I would like to have an agreement with my trolls something like this: If the most your family has spent to spent to bail your well-armed relative out of jail tops the most my family has spent to bail my well-armed relative out of jail, you can drag my mom into this petty internet bullshit. And, if not, you can’t.
Alas, you can’t make deals with trolls.
1. Today is Lovecraft. One of the commenters hates me. Well, shoot, now it feels like home.
2. Joe Carr, professional dumbass.
3. Dear Paul. My name is Betsy Phillips. I assume you either know that or gathered it from reading the post of mine that so gravely upset you. Sorry about that. I happen to like Christmas sweaters, even though I won’t fuck you if you’re wearing one. It’s just a personal rule. I’m also not going to fuck the new convention center, even though I find it kind of charming, if hideous. I assume you feel differently or my opinion wouldn’t bother you so much. Eh, to each their own.
4. Today we can watch Mike Byrd play “I’m not the only one who thinks you’re terrible. Everyone is talking about how much you suck.” like this is junior high. Burns, doesn’t it, Mike? Knowing I suck and that you still can’t stop paying attention to me? Knowing how much I suck and knowing that the new readers you’re going to get today will come from me?