I’m about to go Section 8 about Section 8

Remember the sitcom MASH? And Klinger who walked around in dresses in the army trying to get a psychiatric — “Section 8” — discharge?

There’s another Section 8. I didn’t know about this one till recently. I found out about it after I got rid of cable TV. I started DVRing The People’s Court. I keep doing it because I have a crush on the new judge.

I call her Judge Hotner and Judge Cutie, because my wife thinks that’s SO funny.

Section 8 is this government program where poor people get a portion of their rent paid by government (usually 80 or 90 percent) to allow them to afford to live in conventional rental properties. I don’t know how many states have it or whether it’s a federal thing.

I suppose that the idea was to get rid of government housing projects and dilute criminality. (That’s worked out real well in Memphis, where they went beyond Section 8’ing to actually dispersing criminals to suburbs and buying them houses. Check out the Memphis crime rates. If you think I’m just groundlessly ranting at minorities again, go find The Atlantic article from a couple of years ago where they laid it all out.)

Over and over again, Judge Cutie has landlord vs tenant cases where the tenant is on Section 8. I’ve even saved a few of these shows because they’re so unbelievable.

These Section 8 people are exactly why I loathe the poor. (I used to say I hate the poor, but it was pointed out to me that they’re only worthy of my loathing.)

As I may have mentioned a time or two, I used to be poor, and I knew a lot of poor people. Most of them sucked. They’re criminal, dishonest, lazy, greedy, cunning and, most of all, championship rationalizers. Not only do 80% of the poor deserve to be poor, they deserve to be in jail.

There is no excuse for being poor in this country, over the long haul, even if, especially if, all government benefits to the poor were cut off today. That includes all poor people except psychotics. And half of them are faking. Cutting off all government help would be the kindest thing we could do to help the poor, and a blessing beyond price to their children and grandchildren. Get a fucking clue, liberals.

Some might say, “But those people in Judge Hotner’s court aren’t typical Section 8 rent-seekers.”  You can say that, but you’re wrong. They’re exactly like the majority of poor people next door that I knew. I’m sure they get sued at a much higher rate than real tenants, even with government paying most of the bills. Do I have statistics to back that up? No, I don’t. If you find statistics saying I’m wrong, go fuck yourself. When government crawls this much up people’s asses, what’s really going on will always be distorted and covered up in the statistics.

Usually, at this point when I rant about how shitty poor people are, gentle liberal persons give up trying to pretend they don’t think poor people are gross, and retreat to, Well, you had advantages they didn’t have, like being smart.

Ok, I’m not going to go all faux-humble and say I’m not that smart. I’m obviously pretty goddamn smart. And being smart is the best thing to have. I’ve traded on being smart ever since I smartened up in my late 20’s.

My dad was smart too. I don’t think he ever made more than $30K a year. He was subsidized by his parents and they bought every car he had till he was in his late 40’s or so. Then he got a used Gremlin or something. Never owned a house till his parents died and left him theirs. He was poor because he had poor values and I think he kept his poor values because he never was forced to be a fully independent adult. Good intentions do not guarantee good adults. Take that Jesse Jackson.

While writing this, it’s finally dawned on me what the sine qua non poor value is:

Rationalization and denial as your go-to life strategy. BS’ing yourself as your first move. And being allowed to live your whole life in a context where you can get away with it.

I never once saw my father admit he was wrong. And he was the King Kong of Obviously Wrong. Here’s my dad, a typical vignette:

As a little kid, I loved the Wizard of Oz books. There are a lot of them, in case you don’t know. Read them to your 4-7 year olds. When I was 9, they did a movie of the second Oz book. There’s an evil witch called Mombi who has custody of the hero Jack and who abuses him like he’s Cinderella. Well, after considerable begging, me and my younger brothers got treated to that movie by my dad. And then we got yanked out of it after 10 minutes because it was an offense against “family values.” See, how dare they have an evil character called “Mommie.”

In the VW microbus on the way home, I tried to explain that it was “Mombi,” not “Mommie” and no they weren’t slurring the name to deliberately attack Kinder, Kucher, Kirchen, which was his next argument. I heard Mombi clearly, everyone else in the theater heard the B except you, you dumb bastard (that last with a silent b  and a silent dumb bastard).

I refused to admit defeat, marching down the stairs to my basement lair, and pulling out the book and quoting book, chapter and Mombi. His defense morphed to L. Frank Baum obviously was a member of the international anti-family Bilderberger Communist CFR conspiracy and the name Mombi was a subliminal attack on the family because it was similar to Mommie so it didn’t matter if he couldn’t hear the letter B.

My dad was a John Bircher, a lifelong disappointment to his parents, a vile abuser of his children, and I’m glad he’s dead, though he didn’t die soon enough, like 6 months before I was born would have been about right.

So, where was I? Oh, yeah….

When government or anybody helps the poor more than once in a short term, time limited, personal way, they train the poor in BS’ing as the way to get by.

Government is the worst. Not only is it impersonal (a problem shared by soup kitchens), but every government agency seeks actively to make the problems it is supposed to address worse. No social worker ever got fired for increased caseload. Instead, they learn from the poor how to BS about how hard their lives are.

Government standards for deserving help are necessarily and always BS’able. The poor must pretend to be victims and learn to sell their bullshit on a government form to a government worker. It’s a short step from selling to buying your own BS. Whichever side of the desk you happen to be on.

I’m not claiming that I don’t rationalize or deny, but it’s not my go-to life strategy. I’m occasionally, grudgingly willing to look at how I might have fucked up hard enough to be the linchpin in creating this fucked-up situation.

I promise you, at least 80% of people on Section 8 subsidies are not examining their eipic fails EVER.

My dad had his loving, hopeful parents. These Section 8 assholes have hopeful, guilt-expiating liberals.

You know what poor people, like my dad, like the people in Judge Cutie’s court, need to have blasted into their bedrooms at 3AM like it was an ATF raid on David Koresh’s Waco compound?


Here’s the tertiary argument I usually hear after I say something like fuck poor people and their bullshit excuses:
Well, you get welfare too, it’s just middle class welfare. That’s right and it’s irrelevant.

I was too proud as a young person to take poor people welfare, to take welfare that depended on me defining myself as a helpless victim. Doesn’t mean I didn’t get welfare.  I patronized libraries, I paid the posted fares on busses. I understood I was being subsidized for books and transport. But there was a bright line between taking advantage of services that shouldn’t exist but were available to all and trying to finagle a government check by acting like a dumbshit.4

There is one case in which I did get poor people welfare. Here and now I’ll confess to a crime–a series of crimes, without checking the statute of limitations, though I’m probably pretty safe.  Christ am I getting old:

I used to buy food stamps off my neighbors at a huge discount, usually at least 50% often 80%. I could get those discounts without hard bargaining. I’d spend the food stamps on food for my family; they’d spend my money on drugs and gambling and 8-track tapes.

Nowadays, the gubmint food stamp guys have the debit card thing going, which they think has stopped that kind of shenanigans, but it hasn’t. It’s just maybe made the transactions slightly more costly and barter-y. I don’t know, but I suppose, you actually have to give your shopping list to the chick who’s going to go buy heroin as soon as she hands over the groceries and you hand over the cash. It’s probably much more efficient than I’m guessing.

I feel zero guilt about that food stamp “fraud.” I feel proud. It wasn’t just ethical, was righteous. Hey, gubmint, think about it: People buying food stamps under the table either intend to buy FOOD or to re-sell them to people who will buy FOOD. Because, in the end, all food stamps are good for is FOOD.

Food stamp “fraud” moves food stamps away from people who are getting food stamps they don’t need to people who really want them. And who are those people who really want them? I haven’t committed food stamp “fraud” since I could afford to not go through the hassle. It’s poor people who value food more than luxuries like drugs and iPods who benefit from food stamp “fraud.”

The only real fraud being committed is by those people you stupid bureaucrats give money to who don’t need food stamps. Food stamp “fraud” as you gubmint assholes define it, is the market working to get that money to people who really need it, despite the gubmint’s best efforts to give it to people who are best at BS-ing the system.

Liberals know nothing more about the poor than they know about unicorns. And they moon on about the poor like pre-pubescent girls dream about unicorns. To a liberal, unicorns and the poor are mythical and noble and have a lot to teach us, non-verbally. But I wouldn’t want one shitting up my house.


UPDATE 2016. My father died several years ago. I don’t remember how many. I take back nothing I said about him. He was more ridiculous than he was horrible, unless you were a child subject to his ranting hours of Orwellian abuse. Anyhow, when he died, I felt nothing. Well, of course, I felt something, but it wasn’t near as deep as what I feel watching the latest episode of Game of Thrones. Pretty much, I didn’t care. I post this only to help others who’ve been similarly abused and have had the courage to reject their vicious birth-parents. I doubt you’ll have some deep emotional reckoning waiting for you either.


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