*alternate title: Get Off My Lawn!
A few of you may have noticed a couple of rather odd comments on my last post. Sorry, I already deleted them. This, um, person (sort of) over at In Mala Fide
"contributed" to a debate in the comments. He was so off-the-wall that they actually deleted his final comment to me. Now,the writers and commenters over there are rather uninhibited, to say the least; it can turn into quite the free-for-all. I think they even made (sellout bastards) SPLC's "The manosphere is a hate group" list, and these days I'd call that a high honor indeed. If you care to check out the post, you can only imagine how squirrely this cretin was becoming. Then he followed my link and brought it over here. I dunno. Perhaps I'm the first person to acknowledge him in years, maybe he was flattered by the attention. Anypsycho, in honor of my very first troll, this post is addressed to him:
"Anonymous," aka "drugsaregay,"
Did you actually believe I was going to debate you? You??? I got into it with "Cynthia" because she's the kind of bint that gets under my skin. I know I should be more dignified and let it slide, but sometimes I like to cut loose a bit. Cynthia was actually attempting to pose a credible opinion. Of course she's obviously an empty headed churchian, parroting the in-crowd and hoping to curry favor with "the girls," but sometimes these gals are educable. Plus, I'm a foolish optimist. You see, the thing about your garden variety female amorality/irrationality, is that it's not necessarily permanent. Millions if not billions, of Western women are so spoiled, so sheltered from the consequences of amoral and irrational decisions, that it's simply a default mode: They don't have to be moral or rational, and they have few role models who are. However, sometimes they get it. I was hopeful. So sue me.
You, on the other hand, never even made a pretense at credibility; your maniacal ravings bring to mind the Unabomber's manifesto. Not only are you dead wrong in your *insert eye roll* "facts," you. are. fucking. LOOPY! A howling moonbat, gone 'round the bend. A few fries short of a Happy Meal. For all the sense you make, you might as well be barking at the moon. The relatively quiet urgency with which you leak your twisted mental vomit, indicates a vast chasm between your mind and the real world. It's actually a little scary. I highly recommend medication.
In the mean time, stay the hell out from under my bridge, you creepy little fucker!