So, here I am again and all that shit.
I was just saying yesterday, or whenever it was, that I need to put more emotion into my writing. I tend to avoid topics that I think are going to hurt people’s feelings and I think that is some cheap and cowardly bullshit to tell you the truth.
If you don’t want to read what I have to say, fucking don’t. I am not forcing you to do a motherfucking thing and if you think I am, then mail me a stack of twenty dollar bills wrapped with a blue ribbon and a lipstick kiss.
There are very few things in the world that make me as mad as when people decide to denigrate people that I love. It is one of the things that will make me, a normally rather pacifist person, angry enough to go out and seek to do bodily harm to someone, and perhaps even enjoy it.
In the last few days, since I was hit by that thing I am calling the MAGA Bomb, or a thirty thousand strong Twitter brigade coming after me with everything that they had, I have seen some of the foulest things I have ever had the misfortune of reading.
They spoke ill of my late wife, of my children, my friends, anything and everything that they could in order for me to do both exactly what I am doing here and, more importantly, engage them on Twitter to give the fucking bullshit accounts legitimacy in the eyes of the ever blind jack and the brown shirts there.
I did succumb to their taunts in one way, however, I refuse to directly interact with things that I will not call human. For one, I am pretty sure most of them are little script bots and don’t exist, and secondly, I just don’t have the fucks, spoons, cares or falafel to do it at the moment.
It is Naomi’s birthday today.
She would have been 38.
Instead of celebrating that, even with her gone, I have to sift through refuse and click a button thirty thousand times because Technical Support at Twitter “does not directly intervene in block-list functions for the end-user” even though that is pretty much the definition of what they should be doing on a day to day basis.
So I will sit here and get more and more mad and then I will go to the gym and, in a way that will not cause me agonizing pain or broken bones, rage exercise and get the adrenaline and testosterone to a respectable level and then come home and, in the fullness of time today, raise a shot to my Dove and make sure that maybe I have made the world a little better for at least a few people whom I love very much.
I will also be posting a small story piece of some type later. Angry makes me creative and I might as well milk this fucking anger cow for all that it is worth, right?
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