The lower class.
Uwaah! Rape!
Don't worry about it.
Nononononononono, definitely not. Disallowed! Verboten!
It really isn't, there have been a few over our long and illustrious history, many of which have been boring and ******.
Kyaa~ No, sun, that's forbidden luv.
Nah, get out, it's not for thine eyes.
I agree with this much of your post.
Home is where the guns are, home is where you wanna be. You ignore the bus and start walking. You hate public transit because it's dirty, crowded and slow. Not that walking is ever fast, but you only live a about 2 miles from the school and you've made the walk before. It's pretty hot out, but when is it not around here? It's past four when you finally arrive at home. No one's there. Your mom is out doing whatever it is she does with her jobless ass self and you dad is probably at the Wild West Show grounds. You have to be there for a show at seven. You have some homework that you're planning on blowing off so you've got about two hours to kill before you need to ride out. First things first, shower. You don't like feeling gross and you know other people can tell you're gross because you can smell yourself. Being presentable isn't the goal most of the time but with a show on the horizon you kind of do want to look as unlike your usual slob of a self as possible. So you head over to the bathroom. The mirror is cracked along one side but still usable. You were the one who broke it when you were nine. You're almost finished with the bad luck sentence if superstition has its way. You never believed in any of that shit. Dad always makes you say grace and pray before bed, but you think the whole thing is retarded. If you were to believe that book of his, you'd have to do a lot of contradictory things. You can't get with a legal code that can't even set itself straight with itself. But you do believe-- no, you do want to believe that there's a hell. You can do without heaven, but there must be a hell. Some people don't get theirs in this life and if there is any justice in this world, they're burning like the surface of the sun as you stand. You think you might be one of those people. When you're finished, you're down to an hour and a half to kill. You look back at the mirror. You're not exactly a pretty sight even with the being clean thing going for you. You're kind of boyish, your posture is shit, there are bags under your eyes fro sleep deprivation... the list goes on. You take comfort in the fact that you're young and thin, but that's about all you've got. Makes you think of Hanna, the girl Chris is going out with. She's nothing you'd go gay over but she's still pretty, well, pretty. She keeps her long dark hair swept over one eye for some reason and always seems to be wearing this dark cap whenever she goes out. The first time you met her, you were looking for a book in the library and scared her away by asking if you were in the right aisle. The second time you met her she had just slapped on of the jocks for messing with Chris. That's right after they started going out. You frown and decide to forget about the whole thing. So you do. You hear a knock on the door around half past six and look up from the scattered pieces of the Taurus. It's your dad. You put it back together hastily and greet him when he reaches your room. He asks if you like the gun. You say that you haven't even fired it yet. He asks if you're ready to knock 'em dead. You say that you haven't killed a single person yet. He laughs and slaps you on the back a little harder than he should have and tells you to get packed and ready for the show. You cough slightly and follow him out. In the car you... [] make conversation. [] sleep. [] stare out the window.
You're really gay.
Nothing to worry yourself over.
You shuffle around a bit in your seat before saying, "Repeataan, pore fayvore." His hand goes straight for the forehead. After spending the next five minutes berating your attention span and pronunciation-- you assume-- he asks again. You really have no clue so you tell him, "Me buhreeto no quandoh ahmbre chocolatay." He stares at you, dumbfounded for a second before saying the only word you're sure you know in the whole language. Detencion. You hold back a biting remark and nod. You hate this teacher. You want one of his almost monthly car accidents to kill him so badly that you dreamt he was dead once and woke up depressed that it didn't actually happen. Well, at least you know how you're spending your lunch again. In Chemistry you sit next to Chris. People would punch him as they passed or say shit like, "Hey, faggot." You've considered starting something with them, but you're hopeless at fighting and you know that you're not girly enough for them to feel bad about hitting you. So, instead you ask for the aisle seat and say they wouldn't mess with you for no reason like they did him. He seems grateful. You tell him that he needs to stay well for his girlfriend. He blushes a bit and you laugh at him. You tell him that she's a keeper and that it couldn't have worked out better. He thanks you for the comment but reminds you that class is about to start. Yeah... class. At lunch you sit facing the middle aged bastard that you would call your mortal enemy if you knew exactly what that meant. He has given you a worksheet again. It's not tough, but you have no idea how you're supposed to get the language based on these little insect diagrams and cutesy scenarios. You know better than to question his methods and just finish it. When you hand it in you say answer his question, the same one that landed you here, correctly. It's easy to know what he's gonna do when he's done this once a week for three months. You just memorize the answer out of the book and forget it when you leave. After school you're walking away from the building alone, feeling particularly sweaty and gross from gym, you should... [] go home. [] go the the apartment. [] go the the Wild West Show grounds.
Alright, you're wrong. Now that we've got that out of the way, here's why. You're missing the point of the job market example. The point of that was that self improvement via a specific means would be rewarded. I don't care if you can improve yourself other ways or just are lucky enough to make it some other way. The specific way you improve is immaterial so all the talking about jobs you did didn't touch my argument. You just looked into a forest and saw no trees. So you spent two paragraphs arguing with yourself and not me on that point. Whether it's learning to speak or learning to walk or learning to run a nuclear plant, everyone is improving from the day you're born and you only do so through realizing their failures and successes and following the successes. This is why all people can be grouped in this case, because all people have brains that work under the same principals. The whole point of my argument is that people are criticised when they are doing something incorrectly. You are doing something incorrectly, they are criticising you so that you may improve. Perfection doesn't have any bearing on improvement and no bearing on who is allowed to give out criticism. If it mattered that no one was perfect, you would still be unable to speak and type because every time you made a mistake you would refuse to be corrected because your parents and teachers aren't perfect. So in case you missed it, you're contradicting yourself again. You said first that I was not allowed to criticise your incorrect action because I'm not perfect. That indicates that you will not follow the directions of anyone who is not perfect. That indicates that you do not want to learn from anyone. That indicates that you do not wish to learn. Then you said you still want to learn. You need to be precise and accurate with your communication and cognizant of your true meaning if you want to make an argument. You clearly are not. People wouldn't have a problem with any of your points i you were able to argue them. That's why I'm still here talking to you. I'm trying to help you improve and show you the errors that you have been making. Maybe that's a little egotistical of me, maybe it's spot on. I don't know, I'm not perfect.
Please don't. I respect you, presently.
The no one is perfect argument presupposes that no one on earth wants to learn anything or improve themselves in any way over the course of their entire life. That's clearly wrong, because people go to school and value education enough to base job offers on it.
Contrarian.
This is called being mistrustful. You trust yourself more than us.
You sound like you're just doing this whole thing to be contrary. Very much like a person saying, "I won't try broccoli because I met a ton of people who loved it and it creeped me out." Maybe you really just can't trust that people want to help you and enrich your life experience. Fine, paranoia isn't uncommon. But honestly, all of your arguments have been flimsy as wet tissue and you should admit that you're being either closed minded or mistrustful at this point.
I never saw the appeal of minecraft outside of logic gates. Monument building is pretty much a pointless, uncreative grind and the physics exploits are really only worth a couple of hours of attention tops. But with redstone gates at least you can practice something that might be worthwhile to you at some point in your life.
