When the shit piles up too high to walk over it, and the piles of shit are too close together to walk between them, you’re in seriously deep shit. What’s happening out there is NOT about politics. It’s NOT about religion, and it’s definitely NOT about health care or women’s issues.
It’s simply time for the peasants to prove that they are revolting, always have been and always will be revolting. Why can’t the downtrodden just stay down? That’s the Smerconish Response — just shut up and take it on the jaw — liberals should lie down & die.
I’m not a leftist, nor a rightist. This isn’t even my goddam planet, monkey descendant. Frankly, I think you’re all fucking nuts, and I’m not at all happy to be living here among you, watching you squabble and fight over crumbs, while the fat ones glut themselves on your food, and drink your wine, while you writhe in hunger and the pain of betrayal.
Other than that, I could give a shit what happens here.
Suffering and pain is easy to repair. Misery and heartache and guilt and recrimination and fear and horror and disgust are harder to deal with, but manageable. It’s the marketing angles I can’t figure out, and I’m looking for some help here.
I’m here to finish a history project. As an alcohol-intolerant, I’m damned if I can figure out just how the hell I’m supposed to determine exactly which bar was the location of the fist-fight that ended history, I don’t know, but here I am to tell the tale.
I’m supposed to leave notes that can be found and dug up back in the 37th century, but I have to be careful not to leave them where there’s too much radiation, and I can’t remember where the airbursts went off, or that is, are going to go off, in the Western states, although I do remember that I was surprised at the cities that were hit. Continue reading