For how crude and obnoxious I often am, it's kind of weird that when it comes to perceived criticism, I'm more sensitive than an 8 month old greyhound's clitoris. One doesn't even have to argue with me--just wind me up, and I'll argue with myself. What can I say? I'm a prima donna. At the end of the day, though, I'd rather have a little storm in a teacup than a different teacup full of, say, a dog's uterus and ovaries. And I'd also rather have the temporary autonomous zone that is R3 than some sort of PC vagtocracy where bourgeois mystifications like "common sense" and "good taste" reign supreme. Freedom doesn't have to be gratuitous, it's true, but I sure fucking do.RATING: Balls%
(Image from howtosplitanatom.com.)
Posts
