THE BLESSED FEET

After a few days at work dealing with old white rightwing conspiracy paranoiacs in Marin I am perhaps not as perfectly tolerant as could be desired. And I wish that they feast abundantly upon explosive diarrhoea lettuce, and raw ground beef, and recalled bacon sold cheaply at supermarkets catering to nasty bougy scunge that doesn't read the news.

Fortunately, upon returning home I fixed myself a cup of strong coffee.
I feel more human (less violently inclined) now.
Except for my feet.


My feet feel severely walked in.


This is the time of year when circumstances aren't co-operating. It was far too warm in Marin during the day, throughout which people kept saying "isn't it lovely, oh I just love hot weather, don't you? I refrained manfully from telling them that they were awful human beings and needed to come to a bad end. My feet silently wished ill upon them all.

I am not "tolerant", but I am very patient and forebearing.
A restrained, polished, agreeable sort of person.
You will kindly stop laughing.

How does a transplanted Brabander become such a paragon of diplomatic and easy-going social behaviour around scunge people? Simple. I lived near Broadway and Columbus (SF) for almost ten years. Nightclubs, bars, porno palaces. Meth freaks, heroin junkies, druggie prostitutes, and at least one shooting every week. Mmm, yeah.

I am practically a saint at this point.


I love human beings!



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