Conservatives Mask Sadism as Principle

"If you didn't want X, then you shouldn't have done Y. Serves you right!"

I. The Cloak of Principle

I love seeing a loser get made fun of… forever!

-Dimes of Blood Satellite | Quote in this video - listen from 56:00-58:00

Conservatives like to speak of principle when it hurts. They summon it with pride. Small government. Fiscal responsibility. The rule of law. They speak in tones that suggest discipline, as if their policies are bitter medicine for a sick society. But the outcomes tell a different story. Their version of principle always seems to end with someone else suffering.

A pattern emerges. When relief is proposed—whether for debt, hunger, addiction, or illness—the conservative voice says no. Not reluctantly. Not with regret. With satisfaction. The language is moral, but the impulse is punitive. The refusal is the reward.

This is not a one-time contradiction. It is the rule. The poor, the indebted, the addicted, the immigrant, and the sick are not occasional casualties. They are the regular targets. The same people show up on the wrong end of conservative policies every time. The pattern does not vary.

If these were genuine principles, they would sometimes point inward. They would occasionally spare someone. They would bend in the face of unnecessary suffering. But they do not. They stay rigid, as if mercy were the danger and pain were the test.

Eventually, the repetition becomes unmistakable. The outcomes are too consistent to call accidental. The cruelty is not a side effect. It is the appeal. The principle is a story told to excuse the appetite. And the appetite is for pain.

II. Why Sadism Fits

Occam’s Razor: The simple explanation is likely to be the right one.

People reach for explanations that flatter their side. Conservatives say they value order, discipline, tradition. They tell themselves they are holding the line against chaos. But when every decision they make yields to harm, and that harm is carried out with enthusiasm, another possibility begins to explain more than principle ever could.

Sadism is not a theory. It is an observation. It accounts for the smirk during a policy debate about homelessness. It accounts for the snide remarks about student debt. It accounts for how quickly laughter follows the sight of another man’s suffering. This is not reasoned disagreement. It is pleasure.

There is a style to it. The glee is never loud, but always nearby. You can see it in the memes. You can hear it in the talk radio cadence, the YouTube tone, the preacher’s grin. The punishment is coated in dignity, but the eyes shine when the sentence lands.

Sadism is not a fringe pathology. It is a social glue. People bond over shared contempt. They reinforce their identities by choosing who deserves to suffer. The weaker the victim, the stronger the pleasure. There is no need to invent a noble purpose for what already feels good.

Once cruelty becomes a source of cohesion, principle becomes decorative. It fills space that would otherwise show the real shape of the thing. The principle is the costume. The sadism is the engine. And the engine never stalls.

III. The Loan Forgiveness Fury

Conservative: You chose to go into debt! Now you need to take responsibility for your decisions.

Debt Slave: I did so because every authority figure in my life told me I should. They did so before my cerebral cortex had finished developing. Should I have disobeyed my parents, teachers, church elders, and every other influence in my life?

Conservative: So? You chose to go. You could have chosen not to. So it’s your fault.

Debt Slave: Ever the thoughtful one, aren’t you?

When student loan forgiveness was first proposed, conservatives didn’t argue. They raged. The suggestion that debt might be lifted from another person’s shoulders ignited something primal. The response was not analytical. It was emotional. The talk of fairness came later.

They said it wasn’t right to erase debt. That the borrowers had signed contracts. That paying back loans was a matter of honor. But none of this explained the tone. The anger was too sharp, too personal. As if seeing someone else freed had violated some unspoken code of suffering.

You could hear it in the phrasing. “I paid mine off, why shouldn’t they?” That was the chorus. Not concern for the economy. Not moral hazard. Just fury that someone might get away with less pain. The argument had nothing to do with public good. It was about evening the score.

What made it worse, in their eyes, was who stood to benefit. Young people. Graduates. Many of them liberal. Many of them urban. People they already disliked, now offered mercy. To deny them that mercy became a matter of identity.

In the end, the outrage said more than the policy ever could. It revealed a moral universe where relief is offensive and suffering is sacred. Debt was not a mistake to correct. It was a punishment to protect. And protecting the punishment became the principle.

IV. Corporate Bootlicking

Conservatives: What is your fair share of what someone else earned?

Gene: Nothing. But the rich did not earn their wealth. Mostly, they either inherited it, stole it, or were given money by their wealthy friends. The fact that our economic elites have public lives which display their low IQs and lack of conscientiousness proves it.

Conservatives claim to distrust power. They mock the elite. They rail against big government, globalism, and unelected bureaucrats. But when it comes to corporations—especially those that cheat, exploit, and rob—their outrage conveniently vanishes. The same people who bristle at a neighbor asking for help will leap to defend a CEO gutting pensions.

They call it capitalism. They say markets must be free, contracts must be honored, and private property is sacred. But that reverence only ever flows one way. The struggling man who breaks a lease gets no sympathy. The billionaire who breaks a union gets applause. Rules are holy when they punish the weak, optional when they shield the strong.

Even when their own families are the ones harmed—when wages stagnate, when jobs are outsourced, when small towns collapse—they do not blame the boardrooms. They blame the poor, the immigrant, the liberal, the outsider. It is easier to hate a scapegoat than confront the structure. Easier to serve a master than admit you are the one being used.

This is not confusion. It is allegiance. They cheer for oil companies while their water turns black. They defend landlords while living paycheck to paycheck. They resent welfare but forgive corporate bailouts. Every punch is aimed downward. Every shield is raised upward.

The result is a culture where domination is admired and resistance is mocked. Power is not something to question. It is something to worship, so long as it kicks in the right direction.

V. The Lunchbox Test

A child needs to know what hunger feels like! It toughens him up!

When the idea of universal free school lunches gained traction, conservatives recoiled. They spoke of budgets, of personal responsibility, of parents doing their part. But underneath the language was a deeper instinct: revulsion at the thought of unearned nourishment. Feeding children became offensive because it was unconditional.

They said it was too expensive, even as billions went to defense contractors. They warned of fraud, as if hungry second graders were running elaborate scams. They invoked the dignity of work, but never explained how a six-year-old was supposed to earn his sandwich. The argument collapsed under its own absurdity, yet the outrage remained.

What bothered them was the removal of stigma. Free lunch without paperwork, without shame, without a public declaration of poverty—that was the real threat. They wanted need to be visible. They wanted it counted, documented, and punished. If a child ate quietly without being marked, something in the system had failed.

This is the purity test for the conservative conscience. A government that can afford everything else is told it cannot afford bread for children. Not because the money is gone, but because the act is too kind. In a world where every comfort must be earned, mercy is treason.

And so the lunchbox becomes the altar. The child, the sacrifice. The adults around him call it responsibility. But what they are really defending is the right to watch someone else go without. That is the nourishment they cannot live without.

VI. Misery as Identity

They don’t want a better life. They want you to endure theirs.

In many parts of the country, especially across the Midwest, the Deep South, and Appalachian hill country, pain has become a kind of culture. These are places hollowed out by bad policy, corporate abandonment, and social decay. But instead of turning that suffering into a reason to build, many treat it as a badge. They don't want to escape it. They want to see it reflected in others.

The logic is simple. If I had to struggle, then so should you. If my town collapsed, if my parents drank themselves to death, if I worked three jobs and still ended up poor, then nobody else deserves a way out. They call it grit. They call it tradition. But it is closer to despair with a flag on it.

You see it when they talk about opportunity. Not how to expand it, but how to withhold it. They oppose free college because they never had the chance. They reject public healthcare because no one helped them. They see someone else's rise as a personal insult. Mercy feels like robbery.

There is no vision. Only grievance. No future. Only a ledger of pain, balanced through sabotage. This is the crabs-in-a-bucket instinct. Drag down anyone who dares to climb. The failure becomes sacred. The suffering becomes proof of authenticity.

That culture does not want healing. It wants replication. It wants to see its wounds in others, to make the world resemble its own brokenness. This is not policy. It is spiritual rot. And it spreads.

VII. Principles with a Trigger Finger

The purest form of socialism is the military.

Conservatives claim to live by principle, but the proof is always somewhere else. They praise self-reliance, yet rely on Social Security, Medicare, and public schools. They condemn big government, while collecting disability checks, driving on federally funded roads, and farming with subsidies. They speak of free markets, but howl when jobs are shipped overseas. The creed is mouthed, not followed.

When they lose their job, they want unemployment. When they age into sickness, they want government care. When their town floods, they expect federal aid. These are not quiet contradictions. They are part of daily life. What they oppose in theory, they expect in practice.

They will call a student on food stamps lazy, while their own adult child lives at home, broke and addicted. They will sneer at renters, while missing mortgage payments themselves. They shout about law and order, then ask the sheriff to go easy on their nephew. Every value collapses the moment it threatens personal comfort.

The principle is never personal. It does not restrain their own appetites or choices. It is there to judge others. It is called upon when a stranger asks for help, or when the neighbor’s child needs lunch. It has no bearing on how they live, only on how they punish.

This isn’t inconsistency. It’s the design. The principle was never a standard. It was always a justification. And the moment it inconveniences them, they forget it was ever there.

VIII. Why It’s Okay to Hate Them

Conservatism is the perennial excuse to kill every seed before it grows into something new.

There is a point where understanding becomes indulgence. People who dedicate their energy to increasing suffering do not deserve patience. They have made a choice. They have behold hunger, debt, illness, addiction, and grief. They decided that the right thing to do is make it worse.

This is not a matter of disagreement. It is not a clash of visions for the common good. It is a deliberate preference for punishment, dressed up in moral language. The harm is not hidden. It is paraded. And each time someone speaks out, a conservative tells them to sit down, pay up, and take it.

What they call principle is a taste for humiliation. What they call order is a joy in the spectacle of collapse. What they call tradition is a refusal to let anyone escape the cycle they were born into. These are not the habits of decent people. These are the habits of a class that has mistaken cruelty for dignity.

You are allowed to see them clearly. You are allowed to reject their excuses, their slogans, their pretended sorrow. You are allowed to hate their neglect and who they have become. Not because of their background. Not because of where they live. But because of what they choose to serve, and how faithfully they serve it.

No rule says that you must forgive the crabs who delight in the suffering of others. To know them is to hate them. And to hate them is to tip the bucket over.