Episode 65 – Dick on Back to School


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Hurricane Hindsight and the party of the century, Back to School and the orgy of the matriarchy, using the F-bomb on TV, the Facebook “I’m okay!” button, Mr. Fancypants in studio, the Super Nintendo dick-up-my-ass machine, the Black Experience, Gab, cryptocurrency investing, and Andrew Torba calls in, seppuku for IT blunders, sacrificing virgins, PSA for moms: the triple parentheses, the secret of the meme factory, a monster truck rally, terrible wedding gifts, the fake boob blathering drunk stare, an erotic story resolution, The LA Show, the causes of the Civil War, and a completely new way to pee incorrectly; all that and more this week on The Dick Show!

My Life Coach
A brewer and a patriot.

Hypocrisy in the Media
Is a Rage!

Not a Rage.
Cantillions
Titanic Prankster.
Comic-Con, Blathering Drunks
Is a Rage!

Not a Rage.
Andrew Torba
Founder and CEO of Gab, the free-speech Twitter alternative.
Is a Rage!

Not a Rage.
See All Co-Hosts

Disney Bucks are the future. At least I think that’s what I got from talking to Andrew Torba, founder and CEO of Gab, on today’s show. Maybe this kind of call isn’t right for a comedy podcast, but it’s interesting as hell to me. Some people call Gab a weird, pro-Nazi version of Twitter, but without all the bullshit, it’s a Twitter competitor that happens to be profitable. Here is the crowd investment site mentioned on the show that Gab used to pull in a million bucks.

Andrew also touches on the idea of an Initial Coin Offering, and it’s use in compensating content creators in a longterm bid to dethrone advertising as the main driver of content generation on the Internet. It sounds crazy, but so does American companies spending $150 billion a year to sell us different version of the same shitty products.

I disagree that everyone in charge want to control our conversations and keep another “another Hitler” from becoming president, but I do think priorities in tech have grown completely out of whack with need, and I’m tired of smug, coiffed-bearded silly-men and their murders of pointless women clutching their pearls, weaponizing distilled panic, and mounting an escalating an arms race of tattling. Gab is exciting. And even if it doesn’t work, the next one will. But first…

“Back to School.” Those words signal the commencement of a bacchanalian orgy of mom-ness. A sick season of stockpiling weapons of mass education from the Khol’s Industrial Complex, and a rush of doomsday prepping to prepare for success during the apocalypse of opportunity that awaits all children in the public institution of lower learning. It is a frenzied time of unbridled punting as children are shipped off to Kid Prison in stiff doll clothing for nine months of menial orientation and forced socialized tolerance, and it strikes terror in my heart to this day.

“What did you do during your summer vacation?” They always ask.

“I was free,” I always wanted to report.

“I was free to wake up at a healthy, organic, gluten-free time, not at ass-o’clock in the morning and forced to spend the most awkward years of my life stumbling and shuffling around like a dickless zombie with worse skin. I was free to learn about the human condition and reflect on the self at my own pace, or do neither of those things. I was free from the tyranny of participation. I was free from the farce of this distributed didacticism and I yearn to be again.”

Fuck back to school.

Next, during the show I pose that the cause of the Civil War was actually money and not morality, and that if North was so serious about slavery being wrong, why didn’t they just open their wallets and buy the slaves? I did some math after the show to see if that was a feasible solution and not just something I threw out in a panic to not look like a racism.

Let’s say the average price of a slave in 1860 was $750. I’m seeing estimates all over the place, but that seems right. With four million slaves, that’s a $3 billion dollar buyout at full price. It looks like the GDP of the United States was around $2.5 billion at the time and the government was cruising along with a tax rate of about 5%. That’s $125 million dollars in total federal revenue. Yikes. That’s a micro dick of a buyout with a big gap to fill. So my plan is fucked, right? And yet again I’ve embarrassed myself by speaking out my ass. Clearly, the only solution was to sign some magical papers and get to the murdering. But hold up…

To get money to fight a war against the South, congress pitched the Revenue Act of 1861, seeking to raise an additional $50 million a year in taxes. Applying that to my Yankee buyout math above, over twenty years, that’s a billion dollars in total extra revenue. Are you telling me that starting from that point, which both sides were already at, the North and the South couldn’t make a deal that avoided the deaths of 600,000 dudes and fucked us as a culture racially, politically, and by giving high school girlfriends unrealistic expectations of romance vis a vis “Gone With The Wind” for hundreds of years? It’s like I said on the last Dick Ridin’ episode. No matter when or where we are, we’ve all got both hands on the Nuclear Ouija board, secretly pushing as hard as possible to that big “WAR” in the upper-left instead of the not-as-big “Save for Retirement” on the lower right. It’s just too much fun to dress up.

Lakembra gives us a spicy preview of music to come.

And a thumbnail that is hot af and NOT retarded looking at all by Brandon of Maximum! Panic.

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