The vast majority of classical philosophers believed in the inherent goodness of humanity, and all things being equal, even anecdotal evidence suggests that for all the evil in the world, there has to be a lot more good, because the population is always on the rise. So we're living more than dying, and there aren't assholes kicking us in the nuts on every street corner. More or less we're good. Or at least we're in the middle of good and evil. We're room temperature. You're not setting orphanages on fire or anything, but maybe you're a litterer. Whatevs. That being said, there are some places in the world, some specific times and events, where goodness is checked at the door and humanity itself decays into an awkward, terrible beast of a thing that would never be allowed in other circumstances, and yet, for this limited time and space, it is so expected and normal, we never even bat an eye when we're a part of it.
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There are various medications than can lead to a number of adverse side effects, and exposure to certain chemicals can lead to serious behavioral and cognitive difficulties as well. But nothing on Earth is as damaging to the human psyche as a steering wheel. Once behind the wheel of a car, a certain number of people become tyrants, rulers of a mobile realm where only they may make decisions and conduct business, and woe be to all others who dare bring their steel chariots to bear on the same day at the same time, because those people are all cockholes.
AAA says at least 1,500 people a year are killed in senseless traffic disputes. If that's how many die, I'm going to throw caution to the wind and say about a million times as many people hear "Eat my ass, you blind chucklefuck!" screamed out of a window at them. Sociologists and psychologists chalk this behavior up to things like a breakdown in our sense of community or the power one feels behind the wheel of a car, but in fact, in my expert opinion as a guy who uses the word "chucklefuck" in sentences, it's because some people have broken asshole switches.
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"Bitches know better than to cut me off!"
Every one of us has an asshole switch, even the Dalai Lama, but that dude keeps it on the down low at all times and is pretty cool with everything. So are most people. So when you get cut off in traffic, your asshole switch gets flipped, and for a moment you think, "That was unkind, I would like to see that other driver eaten alive by chiggers and famished hobos while his family watches and signs over all his assets to me." But then that moment passes, and you fiddle with the radio because some asinine DJ is trying to make you listen to a Pitbull song, and fuck that. Other people can't flip the switch back, however, and that's where road rage is born. They get cut off and immediately think the other driver must be cleansed from the gene pool through any means necessary, up to and including verbal abuse and a tire iron.
This reaction to a mild inconvenience is what is generally considered "insane" in most other forums. If you're at the supermarket and you're approaching a checkout counter when an old lady scoots in front of you, most people would think that bashing her skull in with a can of beans is somewhat unnecessary. In fact, yelling at that old lady about how she sucks cock and needs to go back to school to learn how to shop is probably overkill as well. If it's not acceptable at the Piggly Wiggly, it's not acceptable on the highway.
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If you've never experienced spring break, you've denied yourself a life-changing experience, and also saved yourself a potentially traumatic one. Spring break is fucked up. Do you need an anecdote? I have one!
I was on a beach during spring break in my second year of college. It was about 11 a.m., and I and everyone I knew had drunk so much at that point, at 11 a.m., that we needed to take a break from consuming alcohol because it had grown so tiresome and stomach turning that we were destined to spend the rest of the day vomiting and weeping if it kept up. This beach was packed with college kids and loud music coming from a stage where some local radio station was desperately trying to be relevant, and girls were flashing boobs for about four seconds at a time on camera for sleazy guys who just needed to have a camera to convince them to do such a thing. I watched in stunned amazement as a man who appeared to be in his early 20s dropped to a crouch in the surf and proceeded to shit in the ocean in front of hundreds of strangers, one of whom, upon seeing the shitting man, joined in the shitting. Another person witnessed this act of public defecation and thought, "That man's a problem solver!" and joined in on the act of publicly, openly, and proudly feeding the Atlantic recycled beers and burritos.
"Hey, America's future, stop shitting on my house."
For one week, and I dare say this may prove true of Mardi Gras participants, the very notion that a party is or should be happening makes everyone in and around spring break try to make Rodney Dangerfield's fictional adventures into reality. Spent last semester in med school learning how to tell the difference between the inferior and superior vena cava? Awesome, now put this tube in your ass so we can fill your stank chamber with Four Loko, because we're all going to head down to the pool and smacks strangers with our genitals!
There's something about a weeklong party that makes normal party rules totally obsolete and inspires people (and the fact that they're usually college students makes it all the more sad) to engage in behavior you'll only ever otherwise see in something written by Eli Roth or Larry Flynt.
Nearly every year there's a story of a student falling to his death from a balcony on spring break because, on spring break, a balcony is as alluring as a swarm of unicorns counting fat stacks of cash whilst staring at nude photos of celebrities -- it's impossible to resist. Every year someone ends up in a hospital with alcohol poisoning, a thousand girls show up topless on the Internet, and apparently people shit in the sea. Does any of this happen when celebrating President's Day? Very rarely.