HUFFY MENTAL VEGANS

A conversation yesterday morning with R-the-subcontinental, and an entirely different discussion on the internet of which I became aware yesterday evening, highlighted what strange little echo-chamber dwellers much of modern society has become. We only read articles that agree with our praeconceptiva, and 'lose it' when certain things are mentioned.
And we'll get indignant and denialistic about things.
Seeing deliberate offense which isn't there.
Rather like a certain president.

No, I shan't mention whom, as I do not wish to trigger you. You've already been triggered enough, there is probably no more triggered you can get, you have reached the veritable apogee of triggeredness. Up to eleven.
Your triggeration is complete.

A word I used, which sent one hysterical bint and two of her friends into a frenzy, was "triggered".

She angrily wrote in response: "It is a specific psychological term that describes what happens when a person who has PTSD encounters a reminder or is in a situation that causes them to relive their experience in some way. Do people really not know that?"

There was an entire chain of comments after that, weeping and wailing on the one hand and more or less trying not to giggle on the other. The upshot of which is that we must all be super-considerate of easily triggered people and their mental anguish, or else we are just meanies and evil.


Quote:
"When you use it on the internet you are using a badly coopted version of a very important mental health term that people genuinely need to describe their state of being and/or protect themselves."


Well okay then. I'm in my fifties. That's probably rotten old fossil by your standards, lady, but I have reached this age despite decades of goofty shiznit, without being easily upset, and without throwing tantrums.
Deal with it like an adult, calm down, chill out, or get stuffed.

And consider taking your pills.

Sincerely.



I have resolved to henceforth only express myself wordlessly, utilizing the sensitive meaningfulness of interpretive dance. Unless that throws out a socket, strains a muscle, or wrecks my computer because I crashed into the wall while hopping.

Or I want to seriously upset some dingleberry.

If I am writing on the internet, you may safely assume that I wish to trigger someone. Or will not mind in the slightest if that person has a cow.
Unsurprisingly, she's from New York, by the way.
I'll say nasty things about pizza.




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