One important thing to note is that Sweet projects like crazy, more than anyone else I've ever seen. If he insists that anyone does anything, there's at least a sliver of a chance that he is guilty of the same, and oftentimes moreso than the person being accused. All of these things are merely his vain, petty attempts by his ego to defend itself from reality, that horrible enemy continually at the gates. This is the big reason why he's so amazing and hilarious: calamity continually follows him because he doesn't understand that he's fundamentally at fault for his problems.
"BUT THEY KICKED ME OUT OF SCHOOL", he cries, while completely ignoring the fact that he started the arguments that lead to his downfall. It's a combination of deliberately ignoring any responsibility and culpability he has incurred as a result (he has even admitted as such, calling taking responsibility a "ploy", like the act of contrition is also somehow an attack, as little sense as that fucking makes) and believing he is incapable of having been at fault in the first place.
Whenever I conjure up an image in my mind's eye of Jon Sweet, I don't picture his silly face or his incomprehensible attire or choice of words or anything like that. I picture him in a clown shirt, vainly trying to do a pullup at a park somewhere in Virginia. He fails, and then proclaims "it's not my fault!", as if denying the reality of his situation will be convincing in some fashion. But who, exactly, is he attempting to convince? Up until that point he could lie to himself that he was some kind of Übermensch and that the world was merely unable to recognize his genius. I maintain that in spite of his constant bellyaching about how he is so downtrodden and constantly the victim, he doesn't actually mean it: he merely uses such language to imply that his battles are impossible and that the world is constantly at war, a vast conspiracy of thought and myth designed to keep things from being
the way they should be!
The instant he gets booted from his school and his "prestigious" (I use the term loosely here
) unpaid position at a small school newspaper, or he loses a job that he had built up in his mind, or his "girlfriend" turns out to a troll or merely uninterested in him, that's when the walls of Jericho come crashing down. He can ignore the stamping of feet of what he considers his lessers, but the trumpets and shouts are impossible to ignore, for they represent things that he cannot control or handwave away, instances in which he failed for whatever reason.
When I was a kid, I loved to lie to people. I was really good at it and thought it was a game, an idle amusement I could engage in. After going to therapy for a couple years I gradually came to the conclusion that I did this because I didn't want to confront the reality of my situation: that I wasn't some super genius that manipulated people in some grand chess game. I did it because I was quite ordinary and thus, not above reproach when things were my fault. My walls came crumbling down, and it was hard for a while because more than other people knowing I was a toolbag, I had to live with the knowledge that the consequences were 100% my fault. It sucked, and I could understand if Sweetie wanted to avoid that feeling up until his early 20s, because the fact that I overcame my arrogance in high school doesn't mean that other people should be held to my standard.
BUT HE'S ALMOST 40! That's what kills me! That's why I use diminutive nicknames and constantly call Sweetpea out on his childishness and his immaturity: because he's almost 40 and he's still mentally 12 and the smartest kid in 4th grade. He'll never be able to do his pullup, and it'd be sad if it wasn't hilarious.
e: sorry if I rambled, I was in the ER a couple days ago and I'm still kinda out of it.
