For my own mental equilibrium I tend to ignore the old fossils huffing stogies in the back. Not because of their horrid smells -- good lord, after the first hour or so at that place, I cannot smell worth diddly -- but because of the pre-World War One "ideas" that regularly filter through their drooly breathing orifices. They vocalize stridently, endless, repetitively.
They beat personal pronouns to death. They beat Kyle Rittenhouse and the freedom to shoot black people and liberals to death. They beat the pull-out from Afghanistan to death.
They beat Marjorie Taylor Green is a genius! to death.
And very much more.
Everything, you must understand, is Joe Biden's fault.
Oh, if only we still had Donald Trump!
He would save us!
As you would guess, I normally think that they took leave of their senses back when Reagan was still in charge. Even the retired member of the judicial branch, whom one might expect to have nuance and a grasp of complex concepts. As well as at least half a brain. But since he married the hard-core Vietnamese woman and retired, his brain has gone all slack.
[To refresh your memory of Viet-Am reactionaries, this 'zesty song'.]
Which is odd, because I find that women keep me on my toes. Of course, it does depend upon the women. I tend to hang out with intelligent women who often admit that they don't know all there is to know about certain things, aren't right about everything, and will ask intelligent questions when necessary. Like the men with whom I'd prefer to I hang out.
However. Work is an entirely different cup of tea.
Riffing off Raoul Duke in Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas: we're right in the middle of a reptile zoo, and somebody is giving stimulants to these darned things.
They'll probably tear us to shreds soon.
I know from bitter experience that you don't give cigars to babies or bananas to old men. That's the cursed of both worlds.
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