I was bred, borne and raised Democrat; when I was a young laddie, on the wall were two portraits: Pope John23 and JFK. Mom, grudgingly, gave way to that little bastard Battista in time, but never, ever, considered hanging Johnson’s sorry visage in our house.
Yeah, that means nothing. But I grew older, and watched politicians fuck everything up. Until it got to a point where too many of my friends died.
Welcome to my world. I want everyone who ain’t “us” dead and so fucking killed there ain’t anything left to haul up on the slab.
On 9-12-01, where and when did you, yourself, start clocking your personal body count?
How many funerals? How many wakes?
How many boxes went in the ground and made you bones shake?
How hard did you rage?
How soon did it cool?
well then, fuck you, fool.