Twilight of the Idols

Though his name is a gesture to the château of debauch, perversion, and female submission in The Story of O, I've always sensed a certain Spenglerian quality to Roissy's blogging--a perception that was reinforced while I was reading his commentary on this fascinating news item:

Transsexual performer vomits on Susan Sarandon
By James Hirsen

Oscar winning actress Susan Sarandon has had a bad time of it lately. The actress recently separated from her long time partner, actor Tim Robbins. Sarandon attended the third anniversary of The Box in New York’s Lower East Side.

A transsexual cabaret performer named Rose Wood engaged in projectile vomiting on stage and hit Sarandon with it .

Standing nearby were Scarlett Johansson and Liev Schreiber.

According to Wood it was not intended as an affront to the actress and she didn’t take it that way.

“Apparently [Sarandon] got a big kick out of it. She squealed with surprise and loved it when several handsome gentlemen wiped it off of her. She had a ball! I saw her assistant downstairs afterward, and he was moved by it! She was in great spirits,” Wood told the New York Press.

Wood explains that vomiting on people is fitting is this establishment. “[It was a] fitting time for an outrageous act: the third anniversary of The Box. Everybody wants to offer safe and ordinary, not The Box!”


After indulging in some scatology, Roissy write this about our "self-destructing" elite class:

Idiocracy isn’t confined to the plebes and riff raff. A counterpart idiocracy is simultaneously at work degrading the elite. A sure sign of a culture’s death rattle is its elite abandoning all pretense of taste and class in a vain effort to prop a barrier between themselves and the hoi polloi. The fraud that is modern art has served this function well for the past 50 or 60 years, but it is finally reaching its inevitable resolution, as it always would, devolving into a repulsive farce that says more about professed elite admiration for it than about the art itself. At one time, there was piss christ, which the elites could happily use as a club to bludgeon the unsophisticated into submissive apologia. But pretty (and not so pretty) lies are like ravenous beasts that must continually feed until ultimately they turn on their advocates. (See: Any multicultural society’s paeans to diversity.) And so we have the scorching parody of an elitist like Susan Sarandon suffering a stream of projectile vomit from the beast she helped breathe to life, and then being forced by a combination of circumstance and cognitive dissonance to betray her own disgust reflex at the altar of lifestyle liberalism.

Susan Sarandon’s defiled face and subsequent feint of enjoyment and poseurism is a symbol of the late Caesarean implosion of our putative overclass. Tim Robbins’ dumping her must have hit her hard. (Another high status man dumps aging wife! News at 11.) The “several handsome gentlemen wiped it off of her” line is telling. Rose Wood knows what a wrinkled, sexually worthless woman wants to hear. On the other end of the social spectrum, People of Walmart race to the bottom free of any need or desire to ape the habits of their betters. And who could blame them when their betters are the likes of Sarandon, vomiting trannies, and enabling art critics and media mavens? All the while, the rapidly shrinking sane middle is beaten like a pinata by an unholy alliance of the hermetically warped elites and the wretched bottom dwellers, of which such end-gameplaying is sure to have deadly serious consequences.

Here is the truth of the incident. You, Susan Sarandon, got puked on by a freak degenerate performing nothing remotely resembling art except in the fevered imaginations of bathhouse Baudelaires and serial killers. It wasn’t cutely “outrageous” and it wasn’t conceptually deep that only you and your inner circle of pretend snobs could recognize its artistic merit. And those “handsome gentlemen” in attendance took pity on you, the kind of unwelcome, soul withering pity reserved for the losers and the lost. Of which you are now one.

It's fun to imagine Lenin, Hitler, or other social revolutionaries furiously plotting in back rooms and then seizing power when the elites least expected it. The truth is that no modern social revolution has occurred without the ruling regime either handing power to the upstarts on a silver platter--as with Mussolini and Victor Emmanuel--or else effectively committing suicide, with the revolutionaries well positioned to pick up the pieces.

I wonder if there's ever been an elite political and cultural class more desperate to destroy itself than the one we have now.