Why Don’t It Hurt When I Pee?
I’m not sure how the Twitter court system is structured or what qualifies the judges who get paid the big bucks to weigh these difficult 1st Amendment questions against the supply side plantation economic model this nation of miserable fucks has been stuck in an endless death spiral that some call a “time loop” since the earliest days of the Reagan legacy. It’s far closer to a “time noose” than most marginally aware Americans are willing to admit. Even Sisyphus finally woke up & told the gods on Olympus to push their own fucking rocks up their hills. He preferred writing on the cave walls, too.
But in reverent recognition that time is made to be wasted, I am about to climb to the third rung of Jack-Off’s Ladder of the Heavenly Twits & dare the poofters-that-be to send me another lying sack of form e-mail shit, attempting to obfuscate the company’s reliance on arbitrary authority to enforce an owner-based version of economic democracy by claiming that monkeys flinging shit through the bars of their cages at horrified paying customers constitutes a hate crime. It’s not my fault that Pinocchio’s nose is 3 times the size of his fully engorged cedar penis. So it goes.
Believe it or not, people, messages sent to the e-mail addresses on this site actually arrive at the Portland Pataphysical Outpatient Clinic, Lounge, & Laundromat Ted Steven’s Memorial InterWeb Rest Stop within seconds of your hitting “Send.” In fact, e-mail is far more reliable than the USPS, at least here in Idiotville.
Give it a try.
The reason I have yet to add a comment capablility to this site is that polite society (as defined by Doctor Frankenstein in Romero’s Day Of The Dead) is it would require that I become a moderator. I hate moderators even more than I hate moderates. Moderation, like poetry, makes nothing happen.
Nothing’s been doing pretty well without our help, thank you.