As of a few hours ago it's my weekend and I am free from the bonds of Marin County, where walging and braakneigingen are a way of life. Along with very well justified resistance to Karenism, which is more prevalent there than in San Francisco, and like spandex-clad bicyclists more repulsive as a gloating popular majority social tendency.
Rather than a minority dodging rabid drivers as they should be.
Bicyclists and Karens have a lot in common.
Besides a love of spandex.
Even before I returned to this country as a a young college-bound tyke years ago, I already knew about Marin. Forewarned is forearmed. I still have braakneigingen when I go there.
Mill Valley, from the bus window in early evening as I get the heck out, is beautiful.
The retired member of the legal profession returned from Los Angeles without his balding degenerate friend. Maybe he pushed him out of the RV on the way back, or roared off after ditching him near mountain lions. In any case, without the vile troll, or the subcontinentals to bring out his worst side, he showed inklings of being human, like when he married his first wife, rather than being an Orc, such as when he married the second one.
So I abstained from poking him with a sharp stick.
I did not taunt him with the latest outrage.
And ask how he could stomach it.
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