The Week That Perished: Cotton Pickin' Good!

Plus a new Dave Rant!

In this week’s Week:

Walt Whiteman’s poetry is not the best,

Welshman wails with knife in chest.

Biden says, “glad you didn’t listen to me,”

Hassan Nasrallah is R.I.P.,

And Newsom says, “fuck your grocery.”

The Week That Perished

*

DAVE RANT!

I haven’t posted anything in a week, which means not one single unsub. 50% of my subscribers only sub to unsub when I post. They sub believing that subbing means they WON’T get content from me, so when they do, they hit the roof like I spat on their grandma.

I’d like to think that everyone on Substack deals with this, it’s just that they accumulate enough followers to the point where unsubs don’t matter. But somehow I think I DO attract more retards, because there are thousands of morons out there who carry their own fantasy Dave Cole in their heads, an imagined Dave Cole loosely based on 21-year-old me but distorted by time and ignorance: “Dave Cole’s the BASED JEW who DEBUNKED the HOLOHOAX! I’ll subscribe to his Substack for to get daily updates about WOODEN DOORTHS!”

No, asshole, you’ll get rants like this. Now go unsub; I’m glad to be rid of you.

Begin rant (yeah, the above was NOT the rant, just the preliminary):

The older I get, the more reclusive I get, the more irritated I become with people who don’t understand my “no shoes in the house” policy. All I ask is to live peacefully by myself in a home with a living room carpet not crawling with filth. Yes, I’d rather have hardwood floors, as they’re easier to clean. But I have carpet; so be it.

Is asking that you don’t track shit over my carpet in my house too burdensome a request? Am I on par with a LaQuesha who wants welfare for life while demanding you support her ten kids? Is that how you view my humble request? Because honestly I don’t think my request is that outrageous. You can always just NOT come to my house if my shoe policy is so odorous. Your health, prosperity, and well-being will not be affected by not going to Dave’s house. Don’t like the policy? Don’t come over.

See, I think people like me - the “no shoes” people, and to be fair there’s like a billion of us counting the civilized parts of Asia - are misunderstood by people like you, the “track shit everywhere” folks (and to be fair you’re the world majority - all of Africa, South & Central America, and most of Europe and North America). You seem to think people like me hate shoes. Like we have some bizarre pathological hatred of shoes. That bringing a shoe into my home is like bringing a statue of Satan into the home of an Evangelical Christian or a side of pork into the home of a Muslim.

Okay, it’s good that we’re having this talk. Let’s clear that up: no, us “no shoes” people don’t hate shoes. We wear shoes, we buy shoes, we appreciate shoes. What we don’t like is what’s on the bottom of shoes, the dirt, dogshit, birdshit, mud, and related detritus that attaches itself to the bottom of a shoe when you walk outside.

I think we’ve just had a breakthrough! You’re like “oh, and all this time I thought you just hated shoes! But no, shoes are your friend! It’s the dirt you hate.”

Glad you finally get it.

When Kera and her brother lived here, I’d ask them to take off their shoes in the house. And you know what they’d do instead? Like good rural Nebraskans they simply went outside barefoot, tromping through mud and dog feces. They actually thought that was a satisfying solution, to walk outside barefoot and that way Dave wouldn’t be troubled by the shoes he so obviously detests.

That’s why I think this talk is needed, to dispel the notion that folks like me irrationally despise shoes.

These days, when someone enters my house they step onto a tile area that leads to the shoe-mat I have for everyone’s convenience. Step in the house, walk over the tile area in your shoes, deposit your shoes on the mat, step on the carpet in your socks. You’re now my guest; welcome, friend.

But no, because these folks are under the impression that it’s all about my hatred of shoes, you know what they do? They step on the tile, getting mud etc. all over it - which is fine, because the tile’s easily cleaned - then they step on the mat, remove their shoes, then they walk back over the dirty tile, thus transferring what they tracked in on their shoes to their socks, and then they walk on the carpet.

Because since you guys think my pathology is directed toward shoes not dirt, you’re like, “hey, I lost the malevolent footwear! Now I’ll track dirt on your carpet via my socks, because you love socks, right?”

It’s the damnedest thing, because everyone does it. They don’t get that the point of the no shoes policy isn’t that I detest shoes, it’s that I don’t want what you just walked through in my neighborhood filled with dogs, cats, raccoons, skunks, coyotes, rats, mice, and possums - all of which deposit leavings in the grass and weeds you just crossed to get to my walkway - inside my house. It doesn’t matter if the filth is on the bottom of your socks. That doesn’t make it better. Hence why I set up a simple progression upon entering: front door to tile to mat to carpet.

And yes, I based it on the “bath and delousing” facility at Birkenau. Enter dirty side, get feet deloused, proceed to the shower, then exit the clean side.

Upon entering from the “unreine seite” (unclean side), you’d step in this pool of delousing agent on the other side of the door. That would completely sterilize your feet. Then you’d proceed forward, to the shower, then exit the clean side.

Never backtrack. If you backtracked at Birkenau, if you went backwards from the clean side to the unclean side, you’d get a beating. And I’ll tell you what, while I’ve never hosted a Holocaust survivor at my house, I bet they’d understand my door-tile-mat-carpet progression. Sometimes the tough love of a few beatings in youth can instill a lifetime of respect for cleanliness.

Anyway, I hope this clears things up. It’s not the shoes; it’s the dirt.

BTW, if you don’t like MY policy, you’ll hate the Japanese one. The “based” Japs don’t just have a shoe ban. As I learned during my tenure lecturing at Waseda University in Tokyo in 1995, there’s also a bathroom slipper policy. You’re supposed to wear slippers in the bathroom, and those slippers are to be worn ONLY in the bathroom, because the Japs, being generally more clever than the rest of us, are aware of urine splatter (I’m assuming they received that epiphany somewhere around the time they realized you could eat seaweed). When a male pees, and this applies to both the traditional Jap squat-toilets and modern Western ones, there will be splatter. Tiny mist-like drops that land on the floor around the receptacle. Bathroom-only slippers ensure that you never track that bacterial maelstrom through your home (remember, Japs sit on the floor, so they have a heightened sense of floor-filth).

To be honest, I like the bathroom slipper idea; I always have. But I never enforce it in my house with guests, because if they don’t get the “not tracking in mud and shit” concept, how will they comprehend invisible mist-piss? Mud and shit at least you can see. And they still refuse to “see” it anyway. I’m not gonna try to explain to them something the eye can’t detect.

There, that’s my rant.

The obvious moral? Don’t fucking come over, okay? Leave me be. Stay away.

It’s why God invented email.

REMEMBER: MY SUBSTACK IS FREE AND ALWAYS WILL BE, BUT YOU CAN LEAVE A “TIP” VIA BUY ME A BEER!