As the Orange Clown leads his traveling Circus of the Absurd from a leveled G-7 summit in Manoir Richelieu to what’s bound to be a complete catastrophe in Singapore, I’m breaking my silence:
I’ve hated people. The bully who tormented me in 2nd grade; Luis who threatened to kick my ass every day after school in 6th grade (but never did); that asshole who nearly made life impossible throughout high school (you know who you are); that sinister, smirking, side-mousing pile of bleached hair who almost sent me to the looney bin in college; that priest; Sister Catherine; the punk who blindsided me in a fight... I’ve hated them all!
Yet, the vitriolic levels of abhorrent loathing I feel for that bloated carrot-puke of a disaster zone who bully-tweets his outrage while expelling his feces all over the planet agitates every atom in me that despises every atom in him.
My mother would say, “Hate is a strong word.” To that I would reply, “Not strong enough!”
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