I Believe... [“Fragile” is an Invitation for Abuse]
...that making a one-man drive from Chicago to Las Vegas hungover, in thirty-two-and-a-half hours with only two-hours of road nap, at fifty-three years of age is either badass, completely recklessly stupid, or both. Unless it’s an emergency situation (like David really needs a babysitter or Joe falls and he can’t get up) I’ll not do that again.
...that the incessant question “Why do Trump’s supporters still support him?” is the wrong question. The right question is “Why do Trump supporters hate the rest of us so much that they would follow him instead of agree with us?”
...that the height of delusional expectation is demonstrated most clearly when you write “Fragile” on a box being moved 2,000 miles cross-country. It’s like the box is a fat kid with a perpetually snotty nose in tight yellow Adidas shorts and a stutter — the bullies get in line to toss him under a couch.
...that if your primary reason for not doing or saying something racist, sexist, homophobic, or xenophobic is that you will be called out on social media, you might be a racist/sexist/homophobe/xenophobe.
...that if you really want to find ways to avoid the constant broken drumbeat of politics, I’d suggest you move across the country. Being amazingly focused on your own shit does wonders for your need to police the culture.
