icycalm wrote:The question then becomes, why does THIS genetic makeup make THAT choice in THIS particular situation, and no other?
Parents, the way you are brought up by them that is. I know it sounds crude, but let's be honest, no matter what genetic wild-card of a genius child Billy Bob and Mary Jane may receive from mother nature, them raising their kid in a trailer outside bumblefuck saskatewan or wrinkletit arknansas, will not help their offspring aquire a heightened sense of taste.
The kid, named Billy Bobby, may have a chance, but that would require one mean motherfuckin' lucky dice roll; which would manisfest itself in the way of a benevolent schoolteacher that catches him solve a complicated chemistry problem on a huge green chalkboard in college, where Billy Bobby was hired as a janitor and flesh puppet by the Dean, Mister. Knownsworth.
But by the end of the day, very few get such dice rolls twice (the first being his genetic composite) , let alone once... so Billy Bobby will probably end up knocking up his mother, Mary Jane, and using his big gray luscious brain to chop up his dad and shove him in the walls of their Panamerican.
Then he and his mom would probably find a very interesting post-it on the news board in the very college in which, in an alternate life, he would have found his mentor and lover, the witty absent minded chemistry teacher, that actually passes them as Billy Bobby skims the newsboard.
He grabs the post-it, which asked for companions regarding a trip across the american wasteland in search for famous murder sites and homes of famous murderes, and calls his future roadtrip companions, a hot brunette photo/video skank and her lover, a long haired handsome wannabe writer... and the rest is legend.
Of course, entourage, neighborhood and such are also very important, naturally. I mean, If I were to show LuckyLicks, a black skinny gangsta' motherfucker that grew up in the mean streets of harlem, a diamond encrusted platinum plated over gold plated rolex (which means nothing to me, since I wear a calculator watch) , and ask him "want this?" He would without a doubt, say "jyeah!" and grab it before I can even finish my question, after which he would stab me in the liver.
Then he would prance around the block showing off to his homies and Laqueesha, the neighborhood hoe that was too rich for his blood. All this until Tyrone, the real top dog and Laqueesha's pimp, comes along and stabs him in the liver. Poor LuckyLicks, his ambition got the best of him...
If I were to show the same diamond encrusted platinum plated over gold plated rolex to Obama, and ask him if he would like it, he would say " No thanks, I'm the president... and half white."
Meaning that, in the end, the most important "dice roll" an organism will ever make is who will his parents be. Since that will place him/it somewhere in history, and somewhere in the food chain. One's aesthetic sense is ultimately linked to this very important dice roll. I mean... it's pretty simple right? The day and age you live in, the current state of affairs, etc, all affect not only your genetic composite but also your growth, and therefore your aesthetic sense... all this boils down to your fucking parents, which in turn boil down to their fucking parents, and their fucking parents, and their fucking parents, all boiling down to a whole lot of very important fucking.
I know everything I just said is extremely crude for you guys. I think we should be more worried about the lack of common sense in our peers than their level of aesthetic knowle-... shit, they're the same thing aren't they? Oh boy, we are
so fucked.
