The Handmaid’s Tale Was Wrong – Essa’s Guide To Creating A Dictatorship


So I watched The Handmaid’s Tale on Hulu. I also read all the reviews. I’m obsessive like that. When Atwood wrote the book, she pointed out she only used situations that had occurred in the past, in other societies. She wanted to make it clear how easy it would be that something like this could happen in our society. It was a powerful political message.

I tried to do the same thing in this guide because I think as well meaning as Atwood was, her story was limited and blinded by discrimination. Reverse discrimination is still discrimination. All people are victims of it. Whenever there is a dictatorship, the dictator always seeks a group to hate. Stop hating that group on their behalf.

If you really want to be a dictator, the best bet is to just start hating everyone who isn’t you. Atwood’s story wasn’t one that entirely translates to anyone who hopes to create a dictatorship in today’s capitalist society. So, let me go over what they did wrong, in the hope that you can do it right.

#1. They fucked up the finances.

My mother convinced me to watch the show by pointing out how realistic the first episode was. She said to me, ‘They made it so all they had to do was shut down every bank account where a woman was the owner. That could happen!”

No mom, it couldn’t. Also, for the thirty-fifth time, all you have to do to send an attachment via email is fucking click on the paperclip!

Sorry, off topic. But no, in 2017 you can’t just shut down any bank account with ‘female’ in the gender field. I don’t know much about finance in Atwood’s 1985, when debit cards didn’t exist and your money didn’t have to go through a clearing house while moving from your pocket to a vendor’s. But I can tell you this of finance in 2017.

There’s no giant switch in some building somewhere that will allow you to essentially turn off all the bank accounts of a specific gender immediately – or even within a few weeks. Banking is segmented. That means that your $8 Starbucks, that you put on your debit card, doesn’t come directly out of your bank account, even though it looks like it does. It goes to a clearing house. That clearing house turns that money into data and sends that data to another clearing house. That will happen at least 6 times during your average financial transaction before finally hitting your bank account, at which point your financial institution will be charged.

Different banks use different clearing houses. Many banks use overseas clearing houses. There is no one switch you can use to turn off a bulk group of bank accounts based on gender. That would require the cooperation of thousands of companies.

No, if I was smart dictator, I’d target my financial attacks. I’d get creative.

I’d use a government institution to focus my attention on those who may be a threat to me. I’d create a law that allowed me to collect all their money if said money came from an alleged commission of an illegal act. I’d also make sure to smear that person in the news, so the public wouldn’t care when I took all their assets without providing proof. I wouldn’t target a gender or demographic. I’d target high-value people with no political allies. That way, I wouldn’t have to worry about discrimination claims. I could use government entities to seize all their assets and no one would care. Best part is, I’d never have to prove a thing. The accusation would be enough. I’d be able to freeze all their assets just by getting one government entity involved and never filing criminal charges where their constitutional rights actually applied.

I think I’d call it civil asset forfeiture – but I’m just spit balling names here.

#2.  They managed the angry people wrong

I watched the Handmaid’s Tale episode where they showed the protesters getting fired on by police and running away, with my drug dealer. During that, my drug dealer turned to me, utterly lost and said “why didn’t they fire back?”

Like any normal person, I said, “They didn’t have guns, maybe?”

My drug dealer, who is a normally chill dude, responded. “Bitch, I haven’t walked out of my house without a gun since 1998 and I’m from Connecticut. This shit is supposed to be in New York. NY motherfuckers are hard.” He pointed to the TV. “I once saw a NY dude shoot a guy for stealing his parking space. You think a mother fucker like that would be afraid to start blowing people away when he thought he had nothing left to lose?”

That statement brought up two valid points to me. One, New York is terrifying. Two, he’s right. I know a lot of gun owners and a lot of very angry people who are just looking for a reason. If you think any one of them couldn’t take down some idealistic senator, when said Senator had literally no experience with hands-on violence, you’d be out of your mind. I don’t care how smart you think you are. The stupid and violent will always win when the contest is brute force.So yeah, they did the whole protest scene wrong.

In my dictatorship, there would have never been a violent protest in the first place.

First, I’d just give people what they wanted. Food, drugs and a place to sleep. I wouldn’t give them more than what they need. Too much, and they’d start getting political. Too little and they’d want to rise up. Nope. I’d give them just enough. I’d give them just enough so that they were afraid of losing it. Possibly through a government program.

At the same time, I’d find a way to drug them on a mass scale. Maybe convince some pharmaceutical companies to get on board. Get them to convince people they had a lot of illnesses they didn’t have and get them to take mind altering drugs for those illnesses. I’d give the companies who provided those drugs massive government grants and a wide berth when it came to FDA approval.

Fuck religion being the opiate of the masses. Just opiate the damn masses and cut out the middleman!

The outliers, the ones that stayed angry? Well, I could handle them with misdirection.  I’d create imaginary problems with no solution that led to constant infighting. Both sides would have ridiculous opinions that no one would ever really get behind. While they were fighting with extremism. I’d rule the world with benevolence.

#3 They had a cliched end game

Every dictator wants to better the world, recreate it in their own image. But that’s just more misdirection. Part of the Handmaid’s Tale is that everything is justified through declining birthrates. If birth rates had declined that much – according to the show, the declination rate is well over 1000%, I’d take that as a sign. Not a sign that I need to change things. No, I’d take it as a sign that my species was done.

And I’d embrace that end by enjoying what little time I had left.

Too many people think the end of the world will come in a bang. Zombie Apocalypse, fire, brimstone. Really, it’s probably going to come as a whisper. A slow, steady reduction of our population. Those reductions will come first in the advanced societies, where individuals capable of solving high mortality rates in less advanced populations stop having children. Less advanced societies, where birth rates are high and mortality rates are higher will die off as a result. Slow and steady ends the race.

That’s Armageddon.

Now me, I’m not a doomsday prepper. I’m a girl who can take a hint. I see the end of the world coming, I don’t try to stop it. Life, any kind of life, whether it’s a cell, or a human being, or an entire society, will always end. It will eventually become something else. If my only other option is the Handmaid’s Tale – I’m going with a “balls to the walls, nothing left to lose” apocalypse.

And I promise you get on my side, you will like my dictatorship so much better. Want in? Bring beer and rock on until there’s nothing left to rock for.

Kids these days



I find it ironic that the people who claim to hate labels the most are also the ones who demand them the most. I’m talking about all the polyamorous, gender fluid, asexual, aromatic cis gendered white people who are so desperate to be unique, they need to give you their entire sexual history on their FB ‘about me’ page.

Because having to choose between male and female is too “in the box.” They’re not going to let you put your labels on them. Instead, they’re going to put a bunch of labels on themselves and demand you adhere to their labels. I guess that’s supposed to be better?

You know what the problem is? Kids these days don’t have enough real problems. When my mom was a kid, she had to worry about polio, asbestos and choking to death on the wig powder from the wigs that all those people wore back then. When I was a kid, it was AIDS. Yes, AIDS used to kill you. There was no cocktail. It was just a death sentence.

Now, as my kid heads into adulthood, I worry. I worry because maybe I didn’t give him enough to worry about.

Fear is a gift. It’s something we’re given to help us overcome adversity. Whether we’re worried that we might not be able to pay the rent, or that we might catch a contagious illness, it’s something that forces us to react. When I fear I might not be able to pay the rent, I work more. When I fear I might catch a serious, contagious illness, I make every effort to prevent being exposed.

But what do you do when your biggest fear is someone not respecting your chosen pronoun? Do you hold a massive protest or tweet to an echo chamber of your friends? Because here’s the deal. When you take a stance like gender is fluid, two things will happen. Everyone who agrees will agree with you. Everyone who disagrees will not. You will not change minds and as a result, you will not change anything.

When AIDS was a problem, we raised awareness to create a cure. We made it clear that AIDS was something that impacted everyone and we asked for solutions. But then again, AIDS was a problem that did impact everyone. As a result, it got attention.

You getting pissed because someone refuses to say “they’ when referring to you because after 18 years on this earth, you can’t decide what your gender is yet, is not. Look, no one really cares what you do. In any given day, other people will spend about .00001% of their time thinking about you.  The people that disagree with you will continue to disagree. The people that agree with you will continue to agree. But neither side will make you feel better about being you.

You want to be a dude even though you were born with a vag? Cool, ain’t no skin off my tits. You want to do the opposite? Again, I don’t give a fuck. I don’t care who you fuck, your political views or if you sexually identify as an apache attack helicopter. Literally, no one cares.

Yes, I just said literally unironically. Because no joke, people do not think about you as much as you wish they would.

Kids these days, their big fear is terrorism. Problem is, terrorism is as invisible as the boogie man.  It only impacts a world outside of themselves. Some kids, smart kids, they react the way they should. They get into STEM fields to protect our cyber boarders. They join the military to protect the real ones.

But most of the time, it feels like they’re doing neither while demanding free college where they can explore their gender fluidity while protesting the use of ‘he’ as a pronoun in a fucking form letter. To all those gender fluid, pansexual, ‘it’s complicated’ individuals, I say this.

No one gives a fuck.

Let’s talk about this white privilege I’ve heard so much about


One time, back in high school, two of my friends gave me the ‘friends test’. Like most high school girls, both wanted to make sure I was their true BFF – probably for the purpose of manipulating me later. So like sneaky high school girls had a tendency to do back in the 90s, both called me at once. One spoke, the other listened on speaker phone.

I suppose I wasn’t supposed to know this at the time but also – I knew.  You know, on account of not being retarded and teenage girls don’t know how to control their breathing while trying to silently listen to something. So when Girl One asked me “If there was an accident, and me and Girl Two got thrown out of the car and you were the only survivor and you were holding my hand, but also Girl Two’s hand, who would you drop if we were both dangling off a cliff”

Now, I knew that I was supposed to say I’d hold onto Girl One’s hand. At the very least. I could have given an excuse to hold onto Girl Two’s hand. But instead, I answered “Neither. I would have let you both drop.”

“Why?” Girl One asked.

“Because there’s no right answer to the question and holding both your fat asses up would seriously damage my shoulders.” Then, I hung up the phone and went back to watching Friends.

That, aside from being the story of how I lost my first best friend, also encompasses my philosophy of life. It’s all about me.  Here’s a Tupac song to underline the statement.

The whole ‘white privilege” category is that dumb assed, mean girl phone call on a mass scale. There’s no right answer and it’s designed to make you feel guilty for just being you. There is no answer you can give that will satisfy everyone. You’re the villain, just for being who you are.

Your only response, if you make one at all, can be apathy.

Know why I’ve never been to a protest? I don’t have time. When I’m not working, I’m recovering from working and waiting to go to work again. I don’t protest because I don’t have time for frivolous, nonsense gibberish. I don’t protest because I know better. I know the only way to change the world is with cold hard cash.

But I still have children telling me I’m ‘privileged’. Let’s be honest. Most of the kids spitting out the whole ‘white privilege’ thing are children who’ve never had to deal with adversity in their lives.

I have. I’m not particularly pretty. I’m not particularly smart. Just regular, but for the fact that I’m socially awkward. I have yet to have someone approach me and promise to take care of me and all my problems for nothing. I have yet to be given something that I didn’t work my ass off for.

I’ve spent most of my life working, specifically because I’m not particularly pretty and I’m not smart. I’m no one special. But still, I’ve managed to accomplish a lot of things. You don’t get to write off everything good I’ve done as ‘white privilege’ for the same reason you don’t get to write off everything wrong you’ve done because of ‘minority disillusionment’. Otherwise, we’d both be McDonald’s managers.

So no, white privilege is not a thing. I don’t know what it is to be you, but at the same time, you don’t get to tell me what it’s like to be me. That’s the tradeoff.

That’s why the whole ‘white privilege’ thing is a mean girl’s question. There’s no right answer you can give.

So you don’t need to answer the question. You just need to hang up the phone.

The Full Griswold

In the year and a half since I published last, a lot of things have happened in the world. Terrorist attacks, racism, anti-racism that still manages to be racism, a weird orange Muppet getting elected – so many important issues.

Important issues are boring.   Here’s a story about me getting drunk and falling out of my crawlspace instead.


I moved recently. I gave up the joys of apartment living for the burden of house living. Now, keep in mind no bank in their right mind would give me a mortgage – unless we’re talking about Bill and Tony’s Upstairs Hollywood Bank (a tribal company). It’s a rental house, in one of those pre-fab neighborhoods where everything looks the same. It’s also the first place I’ve ever rented that includes a garage. On top of that garage was a mysterious crawlspace.

Me and my son were fascinated/afraid of the crawlspace. We mentioned going up there to check things out more than a few times, the same way people talk about going back to school or getting their finances in order. Like “here’s some big lofty plan that I will talk about but never take action on.”

It likely would have stayed that way for years but for one night after I’d finished a six pack of courage. Instead of doing what I usually do when buzzed – going online and starting internet flame wars – I decided to be proactive. I was going to defeat that crawlspace.

So with a courageous squaring of my shoulders, I announced my intentions to my son. Then, I shit you not, I said the one line that no drunken redneck should ever say.

“Hold my beer. Watch this.”

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a crawlspace before, but here’s what you need to know. You want to avoid the beams entirely and put all your weight on the ceiling tiles. Just really get in there and bear down.

Ok, not really. That’s the opposite of what you want to do.

However, having never been in a crawlspace before, it did not occur to me that those tiles might be made of equal parts tissue paper and talcum powder. I have since learned my lesson and also heard “you know you’re supposed to stand on the beams, right?” about 7 billion times.

I made it about one square in before there was an ominous crackling. It sounded like the tiles were trying to tell me something. I crouched down a little closer and I distinctly heard it whisper “You know you’re supposed to walk on the beams, right?” before I promptly fell through and bounced off the hood of my mom’s Pontiac.

Yes, to add insult to injury, I was hit by a parked car.

As my left arm was rapidly swelling and I’d just dropped twelve feet onto concrete, my mother elected to call 911. I had three problems with that decision;

  1. I am consistently uninsured.  My health insurance plan is simple and free; death.
  2. Medicine is guesswork in a lab coat at best, witchcraft at worst.
  3. I was pretty sure I wasn’t dead

When the ambulance arrived, I was unable to answer the incredibly complicated triage questions such as “what’s your address” and “who’s the president? “I failed this portion of the Q & A because of this crippling disorder I have that makes me incapable of taking anything seriously. Below is a transcript:

Paramedic:  What’s your address?

Me: Shouldn’t you know that? You just drove here. You been drinking?

Paramedic: <visibly repressed sigh> Who’s the president?

Me: Uh, Obama?

Paramedic: No, it’s Trump.

Me: <snort> He ain’t my president.

Paramedic: <not even a chuckle, must be a conservative> How did this happen?

Me: I fell through my crawlspace.

Paramedic: You know you’re supposed to walk on the beams, right?

Anyway, they got me to the hospital where they provided excellent, immediate medical treatment. Just kidding, I laid on a stretcher in a neck brace I didn’t need, with an IV to nowhere in my hand. No joke, it wasn’t attached to anything. They just shoved an IV starter needle in my hand for – reasons. I was visited promptly by one medical person though.

The hospital billing administrator who wanted to know how I’d be paying. He was not satisfied by my answer. Specifically, “I’ll be paying two years from now, after negotiating a significant discount through the collection agency that buys my account.”

So that’s my story about what I did to my crawlspace. Unless you’re my landlord. If you are, it was like that when I moved in.








Been awhile

I stopped publishing on this blog awhile ago on account of like 14 people read it and I realized I wasn’t that important. But despite that, this is my space and we’re going to roll with my fantasy, which involves me walking back onto this site via the theme song;


If you were one of my followers in the past, I’m Essa, I still exist and I still need a place to vent.  So I’m back and I plan on talking about absolutely nothing important in the near future. Even gibberish deserves a platform.

Rock on.

You Are the Problem


The Harvard Business Review published an interesting study recently. In it, they actually isolated a ‘drama’ gene, proving that certain people are more prone to drama than others. These individuals tended to blow minor slights out of proportion, view any criticism as a personal attack, and stay bitter about minor incidents for years afterwards. But the thing that struck me the most about these drama lovers was their most common trait.

The locus of control. The locus of control is simply a fancy psychosocial way of describing how you view your impact on the world. I have an internal locus of control, in that I believe that my actions change the world. On the flip, a person with an external locus of control would believe that the world changes their actions.

Just to give examples;

Internal locus of control: “Wow, my choice to tweet Holocaust jokes on Hitler’s birthday sure pissed a lot of people off.”

External locus of control: “Why is everyone attacking my political opinion about how the Holocaust never happened? Twitter is just filled with crazy liberals.”

Now me, I always thought that my own internal locus of control was the worse one to have because it seems narcissistic to think that the entire world changes because of you. But now that I think about it, coming at the world from an ‘everyone is against me’ standpoint is far more narcissistic.

I mean, how important do you think you are that people would actually seek you out to discredit you? Isn’t it possible that someone just thinks you’re an asshole? And Harvard backed me up because it turns out people with an external locus of control report higher levels of conflict in their personal lives.

Let me try to explain with an anecdote. I have this friend Gina. Gina is a lightening bolt when it comes to relationships. What I mean is that Gina goes on a date with a dude and ZAP; his relationship status on Facebook is updated and she’s moved half her shit into his place, while waiting to see if the pregnancy test was just a false alarm. She barely knows these dudes, moves in with them, and suddenly gets all shocked when it falls apart after three months.

Then, she calls them the psychos. She never recognizes her own culpability, nor her ENTIRE responsibility, for the situation. It’s always the world doing shit to her. I mean, she decides to let a jobless loser live with her after the third date, and three months after she’s surprised when he’s still a jobless loser? The girl who hates drama is causing her own drama.

I’ve found that to be the truth about a lot of people who claim to hate drama. They’ll talk all day about being above it all, but then, after a while you notice, that’s all they talk about. They are never responsible in their own heads, but entirely responsible in real life.   They’re just incapable of connecting the two.

So what that Harvard study taught me is if you spend a fuckton of time talking about all the drama that other people cause in your life, its not just statistically likely, it’s a scientific fact that YOU ARE THE PROBLEM.

Let’s look at it from a scientific point of view.

    • About 87% of computer viruses start as a form of human error. YOU ARE THE PROBLEM.
    • 78% of adult-onset diabetes cases are a direct result of the nutritional choices of the individual with diabetes. YOU ARE THE PROBLEM.
    • Only 1% of identity theft claims are valid cases of criminal hacking. The other 99% are a result of individuals giving out their credit card information irresponsibly. YOU ARE THE PROBLEM.
    • Warnings about internet scams have existed for twenty years, but despite that, about 300,000 people fall victim to internet scams annually because they elect not to seek out advice. YOU ARE THE PROBLEM.
    • If everyone in your life treats you badly, your friends don’t like you and everyone seems to talk shit about you all the time…YOU ARE THE PROBLEM!!! Consider the fact that you might, just might, be a complete asshole who no one wants to be around

Look people, dickish behavior doesn’t happen in a vacuum. I know a lot of people who have a lot of drama in their lives and they all have one thing in common. They’re the kind of people who consider “you call me a bitch like it’s a bad thing” their catch phrase. Here’s the deal. It is bad to be a bitch. Bitches are mean. They’re rude, thoughtless and unpleasant to be around. They think niceness is a sign of weakness, when real strong people know that niceness is an asset.

It costs nothing yet gains you everything.

Dramatic individuals don’t get that. If you don’t, there is a very good chance that you have a lot of drama in your life. You think you’re not causing it, but you are. The world is not controlling you. You’re trying to passively aggressively control the world. But the world doesn’t react to passive aggression. So either embrace aggression, or reject it entirely, but don’t claim to be a victim of it. Because deep down, we all know one thing, and it’s been scientifically proven.

You are the problem.


I know what you’re searching for….

There are three topics that bring people to my blog time and time again. In order of popularity, they are;

  1. How to pass a drug test
  2. How to use the darknet (ironic, because half the reason you’d need to pass a drug test would be because of shit you bought off the darknet)
  3. When’s the 2016 Suzuki Hayabusa coming out?

Many of the people searching these terms had questions which my articles failed to address. In the interest of being thorough, I will address these questions now.

How much bleach do I need to pass for meth on a drug test?

Um, you’re fucking kidding, right? Are you asking about drinking bleach or pouring it into your urine? Drinking the bleach will definitely make it so you don’t have to take the drug test – on account of you’ll be dead. Pouring bleach directly into your urine sample will likely result in you being pulled for a higher caliber test, when it’s shown that your urine has more chlorine than the average swimming pool. Meth will stay in your system for three to five days, so just put the damn pipe down for a week and you’ll be cool. Don’t drink bleach and don’t put it in your pee.

Will meth help me pass a drug test for weed?

No, meth won’t help you pass a drug test. I cannot comprehend the idiocy which gave birth to that particular line of logic. Smoking meth to pass a drug test would be a bit like eating pancakes to cure diabetes. The only thing that will happen if you smoke meth to get weed out of your system is you’ll test positive for both and wind up in court-ordered rehab. I’m assuming that this idea comes from the fact that amphetamines speed metabolism, which could actually be counterintuitive. Marijuana has an oil base, which makes it attach to other oils like human fat. Speeding up your metabolism is more likely to release old metabolites than it is to get rid of new ones.

Time and water, those are your options. That’s it. Time and water. There is no magic cure. If there was, no one would ever fail a drug test and probation would be obsolete.

How do I buy meth on the darknet?

What is it with you people and meth? Look, the darknet is crazy expensive for everything but weed. Weed’s cheap because of legal competition. Meth, not so much. If you’re hard up, yes you can buy it there but it’s going to cost you a fuckton and to be honest, I’ve never met a rich meth addict. Check out the Darknet subreddit to get specific info regarding PGP, Bitcoin and black markets. Just note there’s a learning curve and if you’re one of those who can barely send an attachment via email, you’re not going to be able to do it.

When does the new Suzuki Hayabusa come out?

I have no fucking clue. I wrote the article a long time ago, for some scammer who never paid me, and slapped it up on my site so they couldn’t use it. The only info I can give you about any scooter is something my dad said a long time ago.

“Scooters are like fat chicks. They’re fun to ride till your friends see you on one.”

That’s all I got. Hope I clarified a few things, because I learned a few things myself. Those things are;

  • A lot of meth users come to my site.
  • The vast majority of those meth users are idiots who I should be encouraging to drink bleach
  • The Suzuki Hayabusa is the preferred mode of transportation for meth heads everywhere.