“Milhouse” is the all-encompassing name I’ve recently taken to bestowing on people who have a habit of, shall we say, “Linking a series of unrelated viewpoints to form a personality.” I settled on “Milhouse,” not because the Simpsons underdog character is in any way ideologically obscure, I chose it because of course, “Nobody likes Milhouse.”
To help explain, consider your family.
Your family, no doubt, has a Milhouse in it somewhere. Your particular family’s Milhouse may not necessarily be a man, as to be a Milhouse he or she just needs to make some extraordinary leaps in reasoning, ignore all evidence to the contrary and dig their hills behind a stance so beyond common sense, that it befuddles as much as it enrages you. If you don’t know who the Milhouse is, consider the idea that you are the Milhouse of your house.
For example, “Uncle Milhouse doesn’t yet believe there’s enough scientific consensus to prove man-made global warming.” That’s OK, Uncle Milhouse, but what does that have to do with your “no” stance on gay marriage? Why, Uncle Milhouse, does subscribing to a major political ideology require that you hold a specific opinion on these specific array of unrelated issues?
Or conversely, “Uncle Milhouse believes a government more centered around socialist ideals is what we should be aiming for as we head into the next federal election.” That’s an understandable opinion to hold on its own merit, Uncle Milhouse, but what does that have to do with your militant veganism?
Do you see? Do you see how no one likes Milhouse?
Everyone had a Milhouse at school. People don’t like Milhouse because he’s a nerd, that’s beside the point and history and celebrity is full of endearing dorks:
Gates and Ballmer,
Neil deGrasse Tyson,
Chandler etc – the reason nobody likes Milhouse is because he’s an asshole, because he lords over Bart’s paper soul, because he joined the St. Patrick’s Day pinching mob, because he creeps on Lisa (Lower those eyebrows!… And the other one…”), because he leaves the Simpsons kids on the wrong side of a canyon because “There’s no time!”
You would have known at least one Milhouse in school; the Mr. No Friends with the habit of obliviously rubbing everyone the wrong way. The sort of person who, when suddenly granted an inkling of power, instantly and gleefully takes to abusing it.
Between kindergarten and 5th grade there was this kid called Bobby in my class, who, along with talking shit about literally everybody, loudly denounced me to the teacher (unprompted) for talking when the teacher had stepped out to take big swig of Jack, or whatever it was Sir did to turn the volume down on the tiny dumb-dumbs he had to spend his day with. Sir did not remotely care.
One day, half the class banded together to pelt Bobby with water balloons. Watching from afar, it was awful to behold. Very Lord of the flies. But, had it been some other kid getting pelted, beyond all reasonable doubt Bobby would have shown up on the side of the mob, but with a rock. He sucked, man.
Until two days ago I simply assigned Donald Trump to “Milhouse” status. An obviously dangerous idiot should he get ultimate power, but otherwise just another narcissistic gasbag. Another potato-looking approximation of a human being running for President throwing rocks.
But then, on the day of Orlando he humble-bragged as only someone with a monstrously inflated sense of self-worth can, that he “Called it and asked for the ban.”
And I thought Trump had called for an assault rifle ban? And then realized he meant “immigration”. Because, of course when an American-born, now reportedly confused man at war with his own sexual identity and feeling beyond anyone’s help, has a mental breakdown and purchases an AR-15 – as is his right. As an American – to go on a massacre, it’s because “immigration.” Da fuk?
“One plus one equals…”
“When I say hey, you say…”
Trump: “Ice cream!”
I’m struggling to find the right tone to talk about this, but what? How? When? But how? As an outsider looking in, we’re almost beyond the point of being angry, to just being flabbergasted. We can’t for the life of us begin to understand the pro-gun point of view.
Somewhere, somehow we’re missing something important, but it’s so beyond our understanding that we don’t even know what the right question to ask is. Because when we ask a question, the answer that comes back is weird. Consider this bizarrely common internet comment that arises after every mass shooting:
Really? That’s their “mic drop” moment? Never mind that it’s been super, super debunked at a policy level, how exactly, would an ethnic minority of a single European nation have defeated the German army circa 1939, the German army that rolled all of Western Europe, i.e. an entire continent, rolled all of north Africa, i.e. the top bit of another continent, whilst on the Eastern front leaving 7 million dead Soviet soldiers on the road to Moscow?
Forget “good guys with guns”, the Allies had good guys with tanks. And planes! But if “Seth the baker and his mates” had pistols then WW2 doesn’t happen. Oh sure!
This is supposed to be a comedy blog, but the only way I can think to express what I feel is a twisted sense of despair. And maybe that’s the only way to look at the American gun. I don’t even live in America, but it hurts.
Orlando was one of 43 American shootings on that Sunday. The evidence is anywhere they care to look, but people who make the decisions don’t care to look. The action taken after Sandy Hook was to do nothing. Should someone want to repeat Orlando, or Sandy Hook, or Auroa, or literally any other public massacre, America’s ability to stop it, is nothing. It will happen again. And again and again. What is there to say? Help me understand.