Over at The Other McCain, Stacy McCain has published an excellent analysis of those Millennials who have made being disgruntled their one profession in life, it seems.
It is well-worth a read, but this section is especially spot-on:
Where do they come from, these douchebags? Suburbia, mainly….
…Nearly all of these left-wing fringe types come from what used to be called “broken homes” back in the old days, before we were taught politically correct euphemisms for social dysfunction.
They’re angry, see, and their anger becomes the organizing principle of their lives, so they must act out in some way. Lashing out at scapegoats, they externalize their inner pain, believing that whatever object they make a target of their anger deserves to be hated.
Costuming their personal grievances in the rhetorical wardrobe of politics, the seek out others like themselves as a sort of support group, engaging in protests as performance with history as the imagined audience, basking in the warm glow of the admiration they strive to deserve by acting on behalf of “social justice” or some other cause.
Most of us know this type of person. He swims in a sea of misery, never coming up for air, wanting to drag everyone he knows down into his sewer tunnel of despair.
Those of this type who Stacy speaks directly of [see also: his article today, They Still Blame Bush, over at The American Spectator] are different from the kind most of know only in that, instead of confining their dragging-down to their circle of acquaintances, they want to yank the whole world into their cesspits of Nihilism.
Could This Be One Explanation?
And the Leftist Masterminds, like Obama, are more than happy to encourage Special Snowflakes and provide them with material support, because, let us not forget, for the Leftist, Human Beings do not matter, only achieving Utopia does. The SS are merely eggs in the l’Omelette de l’Illumination.
…a few words about the inevitable appearance, that night, of the idiots, simpletons, madmen, and maniacs. When everything in society suddenly stops functioning rationally, that’s when the misfits crawl out of the woodwork. And with them their resentments, their utopian visions, their neuroses and psychoses. Mad dogs on the loose. A merry-go-round of feeble minds, free at last of all social fetters….
—Jean Raspail, The Camp Of The Saints, chapter Forty
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