silent reading program and once a week our teacher was obligated to force us to read something, anything, (preferably without pictures) in a vain attempt to improve our overall vocabulary. Personally, I relished the time. Rarely did I need an excuse to read.

It was during silent reading time that I suddenly found myself overcome by an almost irresistible urge to pee. Briefly, I thought about raising my hand and requesting a hall pass. However, I was in the middle of a particularly smutty sex scene in my book and I was reluctant to put it down for even the 10 minutes it would take me to run to the restroom and back. Instead, I resigned myself to doing the ‘pee dance’ in my seat, shifting around from side to side like an excited second grader, as I gobbled up sentence after sentence with my eyes on the page before me.

Out of nowhere, my thighs started to spasm. Panicked, I looked up from my book to see if anyone was watching me. Luckily, everyone was obediently reading or sleeping, so I was free to conduct my mini break down in relative peace. With a choking sigh, I slumped over on my desk and forced myself to breath slowly.

After a few moments, the feeling finally passed. When the bell rang a couple of minutes later, I escaped into the hall without the vaguest notion of what had happened to me.

It took 2 full weeks jam packed full of fresh incidents before I made the connection that the episodes nearly always occurred when I was reading a book. It took another week on top of that for me to realize they happened whenever I was reading a sex scene, in particular. But even as I made the connections, I tried to deny what was happening. I told myself that my body was being ‘all weird’ and I had nothing to do with it.

But the truth was I was masturbating.

What was so foolish and silly about the whole thing was my aversion to touching myself. I would twist around in my seat. I would rub up against my blankets, spray myself with water, or gyrate in my clothes. Yet…yet…I could not bring myself to connect my finger to my clit.

It was almost as if my lack of finger action gave me some sort of victim status. After all, if I never made the conscious decision to diddle myself, I could continue to pretend that my body had a mind of its own and I was helpless against it. Right?

This went on for months. It might have gone on forever, if not for the fact that every instance of muffled masturbation produced a more and more muffled orgasm. Like a heroin addict who needs more drugs to achieve the same high, I found myself pacing my room frantically wondering how I could intensify the feeling between my legs.

Finally, that fateful, desperate day arrived where finger finally connected with clit and life became an almost nonstop blur of chronic masturbation. I masturbated when I woke up in the morning. I masturbated in between classes at school, hidden in the rarely used 3rd floor restroom. When I got home from school, I holed up in my room with my hand permanently attached to my crotch. I touched myself so often that a few times my wrist literally gave out on me. But even as I clutched it, moaning with pain, I would find myself eying my room looking for alternative ways to get myself off.

I was a goddamn fiend.

Anyway, the reason I bring this up now is because a friend and I were recently discussing all the odd fetish porn out there nowadays. One of us brought up balloon porn (girls masturbating with a balloons, yes, there is a market for this shit) and I started laughing as I remembered all the fucked up shit I masturbated with as a teenager while I waited for my poor wrist to heal.

However, after thinking about it in depth some more, I was struck by how hard it was for me to actually touch myself in the first goddamn place. Never in my life had anyone told me that touching my nether regions was gross or dirty or anything like that, either. In fact, no one had mentioned masturbation at all. Still, I was definitely skeeved out by the idea.

To this day, I have no idea why.

To those of you who are wondering about possible connections between my lack of updates and my charity challenge, let me assure that there is no conspiracy whatsoever. I’ve just been on vacation. I didn’t mention it before I left for two reasons:

1. It’s really none of your goddamn business.
2. I thought I might get bored and update anyway.

Turns out, I didn’t get bored enough to update. Sorry.

Also, if you’re wondering what kind of spoiled, entitled bitch needs a month long vacation from absolutely nothing, I have only one thing to say to you:

HI!

The truth is, despite my lack of job, per se, I’ve been incredibly busy. Awhile back ago, I got it into my head that I was going to start my own business and make a difference and blah, blah, blah. You know me, once I get a nutty idea in my head; I’m almost helpless against it.

As it turns out, starting a business is not as easy as I first imagined. It’s doable, of course, but it very quickly became clear to me that I’d have to dedicate an extremely large portion of my life to it if I seriously wanted to be successful. This meant that I would have to eliminate some of my other, less important daily obligations.

Obviously, this website came under fire.

I said to myself, “Self. What would you rather do? Start your own business? Or blog on the goddamn Internet?”

The answer was a big, fat DUH.

I’m really big on telling people to follow their dreams, so I’d be a fool not to take my own advice. Unfortunately for me, I’ve never really dreamed of becoming a professional blogger. I didn’t do this for the book deals. (Indeed, I turned down the ones that were offered to me) I didn’t do this for the comment extravaganzas/ego boosts. (No comments here) And I certainly didn’t do it for a chance to attend one of those blogging conference wank fests. (Audible groan) No offense to the crazy mombots who have obviously made this shit their life, but I happen to dream bigger than that.

Besides, writing online kind of feels like trying to dam a raging river with one hand; it’s an exercise in futility. So, I decided to give it up.

However, after fully immersing myself in this small business start-up world, I accidentally stumbled onto a whole new realm of things to bitch about. For example, writing a business plan fucking sucks, people.

For those of you who don’t know, a business plan is roughly a 20 page book full of made up numbers and estimated profits you could make should you find anyone dumb enough to lend money to you. Although it’s ultimately a book of speculation and bullshit, it is seriously frowned upon to write things like, “[Business name] should be making 10 BILLION DOLLARS A WEEK within 3 weeks of opening!” Apparently, they like it better when you say things like, “[Business name] will net a $40,000 profit in its first year and increase revenue by 20% every year thereafter” even though both sentences were pulled from the same stinky asshole. Furthermore, money lenders don’t necessarily find it funny when you mockingly refer to it as ‘The Book of Lies,’ either.

But, I digress.

Honestly, I’m still not sure what I’m going to do about this website. Either I will abandon it completely or I’ll keep it around so I can sporadically post about my personal and professional endeavors. I suppose it’s really up to you, my readers, and what you all find interesting. If you’re somewhat curious about ‘what comes next’ and want to accompany me on the ride, I suppose I’ll keep pumping shit out. (Although probably not as often) If ‘what comes next’ bores the shit out of you and/or makes you whine incessantly about how this site isn’t as good as it used to be, waaaahhh, then I won’t waste my time.

Until that day comes, though, I’ve got a charity challenge to run. As of right now, we are still painfully, painfully short from our goal having only raised $4,269 and it honestly doesn’t look like it’s going to happen. I hope this means some of you donated privately and not via my contest. What? A girl can dream, can’t she?

Anyway, if it will motivate you guys to donate more, Sami from The Something Store has generously offered her assistance in providing additional incentive. From now until the contest ends, if you donate $10 or more, I will randomly select 10 people to receive a surprise gift from The Something Store.

The Something Store is a cute little online store that will send you a surprise gift for $10. To learn more about them, including the types of things they send, please check them out here.