As the lifetime actors in the Hollywood-Politiko class try to reign down their terror on anyone who questions their absolute authority we have on MSM the latest Weinstein’s piggery, or I guess it’s Epstein this week, left to digest during the dinner hour. Yum.
”He should be spanked for his so HUGE Mis-behavior,” says the bleach blond tween posing as a news reporter.
“For sure! Nine spankings, and eleven Hail Mary’s! Right? Get it . . . the code,” says the greased up fat turd next to her . . . wink, wink.
Translation following, for the unhappy few in this asylum who miraculously still possess a set of standards and a moral compass:
Abuse is relative, you know!
You got it! One boy’s abuse is another’s sexual fetish. It’s all good.
It’s really sad more folks don’t understand that. If you pretend it’s not abuse, then you think it’s not abuse, so obviously then it’s really not abuse. It’s all about perception management.
Yes, for sure. They subject themselves to more abuse, because they can’t understand that their abuse was totally relative. Why keep whining about spilled milk? I mean like, you didn’t get your dick chopped off, right? Because, that happens. And that didn’t happen to you, so I really don’t get why you can’t get over it already. Consider yourself lucky.
And besides, you know misbehaving can be fun! I misbehaved in choir once, but it wasn’t really my fault, I mean, she practically ass-ulted me. Really.
I sometimes fantasize I meet these assclowns celebrating some nonsense at a local bar with a small band of their mesmerized fan cult. Two vodka sodas is just enough for me to say the following, without a shadow of remorse, laughing myself to sleep for days.
”So, do the folks around you in your life really put up with your bullshit on a regular basis? I mean, they must right? I’ve been watching you for a year and it’s like one con after another—denial, gaslighting, whitewashing, spinning, selective memory holes. It’s like you’ve learned from a true master. I imagine you must treat everyone this way, right? I mean a person’s professional work bleeds right into their intimate life. Every time I watch you I feel bad for the future man in his old age who’s going to have to look back at the shyte he did to make a living, and he’s going to see bright and clear what a douche he was his entire life. That’s gotta hurt.”
Blank stare from the professional tele-prompt readers.
“And I can imagine how hard it is to keep all those plates of bullshit spinning! No wonder you have migraines and chronic IBS. Sucks to be you.”
”Hey, but let me be a sport, ok, no hard feelings. I’ll buy y’all a round if you give me a bit of advice, it’s about my neighbors.”
They don’t mind being insulted, because they’re locally famous in this these rural parts, so they agree, just another crazy story to share on Instagram.
”So, here’s my problem. My neighbor’s dog keeps killing my chickens. This has been going on for a couple years now and the neighbor refuses to do anything about it, considers this to be my problem, for having chickens.
“Being the solution-oriented person that I am, I’ve got to solve this problem. But, being a dog-lover I hate to shoot the dog, or poison the dog. So, I thought what if I just break the dog’s leg, that way he can’t chase the chickens?”
Wide eyes and astonished looks from the peanut mob.
Greased-up fat turd replies and all nod in unison, “You’ve got to give up your chickens, DU-UH!”