Troll Generation

I assume, for all intents and purposes, that my rudeness, character assassination of real people, like Debra, appalls progressives, and is indicative, to them, that I will be tamed in the future by clinicians who will pacify my age. I am not sure what people who once knew me think, as they are few, if not disqualified into enemy territory, and either do not care what I blog or don't know, but I have reached the point of stark indifference. I saw Debra Friday, shortly before the traditional 5pm clock out, her eyes swollen, unpleasant, as usual, and if the extent of my contempt becomes known to her, it does not matter. People like her have denigrated me since I was a child, and my ferocity will not stop that continuance, but I will keep pushing against it as long as I can, because I have to. Were it not for the fact that I still live three floors below Erik von Schmettering, I would have come to blows last evening with the darling, corrupt and evil socialist that this transvestite is. I grieved him for a long time, yes, all of them, these ideology bound disabled associates. No more.

I concede I am fallible, impractical perhaps, and doomed anyway, as even able individuals have to yield to various models, but the state of Pennsylvania will have to kill me, if that is what it wishes, before I will allow anyone else to tell me how I have to live. Though I lack the time this evening, I will continue to deconstruct.

As I just wrote above, I am too worn to refine myself just now, but Debra and Erik are more than personalizations; they are examples of what constitutes both poorly construed activist aims and misguided forms of propriety. For a former female physician who completed her internship, Erik in his mortally failing Yoda look is a rather narrow minded and insolent bastard. To Erik and Jimmi, Cassie, Linda, their disability law associates, the center is their own little mafia.

Can you say muckraker? If I live long enough hopefully I can make a few of them fearful of court imposed punishment.