venerdì 30 dicembre 2011

His Screams Hurt Me, So I Cut His Tongue

I'm pretty sure i can speak extensively abou my own side of this story, because i am excessively aware and i have taken a lot of time for myself to ponder on it. But it's a darkness many share and even more dont alk about. Its there and it's a fact, and it's what slowly kills people, even more than diseases. And while indifference isnt good, thats not what im talking about.

When you are ill, and in my case, when your mind is ill, the cures often do not take away the rotting roots of the problems. You visit someone who is a servant of an industry who wants to enslave people to pills. So you get given medicines that silence you and put your brain into a vat of grey tasteless soup of numbness. And you still want to scream but your voice is gone.

And that's where the darkness resides: ive been thinking about it and i think i grasped the truth. It's not for you, defnitely. They dont wanna cure or help you. And while its is for their own pockets, they cant stop there too. What the idea of a "Cure" in such cases is, is for your relatives and the people around you.

And while i know that a lot of you feel loved, bear with me while i try to explain. People around you see the external aspect of your pain. In the case of mind pain, they only see the manifestation of it. Your screams, your tears, your anger.

So what the "cure" does, is silence those symptoms. It muffles your screms while your head still feels them. It locks your head in a silenced cage. The ones around you dont hear it no more. To them, youre ok, cause they dont SEE or HEAR you suffering. And even if they would never admit it in broad daylight, that is ok for the most of them.

From the age of lobotomies, padded cells, shock treatments, we've moved to one where the doctors just lock you in silenced roopms that have no physical presence and no walls. They are padded cells in your brain. They null you so you dont bother anyone ever again. Yes there are side effects. But when you live with a person who suffers, you can cope with a few sacrifices if there is a way to make it stop. and that means make them stop being able to cry. Being able to need you. Ask you for help. Ask you to listen.

No, its a couple of pills and they are empty vessels, and you can go on with your life and forget it all. And that means they are cured.

And thats so similar for other illnesses, too. Why cure, when we got hospitals to lock them out of sight? Places where they are taken care of by strangers that are paid to take the burden off your shoulders and see what you dont wanna see anymore.

Cause in the end the "Cure", isnt a solution for the people who suffer. Its a wayu to shut them down and make them invisible. So we can forget they're there.

mercoledì 21 dicembre 2011

Putting Holes In Holidays...

I am not the type of person who craps on the holidays. I usually love christmas. Used to be and still is, kinda, my favourite holiday.

Still, in the latest times of my life, a lot of things chancged and kinda ruined some of it for me.

I like the spect of presents, decorations, cards, lights, carols and dinners. Love it. I even loved to do christmas shopping for years.


No holiday like this enhances, for me, solitude or the hypocrisy of a lot of relationships. Or how some are broken. Before youy call me a grinch, think about it.

You might be surrounded by love, and ive been like that too, and in those times Christmas was beautiful. Cause love makes anything special. It might sound corny but its so true.

But Christmas also brings hurt when things are flawed and dysfunctional. Bad relationships become even more painful on Christmas. The presents are a chore, the company of the other person is torturous cause the oversized cheer that surrounds you makes you feel like you have to be cheering but only makes you feel more empoty inside. So you do a christmas dinner with friends, you drink and its supposed to be fun but you really drink to numb that hole. And then you abd your loved ones use the alcohol as an excuse to flirt with others. Hey, we were drunk, it doesnt count. But it does, cause there is pain behind it. And its the holidays and you have to drown it down, cause you dont wanna ruin christmas.

And families reunite. But theres no reunion that erases the memories of decoration ripped through fights. Drunken christmas nights with beatings and vomit. Hate instead of love for years and years. And that accuse of ruining the holidays, always coming back.

And getting presents for friends, like i used to love. Which starts as a joy cause theres nothing that makes me feel more fulfilled as giving something to someone i love and seiing their happiness. No matter how it fucks up my account which always gets thinner and thinner during holidays, to the point of crysis. But its worth it. Until something breaks and you realize that for them its more of an embarassment cause they dont really want to give back, they dont care and they just do it like theyre doing chores. And you open a present they give you and its something that has no heart but you have to smile anyway cause you dont wanna be an asshole. Its the thought that counts.

And the worst. New years eve. The giant day where everyone feels the need to have the fun that they havent had for the rest of the year. Soi wherever you go theres chaos, noiuse and loudness. And you have to be part of it. Wait for miodnight. get mugged. Get drunk. Fight a lot.

I have nightmares abouyt past New Years Eves. But i have to do it. Cause if you dont, youre a buzzkill. Youre not like the others. Youre a hermit.

All i want is to share the moment with people i really love. And besides that, i am tired of all the rest. I love the percent of it that resides in the heart. I love who i love. Outside of that, fuck the holidays.

martedì 20 dicembre 2011

That Will NOT Do, Pig....

I hate Doctors. There i said it. I usually think that "hate" as a word is way too strong to be used indiscriminately or without the safety net of a second thought. Mostly cause REAL hate is as powerful as love, if not more. Yes, love makes you happy. But a real, deeply rooted hate can give you an energy and a drive that is unparalleled. So i always have an issue whenever people use both words without care. Actually i am more prone to understanding towards a free-form use of the word "love". Hate is powerful, it has meaning. Dont waste it.

That said, i DO hate doctors. I think that doctors, lawyers, and journalists are three categories that humanity should get rid of if we want to evolve even barely. And i swear i mean this. I do not respect any person who is part of that professions. All of those three are a confederacy of two legged leeches who, with the help of the severely flawed and ridiculous laws that us hairless chimps have put up to self convince ourselves that we were able to work that whole "Society" thing out, have been exploiting human suffering on different levels.

Yes, there have been doctors who have discovered cures and helped people, but as the social circus has moved on, those have become less and less. When was the last disease that has been succesfully cured? The last pharmaceutic discovery that has really helped mankind?

Instead, we have those overpaid pill pushers who endsalve patients to all sort of chemical paraphernalia, so they can suck their blood one drop at a time (a dead patient doesnt give money but a cured one doesnt either), that have egos that are unparalleled and wouòd destroy anyone in the name of the Farma companies.

I have had a flu recently, and the flu has turned into a persistent cough that doesnt seem to go away. So i, with a heavy heart, decided to visit a doctor.

This guy, which is the one that my healthcare affords, used to be a dentist.

He wasnt even a bad dentists, if that means anything. He did the job. But he always was a rude, filthy, animal who enjoyed cracking jokes at patients on their illnesses and openly molest his assistants.

Nowadays, he looks like a large swine, covered with a crusty grey fur. He is still an asshole. So he visits me, tells me i should go ona diet (to which i answer with a stare that makes him go "yeah i know, but at my age, food is better than pussy". Oh you). And then prescribes me a therapy of antibiotics and inhalations. When asked for more details he just says "well would you let me do my job? i am the professional here!"

After the first day, the cough is slightly worse, the meds were ultra pricey and i confirm my theory.

Kill all doctors.

lunedì 19 dicembre 2011


There was this girl. I dont know what her dreams were. She enever told me, really. But when she was a kid, she was raised in a loving family: her, her sister, her father and her mother.

They were dirt poor, and not in the way people use the word today. They were seriously fighting each day to survive. The mother worked in the rice planations. It was a nasty job, you were stuck in swampish water all day, surrounded by water snakes and it slowly destroyed your back. But it got her money to raise her kids. Her sister was a "special" kid. No clear defnition of what she had, she was normal, but had a mind developed slightly slower than the rest.

The father, who the girl loved more than anyone else in the world, was a worker in the train station and tried to make ends meet with other work as a handyman.

They loved each other. One day a form of illness, maybe meningitis, no one was sure of anything back then, took the younger of the girls. She fell asleep. And died.

After a while, the mother, broke down by grief, also got hit by leukemia. She died too.

The girl, whose name was Rita, and her father were each other's world, the beginning and the end. The man did everything he could to full his daughter's life with love, to be enough of a family for her, to be her strength and to protect her from the pain of all that loss.

Rita had grown strong, intelligent and witty. She was a brilliant student, although she never went to University cause she couldnt afford it. She found a job quickly though and was great at it. The father was proud.

She also had started dating the son of a rich family. He wasnta bad guy, weak, a bit spineless and bropken by a family that raised him with steely disdain for him, fists and anger. But he loved her, it seemed, and he could've made her... maybe.... happy?

Yet, the father drank a lot. Pain is a bad beast to cage. And that took his toll. So he died too, of liver malfunctions.

Rita was left alone in the world. All she had was this man she was dating. He seemed to love her, and she loved him back with all his flaws. Maybe his family couldve been a family for her too. Gove her love, besides security.

Did not happen. The two married. But the man'0s family always hated Rita and did everything they could to humiliate her, hurt her, and make her life miserable.

It hurt. Cause her man wasnt on her side. He was a slave to his family, too scared to protect her. Too weak to react.

And then they had a baby. And Rita loved the baby since they first met eyes. That aby was all she lived for. If only her family was there to see him, they wouldve been so happy.

Her husband's family kinda rejected the baby too. But she would defend him at any cost. Even if she was completely alone in this.

And the year passed. And the solitude and pain got stronger. So she started drinking more and more. Her husband became meaner with age, he never understood how to be a husband or a father. All he could do was yell or say cruel things. Or simply say nothing at all. Disappear when he was needed. Let her do everything.

And the more life got hard the more she drank.

And when the baby grew, he drank too. And he disappointed her as much as a son could. He went into drugs, failures, and all the mistakes a son can do.

And she just Broke.

Rita became a wreck. Drinking all day and night. Embarassing herself. Becoming a problem and a reasdon for her husband and son to point their greasy fingers at her.

She was a good mother but with every drunken moment of hate, those memories of love got erased.

She did things that slowly destroyed the love that her son and her shared.

And it turned, maybe to hate.

But when she visited him one day, barely walking, unkempt hair, aged beyond her years, crushed by alcohol, pills and cigaretetes and so many attempts at suicide.... She asked him about his coughing. His flu. Gave him a homemade remedy.

And while he hated all the hurt that she brought to her life via the bottle, he could not stop his heart from shattering, seeing her like that. He would ask her to get checked, but she refused.

All she wants now is to die. And maybe join her family, somewhere. Whats on this earth has hurt her too much.

And when they parted, his heart ached so hard.

giovedì 15 dicembre 2011

The moment the path crumbles

The sky outside is grey, humid and cloudy. My brain is dumpoed into that grey. I dont know why, ive just been thinking a lot lately.

Most of the time, i realize i might never have a kid. Right now i cant afford to raise one. I dont make enough money. I havent met anyone i love nough to actually have a child with them. And the times i actually felt close to that, it didnt last. Everything is precarious, maybe in all of life, maybe only in mine.

And yet i realized one thing: Maybe, just maybe, having a child is the only thing you can do that really means something.

I have had a life full of hopes, projects, relationships. I dreamed and the dreams sometimes went somewhere and left a pile of printed paper that now occupies a couple of shelves in my hometown. I tried to put myself out there. And that is cool. But does that have any meaning on the long distance? I'm not sure. Not really, i guess.

I made lovers, and friends, and no matter how beautiful and eternal the moments we had together were, they ended up crumbling and floating away in the wind. Some of those, i barely recall. I remember being in love many times, my heart breaking and aching, and then time walked all over it and made me numb. I lost friends i thought i would have forever. And i didnt loose them in a dramatic way. Simply we drifted. Or i drifted. I seem to be unable toi stick in one place. I fade away.

I am living my days, waking up and doing things that i once loved, now to fill time until i'll go to sleep. A few special people fill my heart but im scared, cause i saw it happen, of the momenbt where things will inevitably fade and i will be alone again. Maybe cause i ran away. Who knows.

Cause in the end, you might have found the love of your life, and be happy for your friends, but if youre not careful, you always end up alone. Unless you have a child.

I always thought having a child was such a responsibility. Much higher than anyone thinks. You dont have only to raise them, you have to make their life not miserable. Its almost impossible to do that. But if you pull it off, its the only moment you catch a chance at having something of value that will still be there and remember you when youre gone.

I have the feeling i have ran out of time though, and im wondering how much will be there fo me, when im gone. I might go to a dinner soon, with friends. There will be jokes, and a lot of stuff said. And yet after that we will all go on with our lives and forget about each other. Rinse, Repeat. Metaphors are everywhere when you know where to look.

mercoledì 14 dicembre 2011

A Puzzle With No Pieces

This morning, after dealing with a series of troubling calls from homne, i opened my facebook, to check a few things.

In mt inbox, a musicians, a pretty known one who i wont name, was trying to reach me with a well written missive about a bad review i did of his latest record.

Now, if i had to stop here and not say anything else, you could see me being bothered by a musician for my criticism, and we could react with cynical cruelty to that, dropping smart one liners and letting this half told story run off of our backs.

But that is not how i am. I am desperate and i am convinced that i have almost no meaning in this world. But my mind is alive and well and the only thing i pride myself with, is having a brain that can see one moment from all the possible perspectives.

I remember writing that review. I had been waiting for that album to come out for a while. Bought it, listened to it and felt disgusted and disappointed. The band was one of those that maybe i did not worship completely, but i respected and loved for the role they had in my own musical growth. So my reaction was gutsy.

Also i was, just like i am now, stuck in a loop. Waking up, pretending to do important things that fullfill a hole that i have inside but dont really do that. Hearing the same news of despair from my family. Waiting for the day to be over so i can finally sleep. All i have is my friends and my few, silly attempts at meaning something. Like reviewing albums, doing podcasts. Stuff that doesnt do anything for me, doesnt get me money but makes me feel vaguely important.

When i wrote that hateful scriblle, i wanted to express diappointment. And at the same time i was asked and wanted to create controversy and attract readers and use a harsher tone than id probably would have at another moment. And after doing it, i just forgot about it. It disappeared in the loop.

I read the mail today, while i'm stuck in another loop. I am not sure if i exist. My friends hold me there, and love me, but i aint sure if i am living or just repeating the motions over and over.

The man tries to explain why he felt upset by my words. How he belived in what he did. And tha, recently he got diagnosed with cancer.

The album i took time spewing venom about got him attention and a possibòle future fopr the band. But his cancer might not let him live til christmas.

Now i am not saying that i am learning any lessons here. Or that i should.

I'm asking myself if anything has meaning. WE all live and do whatever makes us feel alive or important. Or just go through the motions daily without ever getting out of this maze. Then something comeas up and we are happy. Then we are not. Then we are dead. It doesnt make sense to me at all.

martedì 13 dicembre 2011

The Man who Gifted Me A Monkey

I've been handling this weird flu for a couple of days, and two things happened: my body weakened, much more than usual and as a consequence, my mind went into a dark place. I dont get sick that often, recently. I used to be sick all the time, back in the days of being a rockstar, when my clothes were cool and a few, and looking good came with a price. I got a lot of flus, colds, migraines, back then. A lot of weird illxs that knocked me out and were cured with strong, stomach meltin medicines that were supposed to help me recover quickly enough to get out the night after. That had a reason. But i'll explain in a bit.

So, now i dont get sick often, i usually ride my health like its a thunder, i try to fill my body with uppers and vitamins, trying to keep my body and mind in a permanent state of wake and full energy. I need and want to be performing all the time at max, cause if i slow down, bad things happen.

So, since the flu slowed things down, my brain remembered.

During my iullness my family visited me. Mostly because they needed advice and company. My father is becoming increasingly senile. And yet he did something that struck a chord and reminded me in some sort of flashback why i took a few of the darker roads i took.

While i was trying to explain how being sick made me anxious, he told me "well get a couple of xanax". He insisted. Forcefully.

I remember myself being young and him giving me a handful of sleep aid drops. He hid them in juice or tea and just gave them to me. I fell asleep, i calmed down but i alspo developed a sort of early addiction when i wasnt even twelve. My mother questioned him on that and his answer was "so he would calm down and be quiet".

Its how his head was built too. I got used to sleeping pills, the strong type, earlier than anyone i know. When, later, i found myself dealing with that monkey, after i really made it my own, dropping increasing doses in attempts to shut my brain down forever, people accused me of being a weak junkie. And they were right. But they didnt get, and for fuck's sake, i am NOT justifying myself, how i was talked into that since when i was a kid.

Taking meds was like taking candy for him. Any slight issue was met with ton of pills. That then i kept taking on my own, unable to quit. Some are still there.

If a kid was swoned into drinking, or smoking by a parent, everyone would act differently if he grew up to be an addict. But with meds, ist different. I taker my own responsiblity and fault. Its on me. But i do know that my mind was shapen that way by him. I don t complain about it.

When i started therapy, and the antidepressants i started taking were slowly erasing my mind and my personality, i recall him commenting "Well, you quit complaining, so its a good thing"

Pharmacists, for years, stared at me as the son of Giorgio Costanzo, the pill popper. I inherited his reputation as an addict by default. His prescriptions done by tricking doctor into giving him what wpould normally fit three people.

I dont blame anyone but me. But i got that burden from him and its still there. It wont go away. Ever.

lunedì 5 dicembre 2011

The Strange Case Of Benjamin Buttface

It used to be a funny subject on which me and my friends humoured about. But deeply, we hoped that it wouldnt happen to us. Most of us had that moment where we were hangin at the pub, late, and planning a last stunt to pull waiting for the dawn to come. And we watched our peers go home. Some of them did it because thy were in one of THOSE relationships, the ones where you enter as a normal person and suddenly become a lethargic creature that barely leaves the house out of some sort of sense pof duty but would really like more to stay in and watch tv with your Insignificant Other. But a lot of them did it because something in them was changing. They were Aging. Getting old.

And we made fun, mostlyt cause some of us were older than them but still enjoyed life, so we wanted to live and do stuff, and we agreed that it was the right thing to do.

But time went by. We got soul crushing jobs. We drank too much. We saw our dreams fade away in disappointment. Some got married, other got kids. And many blamed the changed on the spouses or the kids, because they didnt want to admit that it was their soul that got old and broken on their own. Where if they wanted to, they couldve stayed in loved with life, even with kids and ordinary lives. Some managed to pull that off.

But others didnt. And they started to turning into their own parents, complaining about the tiny things like angry curmudgeons. Making fun of others when they had passions, interests or anything that isnt consodered "serious" or "mature". Telling the people that once were their friends that they should "get their lives together and grow up". Being full of moral disdain out of things that really didnt bother them before. Violence in movies. Loud music. And using their kids as a shield to complain obsessively. They werent like that, and they got worse m,ore out of frustration and anger and bitterness. But no, its "because having kids changes you".

And then they started thinking about the retirement age. How they might not be able to retire in the future. Not about the need of finding a good job, a good house, love and a satisying sexual life. About retirement. And you hear them in bars at the early morning or at work, coimplaining about their small, insignificant hypocondriac illnesses, forgetting that there's people figting for survival everyday. Because their back hurts and its ok to complain about your back if you're old.

Old, before their thirties. Ready to die.

venerdì 2 dicembre 2011

Now Go And Bake Me A Pie....

I know, at the right moment my fingers touched this black and vaguely dirty keyboard, that what i'm about to write is going to spark controversy.

But it's stuck in my head, so it has to come out, here.

I am tired of feminism. And not necessarily only the stronger form of feminism, the one a lot of people see to be annoyed from. I am also tired of the whole idea of how "female empowerment " has gone bad.

I am not a mysoginist, although i have been called one many times, even for the simple fact that i'm italian, swear i aint kidding on this one. I love women and i am sure that they are in general more intelligent and resourceful than man. But as any living being they are being fooled by a bunch of frustrated individuals who are making their own credo a truth and poisoning the naturale course of things, inesorably.

To clarify even more, men have that sort of venom in their brains too. Men think they should often adhere to male stereotypes, in order to calm down their own natural insecurity. And if they embrace their own emotions, often they fail in the opposite direction, becoming so obsessed by their own sensitivity that they forget that the male reisliency to emotions was there for a reason: to make us supportive. So we have men becoming catty, indifferent and cruel anbd forgetting to pay attention to their loved ones, obsessed on their own feelings and their own precious "me time".

But the new "post-feminist" tendency is, somehow, more dangerous and unsettling to me. I'll try to explain with a couple of examples.

- Edgy, offensive humour might not be for you. If that's the problem, then dont listen to it. Or ignore the joke foir what it is, a series of words that die as soon as they disappear. All jopkes are just jokes, no matter the subject. Most are unfunny, but that doesnt mean youy can ban them or use any chance you got to rant about "wrong humour" and using your own private experience to make that more right. Ok, you got abused, yes you have kids, yeah you were molested. It's all good, but a joke is a joke and if you go against one specific topic, youre rooting for censorship. The n eo-feminist movement is doing this more than the christians, muslims or ethnic groups. Yet they are automatically in the right. Why?

- Being "A mother" doesnt entitle you to become a moralist that always sticks her nose into other people's lives. You have a chils, focus on raising him or her right. Keep your eyes on that not on the power you seem to thrive on whenever you use your status of "mother" to ask for repression of other's rights, freedom and general quiet living. And in even in day to day actions: your being a mother doesnt give you special right or passes, no matter how much you rub your toddler in my face. The rule aplly to everyone, thats a society. Mothers arent special. Your children arent more special than others. You're still a person like the others.

- Being an empowered woman does not mean forgetting that men have needs too. So, if your partner nbeeds to be reassured about his insecurities or wants to be complimented, doing it wont make you less empowered, it will just make your relationship better. Pat our back once in a whilw, and we will follow you in the snow on bloody stumps. Instead i see too many girls and ladies who, in the name of some sort of misguided sense of femininity, belittle their loved ones, attack them when they ask a bit of nurtring, and use them as their own emotional trash can. In the name of female empowerment. It's not fair.

- There's nothing wrong with doing things that women have done for years.. The great step in social evolution is that now men have to do them too. A man who doesnt know how to cook, clean, dress well and be a devil in the bed, in other worse to worship his lover, isnt a real man. But a woman that refuses to do the same things can say that she refuses the stereotypes on women. And get away with it. I dated so many ladies who couldnt cook and had warped ideas about sexuality (the types of ideas where they werent supposed to seduce a partner but just stay there and wait) and they all became that way not out of laziness but (quote) "because they didnt want to conform to sexist stereotypes". Grow up, buttercup.

giovedì 1 dicembre 2011

The Debate Of The Invisibles

I dont know if you noticed the change. Like the big changes of history, it came with a whimper and not with a bang (yeah, im quoting poetry).

It has come to my attention that in this time, where the universal situation of humanity, in any field, might be one of the worst in years, something seriously disturbing has happened. Discussion, has died.

And i aint talking about suppression of freedom of speech, onb the contrary. There has been an excess of freedom of speech on all fronts that has caused, like any person that has st6udied sociology could explain, an internal selection.

To explain the fact in layman terms: perople are in crisis, its our nature, we always are. We are a species that has been created facing the constant dilemma of balancing our unstoppable need for other people to interact with us, and our natural destructive instinct towards them an ourselves. We are built to hate and attack but we have to proliferate, so we try to handle things with presumed intellectual superiority, rules and unspoken pacts.

So we create the idea of "democracy", a beautiful theory, but impossible in practice. And we start facing the difficulties of working out that utopia, with multiple tools. The major ones are war, a contradiuction in terms that is still necessary to create equilibrium, unless it falls into the territory of endless skirmishes that slowly wipe out ant rensemblance of civilization, and discussion, debate, arguing.

If you ever studied the primal roots of politics, ideally speaking, debate is the key to the resolution of many issues. In its purest form, two opposing parts explain to each other the good and the bad sides of their own opinion, they clash, they shift each other's point of view, until both obtain a different perspective on the issue. They know more on the opponent and themselves. They leatrned something and reach a compromise. That is evolution through words. One of the few and greatest achievements that humans have uniquely.

But like many other uniquely human traits, it is dying. Humans are decomposing socially. Anything that made us a species that was able to survive through special aspects of our brain and personalities is deteriorating fast. We are hurting our own children. No species does that, not with the sadism and gratuitous cruelty we have. We build religions, and credos and use them as motivations to kill. And even if those ideals dont fit we use others: pacifist are as aggressive as warmogerers, conspiracy theorists who accuse politicians and religious people to be suppressor of the truth, are even more arrigant and dominating as their enbemies.

Humans are deteriorating as a low form of aniimal without abilities or nobility or dignity and a buinch of tools to destroy.

Debate is dead. Where once smart èpeople could change opinions and evolve spirits, now, thanks to social network and biased media, a series of spineless, creeping venomous negativity ridden parasites has taken over.

No matter what happens, negativity prevails. A violent tyrant is taken over by the people9, weho finally gained freedom? tyhere will be no cheering for that. Only sarcasm, viutriol and cyncincism.

Wanting to change things, having hope, having ideals, believing in things and being progressive are negative traits that are crushed with constant sarcasm, stalking hatred and humiliation.-

The weak ones that try to stand up for themselves, the ill, the victims of rape, the victim of racism and misogyny are now afrauid of speaking, even m0ore than in the past. Because now, instead of a specific group of stone throwers, theres an army of cowards that hate indiscriminately and thrive on creating pain with a smile on their lips. They are perfe ctly normal people too. they used to be smart, maybe they still are. they are your friends, your spuses, your neighbours. There's a hater in evryone of them. They will find what starts their own hate wave and they will become the problem too. them and their "epic fail". Thjem, and cracking jokes on cancer victims, lupus victims, handicapped people, races, sexes, in the name of being "incorrect".

Being politically incorrect is justified when you have humour. Most people do not possess humour. So no they do not have the roight to speak freely. Tim,e to fix the flaws and cleanse this world.

Some bridges need to be burnt and most people need to be punched.