God, how I detest and despise Halima Mansoor and the spineless, abject (slow, stupid, sub-human) creatures (like herself, one supposes) that she champions!
And I congratulate Mr. Ansari: for realizing, albeit somewhat belatedly, that fucking so insipid an excuse for a human being would be tantamount to bestiality--and for desisting before he sullied himself. There are, after all, worse (fouler, slimier, stinkier) things than assholes to stick one's dick in.
I burn hot. I tend to exhaust people in conversation, like Margaret Fuller did Carlyle. Which leaves me (but apparently not Margaret) always wishing I'd shut up sooner. I have quite a few friends and not many enemies, but I'm very proud of the few I do have. There is consensus among my friends about me, which is how I know to write about myself. What my enemies think of me I have no idea. That, of course, could be dangerous.
The list of interests and favorites is absurdly partial and half-assed, particularly as to music and books. It's the stupid format of the blog itself, as given, that, of course, I color outside the lines and burst the seams of.
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