What for Chrissakes is a Bum Towel? This fat woman is thought witty by a great number of the trailer trash that mostly inhabit the UK. But truthfully I wouldn't know. I can barely understand her. What I do understand is sickening, absolutely disgusting vulgarity. Toilet humor--in the sense of humor which belongs in the toilet, and is about toilets: Shite, as they say in Ireland. And which is, apparently, the very definition of humor in Britain. Not that we yanks don't have our own fat Amy Schumer--but we've learned to revile her.
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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