Tuesday, January 24, 2017

One Hundred and Eleven

The older I get, the more disgusted I become. I’ll die of disgust, if that’s possible, before I die of cancer.

I live like a hermit, seeing no one for days at a time, speaking to no one except salespeople when I go out to buy food, which I seldom have enough money to do. The closest I come to having a conversation is reading and/or posting comments online.

People who regularly read and/or post comments online, as I do, have a lot of free time and few if any friends. Other people regard them as eccentric at best, and at worst deranged. That’s also how most of them regard each other.

Most people are either uneducated or miseducated. Yet they think they know all they need to know, so it’s difficult to have a conversation with them, online or in person. But it’s more difficult online. They allow themselves to say online, to strangers, things they would never say to someone in person. At least I hope they wouldn’t.

It’s difficult to believe they could behave any more badly than they already do; yet the comments I’ve seen posted online since Trump’s inauguration last Friday have been more bigoted than any I’ve ever read before. The success of this disgusting man has given people permission to be equally disgusting.

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